Fishing expedition
Feb. 25th, 2004 08:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tedwordsI think I’m actually becoming a human being again about this dating thing.
The Real Story: Into the Stream
Recently I started up a conversation with a guy named Rich, who lives farther North in Massachusetts, but has been visiting the Eldredge area for about a month to reorganize an office for the company he works for.
Rich is good looking enough, and has repeatedly been telling me how much he wants to meet me, how handsome he thinks I am, how he doesn’t date that often because most guys aren’t good enough for him, blah blah blah blah blah…
And I was going to see him, really I was, but for some reason, huge warning bells have been going off in my head.
They started going off last Wednesday. I said I’d meet him after a dinner I was going to, for a drink, and he asked whether I just wanted to meet him at his hotel room, because he had whiskey there.
Ummm….no. I don’t know you, buddy. Why the hell would I meet you in your hotel room to drink whiskey?
I stewed about it for a bit, went home to visit Josie and the kids, and then called him back and said I didn’t want to meet him at his hotel room, but we could meet for a drink if he wanted to. “Well, it’s getting late now,” he replied. “But why don’t we meet sometime next week?”
Okay. We were supposed to meet Monday, but frankly, I still had a love hangover from the evening before, and thank God, he called and said he was sick. So we rescheduled for tonight.
I called after I got out of work, at six. I said that I needed to go home and take a shower, and would he mind if we met for dinner around eight?
“No problem,” he said, “Hey, did I ask you about the pizza thing?”
“What pizza thing?” I asked.
“Well, I was thinking, we could just order pizza and eat in my hotel room.”
Dude. Didn’t we already talk about this? “No, I don’t want to meet you in your hotel room,” I replied. “I thought we’d meet first at a restaurant and eat. I’m pretty hungry.”
“Cool. No problem.”
“I hope you’re not real hungry, though,” I said, in that obsessively neurotic way I have. “What are you doing now?”
“Oh, no problem,” he said. “I had a tough day, so I left early at five and I’ve just been sitting here having a few drinks.”
Oh, goody. This guy keeps saying how most guys aren’t good enough for him, how he can’t wait to see me, and so he prepares himself for the date with a few shots of whiskey into his gullet? Abso-fucking-lutely NOT.
I called him back after talking it through with [Bad username or site: ”Robcelt” @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: ”ljinsomnia” @ livejournal.com] and backed out of meeting. Sorry, not for me. I’d rather stay home, watch American Idol, and focus on Jekyll and Hyde , thanks, anyway.
Besides, I’ve got other fish I’d rather fry…or at least, swim with.
The Real Story: Into the Stream
Recently I started up a conversation with a guy named Rich, who lives farther North in Massachusetts, but has been visiting the Eldredge area for about a month to reorganize an office for the company he works for.
Rich is good looking enough, and has repeatedly been telling me how much he wants to meet me, how handsome he thinks I am, how he doesn’t date that often because most guys aren’t good enough for him, blah blah blah blah blah…
And I was going to see him, really I was, but for some reason, huge warning bells have been going off in my head.
They started going off last Wednesday. I said I’d meet him after a dinner I was going to, for a drink, and he asked whether I just wanted to meet him at his hotel room, because he had whiskey there.
Ummm….no. I don’t know you, buddy. Why the hell would I meet you in your hotel room to drink whiskey?
I stewed about it for a bit, went home to visit Josie and the kids, and then called him back and said I didn’t want to meet him at his hotel room, but we could meet for a drink if he wanted to. “Well, it’s getting late now,” he replied. “But why don’t we meet sometime next week?”
Okay. We were supposed to meet Monday, but frankly, I still had a love hangover from the evening before, and thank God, he called and said he was sick. So we rescheduled for tonight.
I called after I got out of work, at six. I said that I needed to go home and take a shower, and would he mind if we met for dinner around eight?
“No problem,” he said, “Hey, did I ask you about the pizza thing?”
“What pizza thing?” I asked.
“Well, I was thinking, we could just order pizza and eat in my hotel room.”
Dude. Didn’t we already talk about this? “No, I don’t want to meet you in your hotel room,” I replied. “I thought we’d meet first at a restaurant and eat. I’m pretty hungry.”
“Cool. No problem.”
“I hope you’re not real hungry, though,” I said, in that obsessively neurotic way I have. “What are you doing now?”
“Oh, no problem,” he said. “I had a tough day, so I left early at five and I’ve just been sitting here having a few drinks.”
Oh, goody. This guy keeps saying how most guys aren’t good enough for him, how he can’t wait to see me, and so he prepares himself for the date with a few shots of whiskey into his gullet? Abso-fucking-lutely NOT.
I called him back after talking it through with [Bad username or site: ”Robcelt” @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: ”ljinsomnia” @ livejournal.com] and backed out of meeting. Sorry, not for me. I’d rather stay home, watch American Idol, and focus on Jekyll and Hyde , thanks, anyway.
Besides, I’ve got other fish I’d rather fry…or at least, swim with.
