<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Whisky Pants
     
     
     

Look, I'm not doing this for you, but for my own dark and twisted reasons. Oh, and because everyone else is doing it.

 
 

December 01, 2006

second verse same as the first!

On Wednesday night, I had a second date with the guy who likes communing with nature (let's call him Nature Boy). After our first date I was 100% certain I'd never hear from him again: he ended the date relatively early on a Saturday night, he's all about nature and I'm all about avoiding it, he didn't try to hug or kiss me, and I never got that particular vibe... In any case, he proved me utterly wrong by emailing the following Monday, by asking me out again, and by phoning twice in the intervening days between first and second dates.

How was the second date? Pretty much the same so I'm still not sure. I thoroughly enjoy my time with him as he's quite literate and funny (and attractive), but I just can't get a sense of his level of interest. My hypotheses are:
1. He thinks I'm great friend material;
2. He's still trying to figure me out;
3. He's the decent sort;
4. He's juggling multiple women and is being decent about it;
5. He's seriously closeted; or
6. I was stupid enough to mention the blog on the first date and now he's dying to know what I've written about him and so is sticking around long enough till I cave and provide him with the url.

I'm thinking it is a combination of a couple of those...

Anyways, right before the date ends he considerately asks about my weekend plans (his weekend is already obligated) and says that he will try to call. (And, for my neurotic friends - you know who you are - he has not checked his online profile since about the time of our first date...)

Due to my already busy social schedule this week, I had to decline the offer of a Friday night movie third date from the other nice man - the one that I ran away from at the subway. He laid a kiss on me after our second date. It was not a great kiss, but he seems incredibly decent and has freckles, and I can work with freckles. I declined (but did suggest alternate days/times) because this week has been utter hell for me professionally and I really need to spend my Friday night in the fetal position as a result. I haven't really given this one a nickname yet.

Work has been awful. I should be taking notes on the increasing bureaucratic paranoid insanity taking place in this megalith of an agency, but can't imagine anyone ever believing any of it to be true and I don't care to get "dooced" at the moment. I spent the better part of Wednesday on the verge of furious tears (an extremely rare thing for those of you who don't know me) after being humiliated in front of colleagues; apparently my polite yet firm questioning of policy was considered insubordinate and rude, so I was chided as if I were six instead of a 36 year old with somewhat considerable experience. It never would have happened if I had been a man. I'm still fuming over that. Since I really don't care to ruin my career at this point, my only consolation is knowing that karma is one mean bitch. Also, I've been stabbing a voodoo doll in the groin and that too makes me feel better. Shape up or watch your genitals shrink and fall off, you chauvinistic sphincters!

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