Last night the wind whipped like demons and rattled the trees like “plastic for Halloween” bones. There was an exorcism of the environment and I think, perhaps, it hailed. Winds of change? Here’s hoping. I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m not much of a sleeper, and when I’m not sleeping, I’m thinking. Last night, as I often do, I was thinking of you and this place. There are a few stories that are itching the tips of my fingers. A new quiz. And perhaps a musical interlude. But first…
I have a lot to say to you, but the thing is, I’m really busy with other stuff, including a new job, plus my old job, and planning a big bash for my 35th, and being an insomniac, obviously, so you’ve taken a well-worn back seat. Plus, I haven’t been on a “date” (see below*) since January and I’m taking a break, I don’t know for how long, hopefully at least months, because dating is the pits. See The Big Book of Bad Dates.
And when I come back, you might notice some changes. In fact, you might have already noticed some changes. I have yet to finish Part II of this posting but one of the things I’d like to talk about is that I have known many, many wonderful men. Some of them I loved and some of them loved me back. I have not lived a loveless life and sometimes when I read back over my blog it feels like that is how I’ve been portraying the whole shebang. So, I’d like to talk about some of the good ones, the “best men,” if you will. The other thing is that I’ve managed to pigeonhole myself into only talking about one topic: dating, and I think I have other things to say about other things. So, because I’m taking a sabbatical from dating, maybe you’ll indulge me a few postings about my other interests.
So hang in there, kiddo. I’m still here. And I’ll be back.
Luv u 4-evah,
* Short story short, as often happens, there was an ill-advised re-rendezvous with a bad date.
In this case it was Conover. I was hoping, because of our shared interests and the fact that we seemed to appreciate each others company, we could be friends (I’ve managed to successfully segue from “potential romantic partner,” to “pals” with some of my favorite guys and found it quite enjoyable and beneficial to both of us. In this case I was wrong.) The whole thing was a big ugly flashback to Junior High. He invited me to go to “trivia night” at a local bar. A group of his friends were regulars at this particular bar, for this particular event, about once a week. Unfortunately, they were clearly uninterested in having me crash their party and made it very uncomfortable by acting completely put out that I was there, taking up a precious chair. (For the record, I can hold my own at trivia. Ask anybody who has ever played Trivial Pursuit with me. You want me on your team. And anyway, it’s f’ing BAR TRIVIA in PODUNK, USA. Have another beer and lighten up, geez.)
While pretty much everybody else just ignored me after their initial looks of disdain, one poor girl took it upon herself to be the friendship bridge troll of the group. She lobbed one forked tongue comment after another in my direction all the while throwing back red wine and lording over the answer sheet. She was the kind of girl who had been misled to believe that being smart could not be reconciled with being kind, graceful or charming so she ended up in academia where social ineptitude, personality eccentricities and ill-fitting pants tend to flourish. She was obviously carrying a torch for Mr. Fish and took one look at my upturned lashes, ruddy, full lips and lack of ill-fitting pants and decided it was a battle to the death. She spat her final words to me, when it was announced their team came in fourth place, “well, I guess it’s pretty obvious we didn’t need you here.” Yep.
I had one final communication from Conover – a text message the next day. “I’m not very good at relationships.” I know. Also, your friends are crap.
P.S. My friends and I formed our very own trivia team and have had a marvelous time attending a weekly trivia night at our local bar. Last week we took second place.