Ebb and Flow, Baby

More under-edited stuff, dear readers. So deal with it…

So, last night, being a Monday, I did my civic duty and had my city-job meeting. Hey–‘ask not what your city can do for you…’ and all that. Which reminds me of something funny: a few days ago I was searching around the old internet, looking at cars and stuff. No, not actually shopping for a new one yet, just bored. Anyway, because I filled out some form I got an email from a local dealership. And the sales rep who sent it from this local dealership was someone that I had to fire from his city job a couple years ago! Hehe–at least he’s holding onto this job. And, no I’m not getting in touch with you about that “great” car offer, buddy!

But I digress…So, anyway, after my meeting I noticed that it was early enough for me to stop by Padraig’s baseball practice for a half hour or so, which I did after taking a casual detour past the bar, you know, just to see if it was worth going out for the night. Oh yeah, and it was, JetBlue’s car was there in the lot. Okay, okay, I know that the boycott was still in full effect–but you didn’t believe I’d keep to that now did you? But anyway, I did continue on to baseball practice. “First things first,” as Padraig has taken to saying recently.

So, for a while I enjoyed the sunshine, watched Padraig take some batting practice–okay time to brag: who’s son, among the first year players, is by far the best hitter? That’s right! He still needs to work on keeping his eye on the ball and, when he takes his step toward the pitcher, he needs to work on not totally doing the splits, but, nevertheless he has a smooth left-handed swing. Oh, and not to make any comparisons, but when he’s batting during practice his team puts on the shift as if he were Ortiz.

But I once again have digressed. So after practice I went back to the bar to get some dinner and to watch the Red Sox. As I mentioned, JetBlue was there. She was talking to this crazy artist guy (CAG) that she knows. Long story that one. So anyway I sat down a few chairs down (keeping that aloofness going for a little while longer), ordered some food, and started watching the game. All in good time, people, all in good time.

While I was watching the game I noticed that K2 was there as well–tonight decked out in her Papi shirt. Yeah–I’m feeling like the ’67 Sox, just dreaming that impossible dream. But, anyway, as the evening evolved I didn’t get to talk to her, but I noticed that D. did (oh yeah, he showed up at some point) and it didn’t end in shouting or tears, so I guess that’s all resolved now.

So, anyway, JetBlue talked to CAG for awhile and then after that ended in angry incriminations she walked away “to use the bathroom” and instead started talking to a couple at the other end of the bar. An inning or so later, CAG seemed to realize that she wasn’t returning so he finally walked out. Meanwhile, the Red Sox just weren’t showing much life. Too much partying after the Yankee sweep, perhaps? And yeah, that was a gratuitous mention of the Yankee sweep.

Meanwhile, OCE (Our Common Enemy, for those of you who haven’t memorized the code) came in. He surveyed the situation–not a friendly crowd for him, too many secrets ready to be exposed. So he ordered some take-out, had three beers in the span of 15 minutes, and jetted. Somewhere in there JetBlue came down to talk for a bit. Well, the rest of the night.

And all changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born…

Sorry, felt like throwing some Yeats in there. I think it might fit though. In some way at least. So, anyway, although our conversation had all the usual elements, I also noticed that it was different in some important ways. First off, she was talking openly about some past relationships, about the guy who wants her to spend some time with him and his son so that she can write a reference letter for him for the courts so he can get get custody of the boy (Wha!?!), about the guy who visits from Montana for two weeks each winter, all sorts of things that had been off the table in the past. And, yeah, although all this shit should scare me away instead it fascinates me,  just like K2 and her shit were fascinating me the other night. But, anyway, cutting to the chase…um, literally, I guess…as we were getting ready to go I laid it all out (okay, just some of it) on the table:

“So, DO you want to go out again?” And, yeah, I really didn’t know what the answer would be, and yeah I asked it in a way that it was clear that I wanted some clarity. And, yeah, the real question was–“So what the fuck IS going on here?”

“Sure, give me a ring.” Yeah, that’s not clarity. That’s how this whole thing started. You know, give me a ring but don’t necessarily expect me to return the call.

I wish I could describe the look I gave her at this point. It said something like ‘no, that ain’t gonna cut it.’ And then I added something like: “No, really. Do you want to?” And it wasn’t pleading or anything. Just straight out ‘tell me, no more bullshit babe’. ‘Cause I don’t really mind all the ebb and flow and I don’t mind spending hours chatting with you regardless of the answer, you know, but if there’s no point in me calling you, just straight out tell me.

“Sure, we’ll go out.” Hey, sort of clarity. But part of me feels like I got the answer from a fortune teller as she tells me about success “in my future.” Nevertheless, though, I’m going to look at it as a positive response. Would you, dear reader? Hmm…

So, anyway, with that settled as well as it could be, we both got up and left. As I was heading out the door, I stopped to talk to D. who was massaging the bartender’s shoulders–yeah, the things that I don’t write about are sometimes more interesting than the things I do. And clearly he finally caught on that there’s something going on–and yeah he hadn’t had an idea before last night–and so of course he approached it D. style:

“If you’re not following her home right now you’re a fucking pussy.” Hehe…I just laughed and said it wasn’t like that. “You should be fucking going for it right now, buddy.” Thanks D. Now if I could just add on some advice from Dr. B. my night would be complete…

So, anyway, I left and shortly afterward decided to send JetBlue a text message–just something sweet to say I had a nice time and all that, because, despite all the ebb and flow and the uncertainty, I really do enjoy those endless conversations. But, anyway, as I’m starting to write I notice I have a couple of messages from her.

First message: DONT WANT TO JERK YOU ROUND CUZ I KNOW THAT FEELS LIKE SHIT AND HAD THAT HAPPEN MORE TIMES THAN I CARE TO ADMIT

Second message: Totally enjoy talking to you and hanging out Your so easy to talk to and be my goofy self around

So I responded, mostly to the second message, because I knew what was going on behind the first. Oh, and dear reader, in case I didn’t tell you, I’ve known for a while that the reason I’ve been on and off of her radar is that there’s this other guy that’s #1 on her list. And I’ve known that and been fine with it, but I feel that it was a huge breakthrough that she’s finally starting to admit this to me, taking me seriously enough and caring enough about my feelings to let it all out.

The expected Third message: I’ve been hanging out with a couple other people recently One didn’t go well The other is someone I’ve been interested in for months Not too sure what he thinks

And I responded with something like: “I’ve sensed that for while but thanks for telling me. still I’d like to go out. Doesn’t need to be a big deal.” And that’s all true. Hehe, though I could’ve added: as long as I get to go swimming once in awhile…

Next message: JUST DONT WANT TO BE A JERK TO ANYONE

What’s with the caps? I don’t know. All I know is is that even though I think I’m following what she’s thinking by reading a bit into her answers I also realize that all of they can be interpreted in a dozen different ways. But I’m getting used to that too.

Oh, and in another message she jokingly added that I’ve been spending too much time with D. and she’s worried that I will become too much like him. Hehe…Well, I’m thinking, except for some more colorful swears while I’m golfing, I don’t think I’ll turn into him anytime soon. That would be funny though.

So that’s it in all of it’s under-edited glory. Who knows where it will go next. I should start a gambling pool…what’s the over/under line on when the next date will be?

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