Archive for the ‘JetBlue stories’ Category

A Duck’s Back

April 18, 2008

I wish I had more time to write because I know lost somewhere in the last period of not writing much are a bunch of good stories. But I will at least give a few details about recent events.

Okay, first of all, last weekend’s visit with the Young One: I was talking to my friend P. the other day and in talking realized how many times the Young One has hinted at the possibility of a little something something. His reply: “You HAVE to go for it. Not just for yourself but for all of your friends who will never have the chance!” OIh, and he also described her as “Teeming with fuck me sexuality.” In case you wanted to have an idea why she is often the topic of our thoughts.

What I had also forgotten about that night was that I also saw her friend LL, whom I had drunkenly sent a myspace message to at 4 AM after the evening that MHE dumped me. You can only imagine what it was like. Oddly enough, I think that, rather than being annoyed or amused by it, she has since been intrigued. We’ll see if that is yet another possibility there. Oh–and I was discussing these two women with Dice-G, a co-worker of mine. We tend to have these wonderfully workplace-inappropriate conversations. And, so, this comment was not atypical: “You HAVE to work on a threesome–think of it, they’re legal AND their ages don’t add up to yours! You’ll make the guy ‘hall of fame’ instantly!”

Like I said: on a roll.

And then Tuesday night I was hanging out with the pool league guys (but no MHE because of her new grift job). As expected Tragedy Girl showed up on the scene. I slowly drifted over to her and we chatted on and off for awhile, played the bar video game (she’s no MHE or “Other Option” when it comes to word games), and, of course, before I knew it, she had had quite a number of shots and was all over me like, like, um, you know, something that is all over something else, like, a lot. Not that I’m complaining and not that I wasn’t fully involved in the fun–I’m just saying is all. Anyway, at the start of the night had told her that I wasn’t staying past eleven (hey, it’s a work night) so round about 12:30 I finally decided to head home, despite the good times. So, she walked me to my car and we both showed off our kinesthetic learning style.

Funny thing is, since this has all been fun and stuff, at times I tend to take a step back and observe us fairly objectively. Like when she was holding my arms telling me how strong I felt–hey, right thing to say to a guy and maybe you’re drunken self actually half believes it, but if you know me you know that that is what Huck Finn would call a “stretcher” at best. It makes me wonder how many patently untrue things I’ve also drunkenly said to her. (The only one I can think of is “No, I didn’t laugh when you tripped in the same spot for the third time.”)

Anyway, she also had this disturbing habit of talking about relationship possibilities–and mind you I went into this little escapade with the sense that a “relationship” was NOT what she was ready for (she’s fairly recently, unexpectedly widowed). So, it was a bit amusing when, the next day, she texted me and said sorry I don’t think we should have a relationship. Sorry? No, thank you for climbing onto the same page. I’m interested to see what happens the next time I see her out. Will she go back to the vodka shots and come back to me looking for a little something? And, hey, whatever. She will or she won’t. It’s all water off a duck’s back at this point.

Last night MHE and I made plans to hang out this weekend. She’s on a mini-vaca watching someone’s house so it’ll be fun to hang low with her and her daughter. I’ll be making dinner for us, hopefully reminding her that I’m the best damned thing to come along since Black Cherry vodka. Although, actually, I think I came first…

All in all I’m still not sure what or who I want. MHE still has a lot of question marks and everyone else, well, is everyone else at this point. I saw a drunk JetBlue last night and spent some tme in a painful conversation. Though I don’t think it was my intent, our talking definitely caught MHE’s attention and she looked mildly irked. But then again, she sometimes carries that face even when she isn’t.

Well, I’ve rambled on long enough for now. Next Wednesday I will have an audience with the Queen. Should be a fun time. Sushi and downtown and a museum? Sounds like a plan.

Many Happy Returns

March 27, 2008

Well, I don’t have much to update about last night. I did see JetBlue, along with a bunch of other committee people. I have hardly seen her lately and it was nice to catch up–especially since she was 1) in pleasant conversation mode (which is all too rare); and 2) looking really cute (which isn’t always the case). But, really, no fascinating stories to tell. Then I made a semi-triumphant return to the bar up the hill. The Jilted One was bartending and gave me a big greeting. And, as I had hoped, there was a two for one special on the beers, if you know what I mean. She also told me the story of losing her other bartending job, in classic The Jilted One fashion–talking really quickly and then not stopping the story when she walked away to serve another customer. Yeah, just like the good ol’ days.

