In Which I Bore You to Death

Sorry to have been gone so long and leaving you on the edge of your seats! I had the date and then I was waiting for a tiny bit of closure before I wrote anything and then there was the weekend and I did things and sat on my ass reading and writing and just enjoying being in the house alone.

Anyway. The date. By a funny set of coincidences (if you believe in such things), I figured out who my date was before we met. Turns out we know some of the same people (one of which I had lunch with on Saturday and got a green light – he’s not a raving lunatic!). He’s in a well-known band that I’ve probably seen in a club a million years ago. Small world.

So, I was feeling much less freaked out by the whole date thing because of that. And it was all good. We met at a Mexican place, we talked, swapped stories, hopefully nothing particularly stupid came out of my mouth (I’m not really good at small talk with strangers much less conversations with people I know really well). I got an opening hug and a closing hug, he complimented my shoes and didn’t recoil at my liberal bumper stickers and……he went back to his organic farm and I went back to work.

I wrote later and thanked him for picking up the tab and said I’d like to see his farm sometime. That’s not a euphemism for anything but ‘organic farm’. REALLY. Eventually, on Friday, he wrote back. And that’s kind of where things stand at the moment. Something might develop and then again, something might not. But it was pleasant.

Then I chatted with a military guy (filed under: keeping my options open but still wondering why) who wrote in complete sentences on his profile and mentioned he like Alice Munro. !! Say wha? When he wrote back, though, he was stationed in West Africa for 18 months and the message was a cluster that did not match his original profile writing and mentioned how he wanted a wife but would be gone for, like, a really long time. I couldn’t reconcile the two writing styles unless the African missive was transcribed from smoke signals, filtered through a flip phone, and translated into four languages before reaching me in English of a sort. Or else, his English professor sister wrote his profile for him. Either way, sorry dude. Good luck and all.

And that is pretty much that, which I know is really disappointing. The good dates really don’t make interesting stories. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll have a really crappy date soon. Or, even boringer, no dates at all!

How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie pop?

The world will never know.


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