It was quite a weekend, you guys. I'd like to make this a more upbeat entry, so let's get the somber out of the way right now and acknowledge the tragedy of the Columbia disaster. Anyone touched by this event? You're in my heart right now.
Other than that particularly horrific event, this weekend was an incongruously good one. I mean, the weather was great (well, here in LA it was...and believe you me, my mother had a few choice words to say about the temperature imbalance between her location and mine), and May Day's parents were staying with us this weekend. They're good people, those two.
Anyway, on Friday, I'd made tentative arrangements to go out on a date over the weekend. No, not with that guy. A different guy. However, that meant I once again had to run through an obstacle course of nerves that was like the psychological equivalent of the American Gladiators Eliminator round. You know...kinda like last time. It was up to me to call him, of course, so there was really about a fifty-fifty chance it would get done. I'm such a chicken-shit.
Anyway, I was going to call around noon, but then I thought, "Well, I'll just go buy groceries first." Which I did, and in record time of course. So then I was all, "Well...um, I have to buy my mother a birthday present, so I'll just do that and then call when I get back." So I went out, and went through much ado about buying my mother's present -- because seriously, y'all, she couldn't just want the soundtrack to Chicago like everyone else, she had to have this pair of slippers from Restoration Hardware. Of course, it then turned out that everyone else wanted those too, so they were all practically sold out and it was this whole ordeal. Eventually, though, it was sorted out and I was on my way home.
In the car, I was listening to this mix I made a long time ago, and my Third Favorite Song by Destiny's Child came on, and I got all excited. For those keeping score, it was Independent Women, Part 1. I only like that song because when it comes on, I sing my own lyrics to it so that it fits my life a little better. Like this:
The shoes on my feet
(They're ancient)
The clothes I'm wearing
(I made 'em)
The rock I'm rockin'
(It's pirated)
'Cause I depend on me
If I wanted the watch you're wearin'
(I'd steal it)
The house I live in
(It's my parents')
The car I'm driving
(It's borrowed)
I depend on me
(I depend on me)
See. Like that.Anyway, I eventually realized I just couldn't put it off any longer. I'm so sick of being cowed by situations that just shouldn't be that big of a deal. I mean, what was I worried about? That he'd try to assassinate me through some wicked telephonic mojo? That I'd call and he'd completely reject me based on my personality, thusly shattering my self-confidence forever and causing me to think twice before ever opening my mouth again? I don't know. Could've been either.
Anyway, I steeled my resolve and made the call. And let me tell you right now, people, I was smooth as glass. Broken glass. With those air bubbles and shit all in it. In short? My Cool was taking the day off. In spite of this, he actually initiated the dating procedure. Which is a good thing, because I had absolutely no segues left in my rapidly depleting arsenal of suave.
Then May Day's parents took us out to dinner, and it rocked. We had a ninety minute wait, though, so they took us to a martini bar first, and I had absolutely The Best Martini Ever, followed by a damn good dinner. Afterwards, it was home again, home again, jiggety-jig. Well, minus the jig.
And then? It was date time. Fortunately, I was still feeling the martini a little bit, which gave me all the courage I really needed to see this through. And frankly? I'm quite glad that I did.
The date honestly went very well. First of all, he was even cuter than the last guy -- and that comment was so superficial and unimportant that I think I just turned into Carrie Bradshaw as I wrote it -- but there you have it. It's a fact. And anyway, I'm thinking, "Rats!" because someone that good-looking can certainly attract someone a lot smoother than I, but then as soon as we sat down, he's telling me about how clumsy he is and how he feels awkward trying to flirt and -- get this -- how nervous he was about meeting me. No, really. He said he was nervous. About meeting me. Me! Stop looking at me like that, this wasn't some deranged fantasy, and the martini wasn't that strong.
Anyway, the point was that my heart would have melted if it hadn't been shrunk into a withered, icy knot of graphite from years of watching Dawson's Creek. And to top it all off...well, I don't want to talk about it too much and and end up jinxing it. Suffice it to say that this is the first truly nice guy I've met in a very long time, and I'd like to not fuck it up.
Anyway, I'm just going to sit here and be happy, and try not to act too certifiable about it all. Because I'm independent, yo. I depend on me (I depend on me).