Meet the Kittens

Saturday night, I still hadn’t heard much from Pete (a.k.a. “Mr. Kittens”).  I texted and asked him if he had any interest in hanging out with me again.  He said he did then called me as he was on his way to dinner with friends, but that was it.  Sunday morning wasn’t much better.  I admit I forced a texting conversation about Death Metal thinking it may entice him to converse with me, but I worded it in such a way that he didn’t need to converse back if he didn’t want.  It worked.  He called.  Unlike our previous 2-hour long conversations, Sunday afternoon’s conversation felt a little awkward.  A bit stilted.  Like we were both nervous.  Seems odd though since we had talked so freely and for so long previously.  Not to mention our comedy night conversations flowed easily.

Rum & Thai

Marcus and I had dinner the other night on a night that should have maybe never have happened or should be repeated every night.  I don’t know.  It was perhaps the most confusing night I’ve ever had.  And that says something.

Earlier that afternoon, my makeup artist Michael heard that I’d be having dinner with Marcus then told me that it was absolutely necessary I look good but not over the top.  I readily agreed.  Michael worked his magic as he always does, and I left his place looking like a million bucks–but in a ladylike elegant way.  

Of course I stayed too long at Michael’s as we often get caught up in our own conversations, so I ended up arriving at the Thai restaurant to meet Marcus a few minutes late.  Me?  Late?  I know, right?  This was a first.  I parked too far away then had to backtrack.  Wasn’t entirely sure where the Thai place was.  Thank God for Google Maps!

Walking into the restaurant, I immediately saw him.  Marcus.  Seated and looking at a menu.  I wasn’t in the door for a moment before Marcus saw me, smiled, and stood up to greet me.  Our usual warm hug.  He always looks good, feels good.  I may never get over that.  

And Now . . . We Wait? (Unedited)

(Editor’s Note.  This post = Stream-of-Consciousness Version.  I’m too tired to edit my thoughts.  I’d almost apologize, but I’m too tired to care.)

Reentering the dating world scared the bejeezus out of me today.  (I’ve mentally annulled that summer date with Devon because it should never have happened.)  Overthinking everything to the extreme.  Haven’t slept well in a while either.

Random Guy (let’s call him “Pete”), 6’2”, adopted two kittens took a keen interest in me this week, much to my surprise and delight.  Monday night, we spent over two hours talking on the phone.  Comfortably too.  Tuesday night, we repeated the just over two-hour talk on the phone.  Comfortable again.  That second night of talk, he confidently told me he wanted to take me out on a date that night or any night or every night.  He was rather eager to meet me.  

We agreed to meet for the first time face-to-face for a quick dinner then a comedy show.  Pete was already attending the comedy show with his buddy, so I figured it would be a relatively safe date option.  If Pete proved to be weird at all, I could easily leave as we were in a public area.  If he was indeed as quiet/introverted as he had warned me, having him around his friend would allow me to see if Pete had a decent personality.  (Granted, I had already concluded via our phone chats that he was interesting.  And I love me some interesting men!)

Words I Didn’t Say

Ross,

You were right.  I thought about cheating on you.  Thought about leaving you many times.  You made me so unhappy.  Cheating on you would have been easy.  But I didn’t do anything.  I came back.  I wanted to make things work.  I wanted to try.  I was going to give us at least two more months of trying, but you decided we wouldn’t make it before that date ever arrived.  I am no cheater, but I’m not going to be spineless anymore.  I never earned the monicker of cheater no matter how many times you tried to make me leave you.  You like pushing people away, so here we are.  I am worthy of love, of happiness.

The Truth (or Dare) Will Set You Free

Recently, I dined with friends.  Given my latest bought of introversion and lack of savings, I wasn’t in the mood to join in the merriment.  For the past two weeks, I’ve added to my list of excuses.  The morning before the group dinner, I continued to add to the myriad of reasons I had conjured in order to get out of the evening.  Even on my drive to meet my friends, I kept thinking of all the reasons and excuses I could still provide successfully to get out of dinner.  My friends would have been temporarily disappointed (I hope), but they would have continued on in their evening and made the best of it.  I could have easily sunk back into my introvert hole and wallowed in my minor bout of depression.  The abandoning of fun seemed like an exceptionally good idea.

I was the first to arrive at dinner and immediately regretted talking myself into attending.  The first friend to show up happened to be the person who normally shows up last, Marcus.  He looked nice, and I told him that.  He looked really nice.  Even better than the last time all of us had hung out.  I noticed he still hadn’t trimmed this wisp of hair at the nape of his neck.  I had an alarming urge to reach out stroke his hair, run my fingers down his neck, nibble on his ear, etc.  A host of things I had no business thinking.