But, all in all, an uneventful night–oh shit, I almost forgot–earlier in the evening I was hanging with the kids at their house. I hear the cat make a strange meochy sound as she came up the basement stairs. So, I say to her: “What’s wrong, S.?” And, holy shite, she drops a baby mouse on the floor. That was quite the shocker, to say the least. Followed by the second shock of watching the little mofo scamper under the table. The cat followed it, content to give the little thing a couple of half-hearted swats. So, anyway, once I got over that momentary “live wild animal inside the house” shock (please note: I still suffer from PTSD related to a “live squirrel in the house” incident some years ago) I decided to try to save the cute little baby mouse. Luckily this part of the story has no drama to it. I put on a glov, carefully picked him up and put him safely outside.

It was a few minutes before it sunk in for me that I pretty much sent him to a different doom–can a young mouse care for himself outside? i don’t know. Does he know the way back into the house? Eh, don’t know. Why is that owl smirking? What stray cats will run into him? Will they show him the way home?

Oh well.

Not much else to say except that the current chapter of my life has a working title: “My Guardian Angel Carries an Icepick”

Catchy, isn’t it?

Happy Blogger, Bad Blogger

January 24, 2008

So anyway, I haven’t been finding much time to write lately. It’s been a combination of trying to keep up with things at work, general tiredness, and, I guess most importantly, a lack of interest in writing about things that are going well.

When I started this blog, it was a means of expressing my frustration with being single again and an outlet for writing about all the crazy aspects of life that I was experiencing for pretty much the first time. Now that I’m in a real, and so far happy, relationship, that urge to write about it is fading fast. Not, just as I keep saying, that it is all boring and tranquil, I just don’t feel the need. I’ve missed some great stories already and will probably miss more, but that’s okay with me. As I keep going with the blog perhaps I’ll focus on others still and not so much myself. That might be one way to keep you amused (I hope) and informed (about something you probably don’t care about).

Anyway, here are a few briefs to make you feel like coming to this blog wasn’t a total waste of time:

Last Saturday, my friend C. (of secret bar fame) opened a super-secret bar in his basement–actually it had been going a few years ago, but it has enjoyed a re-birth. By 6 the next morning though, he was rethinking the idea. Something about sunshine making his eyeballs bleed after the all-nighter.

JetBlue apparently is not all that “into” Mr. Metal Guy. Of course I know the reason is that he has shown normal tendencies–calling you, being nice to you, not being a total shitehead. She’s truly a piece of work, you know, like that abandoned skyscraper in North Korea.

On Tuesday, I–for the third straight time–beat Ms. Hold ‘Em at pool. And then beat one of her teammates! I think I’ll be in the league before I know it. Ms. Hold ‘Em, by the way, won her league match, so it’s not like she sucks at it or anything.

I haven’t seen the Jilted One in awhile. I haven’t been up to that bar in a long time. I’m almost ashamed to go back next week. The last time I was there she scolded me for slowly disappearing on her. But, then again, it was a cute scolding.

Friday night we rented a movie, that Adam Sandler Chuck and Larry (or whatever) movie. Umm, I’m still not sure how to react to it. It was only mildly funny at times and, like any movie like that, it was always trying to walk a fine line between not being offensive and relying on humor about gays (which generally hits offensive pretty quickly in my book). I don’t know. What did you think of it? I know, you were probably smart enough not to watch it.

Other than that, I’m sure there’s plenty more. But I won’t tell you about all our plans to go away this summer, all the wonderful times we’re having, all of our talk about the future, and all of our crossing that bourne again into the limitless possibilities that come with opening your heart.

Just in Case

January 18, 2008

I know, I know, I haven’t posted here in a while. And, what’s worse, I’m not feeling a 100% so I’m not feeling like this post is going to evolve into a masterpiece. But, who knows, I rarely know where these open-ended posts are going to wind up.

But, here goes…

Last Friday we went to a movie. At the theater. Of course, you’re yawning and saying so-fucking-what? but I’ll let you know that the last movie I saw at the theater was the Departed. And before that? No idea. So, for me it was a big deal. We went to see National Treasure 2. (In order to faciliate that, by the way, I had previously rented National Treasure I–and it took me a week to finish it) It was exactly what I expected. Gotta love a “suspense” movie in which the suspense consists of an eight second sequence in which someone says something like “This desk has a combination lock with 10,000 possible solutions! What will we do?!” and Nick Cage responds something like “Try 1848″…and it works. Anyway, it was fun to go to a movie with Ms. Hold ‘Em, regardless of what it was and wasn’t. Afterwards we stopped down to the secret bar for a little while. I don’t recall anything particularly interesting happening but we had a nice time chatting with each other and all the gang. I know, yawn.

On Saturday we watched the Patriots game together at her house–with her parents and her daughter. I continued to score “wonderful guy” points because her daughter loves to play with me and even jumped up on my lap so I could read to her at a couple of points. And her parents–who, like Ms. Hold ‘Em, have that kind of sarky, wise-ass sense of humor–spent the evening putting me into awkward situations by asking to choose between them on situations they disagreed on. Yeah, that was funny…to them. I pretty much sealed my fate there though when the Mr. asked the Mrs. if she was “already” on her second drink. Before she replied, I interjected “I didn’t see her pour a second one.” (Which was true–well, because we had been gone to the video store for a half hour) Nothing like a friendly nod from one corner of the room and a glare from the other. But, it’s all in good fun as far as I can tell.

Ms. Hold ‘Em and I also watched a video after the game–Knocked Up–which was great (two movies in two nights!!) except for my awkward realization that Ms. Hold ‘Em could relate to parts of it all too well. This was driven home when the main character said something like “If I’m going to have a baby I wish I could at least remember the sex.” and I looked over to see Ms. Hold ‘Em nodding her head and saying “yep” under her breathe. And I also had a flashback to my youth–hanging out on the couch with someone while her parents could be heard moving about in the next room, her brother coming in at a couple of points. The whole nine yards.

One other funny thing from Saturday–C. (my friend from the secret bar) had texted me early in the day to ask what was up. I told him I was going to Ms. Hold ‘Em’s and he wrote something funny about me being lame for not going out. So I replied: “Well, I should keep my options open. Last time she invited me over she dumped me a couple hours before I was supposed to get there. Let me know what you’re doing just in case.” Yeah, he told me later that he had no idea how to respond to that one…

Anyway…

There’s still Sunday–including the second appearance of Mr. Metal Guy (see JetBlue reference in previous post)–and Tuesday–pool league night, including my second straight win over Ms. Hold ‘Em. (No, I’m not in the league. We were just playing for fun) And last night, which was nice and all, but I wasn’t feeling great so nothing really stands out. But I think I’ll expand on these ideas later. At least a little bit.

You Knew It

January 2, 2008

Well, dear readers, those of you who know me know that I’ll never catch up on all I missed writing about while on vacation. If I think of things particularly worth writing I will go back to them, but, unfortunately, I also may not.

And if you’ve been reading over the last couple of months you know that Ms. Hold ‘Em and I have been dating for awhile and everything has gone spendidly. Each day better than the last.

Oh, except that she broke up with me the afternoon of New Year’s Eve.

“Why?” You might be asking. “How did you fuck up Mr. Setback?” seems like a reasonable inquiry.

Well, despite both she and I thinking that we’ve got the best relationship going since the Rosenbergs, she’s had this lingering text messaging thing with this guy that she had been hooking up with–someone whom she had wanted to have a relationship with but who was an asshole and treated her like crap and led her on, etc. But for some reason she couldn’t stop responding to his asshole texts (which were clearly intended to interfere with our new relationship). So she decided that she needed time to get over him–though it’s already been two months and they NEVER actually had a relationship (dear readers, may I point out that after dating/living with/talking about spending forever with someone, it took both of us about six weeks to be fully beyond each other). Yes, I got dumped for her lingering feelings for a total asshole (that’s an opinion shared by many, not just my own perception).

But that’s okay, I spent New Year’s down at the secret bar where I received lots of sympathy and at least a small amount of attention from K2, who went there on my suggestion.  JetBlue was there too, but that wasn’t on my suggestion, or anyone else’s hehe. I had a great time and got lots of New Years’ kisses and lots of advice from Ms. Hold ‘Em and my mutual friends. Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention, when I arrived at the secret bar the asshole was there which almost made me decide to leave–you know, instead of breaking his texting fingers and throwing his phone in the river. But I just ignored him. Life is simpler that way.

Oh, and it’salso okay, because at 1:30, around the time I was thinking of making a drunken move on K2 or one other eligible drunk, I got a phone call from Ms. Hold ‘Em, saying that she missed me and realized that I was the only person she wanted to be with and it was foolish of her to hold onto those stupid old feelings because I was great for her and her daughter. Personally, I think one of our friends texted her and said “If you want him back you might want to hurry, he’s moving in on K2 as we speak.” Hehe. Not really, but the timing was impeccable. Anyway, I told Ms. Hold ‘Em that I definitely wanted to talk about it more the next day but that, yeah, I was willing to keep moving forward with her, even though we missed out on our first New Year’s together.

So, that’s that. A twelve hour break-up survived.

More to come, I hope.

I mean blog entries, not break-ups…

Some Clarifications

November 30, 2007

Dear readers–and for once I’ll use the plural without wondering if it’s warranted–thanks for all of your comments. I figured a post entitled He’s a Fuckin’ Keeper would indeed get people’s attention. A few clarifications based on your comments/questions…

First of all, everything I write about my experiences in this blog in fact have happened to me. I still ponder the question though of what is fiction and what is non-fiction. Though I give you slices of my life–mainly those times spent in bars–it is a select portion of my life. Even within the relationships that I write about, I’m sure there are plenty of other things I could add, but don’t–either because I never get around to writing about it or because it doesn’t necessarily fit in with the themes that have emerged from each of my “characters'” lives.

And, in other ways, you could argue, this blog is fictionalized. When I quote conversations do I quote them completely and accurately? I certainly try to, but for the sake of the narrative I often compress things, pick out the nuggets of truth (or even just humor). I never put words in people’s mouths, but I do streamline. And when I characterize people I’m also relaying my own impression of them. Is “the Jilted One” really “the Jilted One” any more? No, she’s long past that. Does everyone think of JetBlue as the person who can’t get her relationships off the ground? No, to be honest, if you ask most people they have a different and even lower opinion of her behavior. And K2? I’ve idealized and humorized some real sad, perhaps tragic, behavior on her part. But it’s my blog and I’ve chosen to see it that way. And Ms. Hold ‘Em? (and I’ll update you all later on this story line) She’s a far more complicated person than I even want to write about. In fact, for the first time since starting this blog, I’ve met someone that I don’t even know if I want to keep writing about her because we’re really connecting well in so many ways and I don’t want to trivialize the facts of her life–and, who knows, our life at some point. Oh, and I can’t forget Afternoon Girl–the only regular character here who knows about my blog, I might add. If I wrote about her–and us–in its entirety, you’d be truly amazed at the sensually complex and driven person that she is.

Well, enough about that.

Oh, and, as far as “the bar scene” that a number of commenters have referred to–first of all, I don’t mind comments that criticize, or that remember not so fondly, hanging out in bars. Secondly, one thing I may not have pointed out in the past is that until last February, I spent relatively little time in bars. This whole ‘nearly every night out’ lifestyle is new to me. But it has introduced me to a range of people I never would have encountered sitting at home watching The Office. Always Sunny in Philadelphia, maybe. But not most television. And it’s also provided me with something that I hadn’t really experienced in 14 years. Being single and free to do as I pleased. And, believe me, I’m happier than anyone else that I’m thinking I’m quickly on my way to transitioning back to the guy that reads books and watches TV and cooks and only goes out a couple of nights a week–and not necessarily to a bar when we do. Believe me, I’ve missed having someone (other than my kids) to go on daytrips with, go to the beach with, go out to eat with, whatever.

And, finally, please don’t confuse my bars with “the bar scene.” To me, the bar scene involves crowded clubs or martini bars with a bunch of well-heeled office workers and other 20-somethings going out with the purpose of picking up/getting picked up. The places I write about are nothing like that (not that pick ups, etc. don’t happen). When I write about “the usual bar” (sometimes just called “the bar”) think of Cheers but if it were on Showtime. Just a bunch of characters who are reliably sitting in the same seat on certain nights, often talking about the same things day after day, with the occasional plotline thrown in. (“Hey, someone just threw a rock through the back window” or “Hey, that guy just passed out and fell off his stool”)

The “secret bar” is very quiet. Often nearly empty. The sort of place you go if you really don’t want to be seen out and about. In the summer you might often find no more than ten people there, all of them out on the patio smoking cigarettes, and all of them knowing each other–not just from the bar, but from years of being friends. In my mind I sometimes liken the place to the Court of Miracles in the Hunchback of Notre Dame–you know, where the blind beggars can suddenly see and the legless can suddenly walk, where you’re free to discuss your recent grifts without anyone thinking anything of it.

So, that’s that. Thanks for reading and I hope you come back for more setbacks.

Weekend Update

November 27, 2007

Well, I’m not sure where this blog post will take me. I don’t have a ton of time to write and I have to cover Thursday through Monday. So, if this is a bit outlinish in places, I apologize…

Let’s see. Thursday. I had a typical Thanksgiving Day. Time with family, etc. etc. I did play some football with my brother and the boys. And, though we were playing two hand touch, boy was I sore afterwards. For three days. Sore. One funny moment from that came when on one play the boys managed to tackle each other while I was running with the ball, my brother in pursuit. Now, sure I could outrun him, but I know that if I ran the length of the field at full speed I’d also be wheezing like a …well, like something that wheezes a lot. So, as I was running I turned back to my brother in pursuit and said: “I jog you jog? Yes was the immediate reply. And that’s what we did.

Thursday night was a fun time down at the secret bar. C. and his bartender girlfriend were there. After the previous nights’ blowout though, C. hadn’t gone to her family’s for Thanksgiving. More tension there. JetBlue was there as I mentioned in my last post. We had a nic, normal conversation together which was great but which also kind of sucked in a way. It sucked in a way because, after a long slow day of drinking, I was sorely tempted to hit on her. She was looking great, acting normal. Like she knew she could step in my way. Not the time or place. Keep telling yourself that. You don’t need that right now. You’re on the verge of something potentially sweet. And I let it go.

Although Thursday was Ms. Hold ‘Em’s usual poker night she had decided to stay home and enjoy family time and prepare for Friday’s shopping spree. At some point during the night the bartender mentioned that Ms. Hold ‘Em had told her that if a bunch of players showed up to call her and she would come down. I was sorely tempted to bribe the bartender into telling her the place was packed with big money players. Alas I didn’t but I did text Ms. Hold ‘Em and tell her that had been my plan. I think she liked that little bit of reaching out.

So, anyway, Friday came along and, as C. wasn’t headed out and Ms. Hold ‘Em wasn’t headed out I found myself at yet another bar where D. and Dr. B. were at. (Haven’t heard from them on this blog for a while, eh?) We had the typical D. type conversations, mostly revolving around women and his and Dr. B.’s low opinions on all of them–but I’ve written before about how much that annoys me. Then his girlfriend–whom he denies vociferously is his girlfriend–showed up and he and Dr. B. went into berating her and treating her like shit. The part I don’t get is why she puts up with it. Constantly. But, hey, not my problem.

I heard from the two of them (and I question them as a source) that K2 is once again getting kicked out of her apartment. And, also, that she had been “away” drying out, but had slipped back into the cycle a few days after getting back. That’s too bad, if it’s true. She’s really a sweet, sweet person.

More weekend update in a few…

Toxic

November 19, 2007

There ain’t no disputin’ I’m toxic like Rasputin.

Well, since I last updated you, dear readers, I had a fairly straight out boozy weekend. Luckily last Monday I decided to start to “clean up” and start exercising, reduce the smoking and the drinking, and all that. Luckily, because I made up for any conservation early in the week with my Friday night (the secret bar, drinking with some people who had been there since 2 in the afternoon for a post-funeral gathering), with my Saturday night (date night, woot woot!), and with my Sunday (the all afternoon and evening birthday party, featuring every toxic substance known to man including Jack Daniels and Camel regulars).

But, hey, today I’m back in “the new me” mode. Big time. Someone even invited me to this big “fundraiser” that involved lots of free booze this evening and I said “Thanks, but no fuckin’ way. I’m done” And luckily, because Wednesday begins the long Thanksgiving weekend. And I fear that four more nights are ahead of me at the secret bar.

Yes, it is still true that I can resist everything except temptation.

But, anyway, Saturday. I’ll start by saying that I think it went really really well. My date that is. We seemed to get along like, like, well, like two things that get along great. But, of course, I always have to make things difficult for myself…

WAY THE FIRST: Oh, first off, about two hours before we were supposed to meet up, I managed to scratch the top of my ear. Did you know that if you cut your ear it will bleed for more than two hours? Yeah. So when I met up with Ms. Hold ‘Em, the top of my ear was still all blood caked, with the final trickles still coming out. Luckily she was fifteen minutes late, because when I first got there it was still throbbing out a noticable amount.

WAY THE SECOND: I had spent much of the day waffling between different dining options. By the time I called the popular Italian restaurant I decided on, the only reservation I could get was for 8:30. We were meeting at 6, it had already been decided. I figured we could, after a drink at the bar, go up to the general area of the restaurant and find something to do. Play pool, whatever, then head to dinner. Wait–let me go to Way the Third in order to finish this part of the story.

WAY THE THIRD: Although my mind kept telling myself I wasn’t nervous, my body definitely was producing those “butterflies” and all that made me think that I was more on edge than my brain was letting on to itself. So, I’m thinking a drink or two before going out will relax me. you know, no problem. We’re having a drink before dinner, maybe a drink or two with dinner, then a few more over the course of the evening. I’ll be good. But, of course, when we met up at the bar, one became three. She had decided that we could hang out there the couple of hours before dinner.  And it was a nice time chatting. For the most part it went great. Maybe one or two brief, awkward silences, but nothing like I’m often capable of. And, hey, despite the bloody ear, things were going pretty well. Except of course that without dinner, the drinks were adding up pretty quickly.

Anyway, we headed up to the restaurant and, despite all the time spent at the bar, we suddenly found ourselves fifteen minutes early for our reservation. So, I foolishly suggested going to the martini bar across the street for a quick one. Well, we settled into those big leathery seats with our tasty drinks and, well, next thing you know we were fifteen minutes late for our reservation. Heh. And that much tipsier.

So, we had dinner and it was pretty good. We had both pretty much loosened up and the talk got around to family and dating and stuff. One moment that worried me came when she asked me how old I was. I figured she already knew from talking to mutual friends. My heart skipped a beat, but then when I told her (accompanied by several ums) she said she had already known approximately and that “Age doesn’t matter at all.” Psyched.

And she was pretty straight forward about a lot of things. She’s busy for the next few weeks so don’t expect much time together until then. Until then. She also said that she wants something real and meaningful and she’s not just out for a good time. In other words, ready to settle down with someone and, who knows, it might just be you, mister. There was also another moment when I was talking about how I enjoyed to cook and she said she liked to cook but enjoyed baking more. And then she said, “I guess you can do the cooking and I can do the baking.” And I know most guys would have run screaming from someone on a first date saying all those things. But, it all seemed good and right.

So, after that we stopped at a bar in E’ton where they have both pool and music.  Unfortunately, it was country music and though she had said she didn’t mind country, well, it just wasn’t doing it for us. At any rate, we got to play a couple of games of pool. I think she let me win one of them. And then we headed back to the bar to go down below to the secret bar.

There, swimming as we were in drinks, the details of what might’ve happened win are fairly vague. We spent time outside smoking and kissing and lots of time inside holding hands and she was snuggling against me a lot. This is me we’re talking about here. I’ve never done anything much like that. But, again, it all felt so good and right and when someone puts their head up against your shoulder and they seem to fit so well there and it seems like you’ve been doing that forever, well, that’s just a sweet sweet thing.

Let’s see, what else. Oh, JetBlue was down at the secret bar and when Ms. Hold ‘Em and I were playing the video game there she kept coming over and trying to play along too. Sorry, JetBlue. Time to go away. Oh, and we went upstairs at some point. Ms. Hold ‘Em decided she wanted to try to beat the guy on the table. It’s funny–he was there for a big birthday party and so he was dressed up in the finest clothes, looking very much like a 50s gangsta. Anyway, she played fairly poorly (she said) and ended up losing by a couple of balls.  But it was funny to watch he–and his friends watching him–as she made some pretty impressive shots.

But, anyway, it was all great. Of course, part of me is still worried that she’ll find something wrong with me suddenly or I’ll find out that her real boyfriend is now paying more attention to her because she found me and now she doesn’t need me anymore.

You know, etc. etc. etc.

I may still be the same self-doubter, but at least I’m finding it harder to come up with credible things to cast doubts upon…

Yawn

November 16, 2007

Well, last night I got to see Ms. Hold ‘Em. She was working down at the secret bar as usual and I stopped in for my usual Thursday evening with the gang. When I got there, C. asked me if I were going out with her this weekend. My answer, as it has been all week, was “I think so.” We had made tentative plans early in the week, but she still hadn’t gotten back to me on the subject. Of course, in my mind–and, dear readers, I know many of you know how my mind operates–this meant that she was too polite to say no directly and was hoping I’d go away or something. But only part of me has still been thinking that way.

Anyway, she took a break at some point and we had a brief opportunity to chat. She confirmed a date for Saturday night. It was all done shyly and nonchalantly, even though my heart was soaring. Anyway, the night wore on and JetBlue showed up. And she went on and on and on about the asshole, whom she supposedly cast out of her life, but whom she speaks about frequently. Luckily, Crazy Artist Guy was there and he took most of the shrapnel spewing from her mouth. And I made damn sure that Ms. Hold ‘Em didn’t in the least way think I was chatting at length with JetBlue. I don’t know if she knows her at all, but no need to bring that all up.

At one point I was standing at the bar and the owner walked in. As is sometimes the case, everything then slipped briefly into Goodfellas mode:

Owner: What–you just stand at someone’s spot at the bar where their drink is resting?

Me: Whaddareya gonna do ’bout it?

Owner: What am I gonna do ’bout it?

Me: Yeah, let me step over here away from your spot at the bar while you tell me what yer gonna do about it…

Owner: That’s right. You can’t break nobody’s fingers if yer fingers is broken. Remember that.

Anyway, once the cards were done Ms. Hold ‘Em and I sat at the bar chatting. I was perhaps a little drunk and very talkative. This is a good thing, because even if I was saying something stupid (and I don’t think I was) at least she knows that I am talkative. You see, I tend to be one of the quieter people that hangs out down there and the bartender has often commented on how quiet I am. And, you know, to a lot of people quiet = boring. Anyway, I wasn’t quiet last night.

So, at the end of the night, I gave her a birthday gift. Just something small since I don’t know her well. And she thanked me for it and all. And that was that. Part of me believes she’s already re-gifted it. But only part of me.

And, in conclusion, we’ve been sending more and more text messages over the last week or so. Until today it had always been me who sent a message first (and the only one who’s actually called the other), but this morning she sent me one out of the blue to tell me that she was at home because her daughter wasn’t feeling well. So, again, that’s a nice feeling, all this communicating more.

And we’re going out tomorrow. I’m figuring dinner and something (anyone, any ideas?). I told her that I was thinking paintball would be a good way to bond–you know, because going home from a date with welts will definitely make it a memorable one. Luckily, I’m pretty sure she got the joke. And that’s always a good thing. Not everyone gets my jokes.

But, anyway, that’s it. Nothing crazy, perhaps nothing interesting. I’m yawning myself because it feels so calm and good and real. Mmm hmm.

Recapping, part zwei

October 23, 2007

This idea of doing recaps in pieces just isn’t working out, is it? For every five days worth of material, I get one in the books.

Why have I not been driven to write as of late? I have the same amount of time as I did last spring. Maybe the time is coming for me to look at what I’ve written and see it as a complete cycle. The whole idea all along has been to fictionalize it (even more so than the process of deciding what to report is already a form of fictionalization) and I’m thinking I’m at the point where I have a complete story. You know, fill in a few car chases and I’ve got myself a blockbuster. heh.

Anyway, I haven’t seen K2 since Thursday, but that’s okay. We’ve texted a couple of times so I’m happy with that. She’s not the sort of girl you want to hover around and look needy in front of. But last night I did get a little quality time with the Jilted One, not to mention JetBlue. Nothing stands out in any of the conversations though. Oh, except when the Police’s “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” came on and the Jilted One looked at me and smiled: “They’re playing your song.”

Ouch.

But, anyway, this is the point when I make the false promise of “More Later.”