I nearly titled this Seven Hours of "Parking," but then I thought better of it. Then, I thought about calling it All The Things He Did Right... but again, it just wasn't what I wanted in a title...
The truth is... I'm not even sure today was a date. Defining it as that brings up a lot of the insecurities I haven't quite worked through yet. CatMan picked me up at 10:30am-ish. He played with the cats while I finished rushing around and pulling my shigt together, and then we were off... In a REALLY CUTE little red two-seater Toyota thingy. Apparently, he also has one in blue. I think this car was born in the '80's, and it was just FUN to ride in, without being the "pimp-daddy date car" that it could easily have been. Part of the fun was that CatMan is a good driver, and I could actually ignore the road and focus on the conversation while we drove out to the well-treed park we were planning to walk around in. It was actually very easy to relax and allow the whole day to just unfold. I really appreciated that.
The plan was to take a short jaunt through the tree-lined paths of the public park, nosh on some munchies (he brought cheese and crackers and berries from his yummy black raspberry bush and a knife to cut the bread and napkins and...-- I brought Dave's Killer Bread and some Mediterranean Kalamata Olives), and get home again before the day got hot.
But we had such easy conversation, and it was so much cooler among the trees, that we eventually ran out of trail and settled on a park bench (in the PARK, so technically we were "PARKING") for another hour or two of talk. Just talk. Really. I think we got back to my place (and promptly walked up the street for an ice cream cone and some more conversation) around 6pm.
Turns out he's an ice cream freak. Not as bad as I am, but close. Turns out, he takes my teasing pretty well-- though I wasn't always sure he knew I WAS teasing him. I might need to work on that. And while I'm into corny action flicks, he's into corny action heroes (and the constant rash of tv series about them)... I own more DVDs, but his CD collection outweighs mine by a couple of decibel points. (Ahem-- I meant decimal. I did.)
We both have moms who like to collect and/or save large quantities of inexpensive and potentially useful storage items. (read: pack rats)... He's into live and let live yard work, and he's scrupulous about it. I'm happy I don't have a yard (though I do dream of an herb garden and some shade trees one day...), and I'm glad to hear the baby maples stand a chance, even if the conifer doesn't. Basically, we had entire conversations about stuff that the other person knew almost but not quite completely NOTHING ABOUT, even though you'd think from the outside that the topics we each enjoyed would seriously overlap at some point. It was very entertaining.
We both seem to be at a point where we'd rather not have a relationship at all than settle for one that's not so great. And, like I said, we both love ice cream. I have to say, I think there's potential. Isn't that bizarre?
And, truthfully, it's a little scary.
Sunday, July 20
Thursday, July 17
The randomness...
...
WANT.
CHOCOLATE.
To drink with a spoon.
...NAGKED.
(see below for details)
The randomness that is life...: Danger defined
WANT.
CHOCOLATE.
To drink with a spoon.
...NAGKED.
(see below for details)
The randomness that is life...: Danger defined
What's Your Favorite...
I'd forgotten that there can be this awkward period of "getting to know you" when you make new friends. Especially if you both know there's a possibility that you might be more than friends-- and neither one of you is really sure you're ready for that. I also hadn't realized that the questions I'd have asked in high school might not be quite so appropriate now...
Questions like: What's your favorite color? and Who's your favorite actor? and Which do you prefer-- boxers or briefs? (well, okay, that was college)... Umm...
It's actually a funny thing-- talking on the telephone, trying to find mutual topics of conversation, not sure of each other's verbal patterns so you end up starting to respond before he stops talking-- often enough to feel foolish about it. Some people are just easier to talk with in person, and with others... an hour or two might go by unnoticed while your relationship blooms via the technology that links you. It's a hit-or-miss sort of thing.
The good news is that I've discovered I no longer hold a grudge against everyone who shares the same interests, career, or bone structure as my Ex. I'm really fine with military guys (though that last one was a bit of a flake), and it's okay if you play the occasional video game (just don't play so much that you have to stop yourself from going into the nearest jewelry store because your "supply of pearls is low"). I can even handle men with a predilection for ... well, never mind that one. It's just good to know that I'm (generally speaking, since I'm not perfect) going into any future dating relationships with no preconceived judgments or expectations. It really IS going to be about how things go between me and the man I'm talking to. The ghosts are finally fading away. YAYYYY!!!
So... No Shight, there we were. Having a conversation about cats. His cats. His two female black cats who sound really fun, and have their own playground that has taken over most of the living room floor, and includes several army-issue ponchos because the material actually sheds cat fur. His cats that he picked out of a litter of kittens, and one of whom he has named Morgan, after Morgan le Fae from Arthurian Legends. How F-ing COOL is THAT?!
The things we talked about HINT at awesome things that didn't quite reach the surface. And I'm hooked. I want to find out if those hints are fool's gold or something more precious. And I want to be respectful. But it takes getting to know someone to really understand what "respectful" looks like to them. And I don't know him very well yet. So I'm guessing. I told myself very firmly-- months ago now-- that if I ever DID date somebody ever again, I would NOT play the whole "how long am I supposed to wait before I call back?!" guessing game. No. And now, here I am. Wondering if I can call and tell him about my weekend on Sunday, or if I should wait until later in the week-- give him a chance to call me again. ...and I'm not sure there's any way to avoid hazarding a few guesses. For instance, I guess I should probably stop editing this blog post, and get some sleep.
I can tell right now that I need to create a new label for all the posts that are going to show up about dating, now that I'm actually out there trying to participate in it.
And-- Hey!-- How the hell do you know if a guy is the right age for you anymore?! It was easy when we were all in school together-- either he was in your classes or he wasn't. But now? ...Umm...
While the whole age-range of datability has expanded as I've grown up (at twelve, dating a guy two years older was like REALLY BOLD-- I mean, he's OLD!!!), and I've discovered that I'm now okay with someone ten years older than me, I think, until proven otherwise, on a case-by-case basis, maybe... TWENTY YEARS IS PUSHING IT. But that's me. And if I run into a couple with a greater range in age than what I would accept for myself, I try to make my judgement based on whether there is respect, appreciation, maturity and enjoyment from each person for the other or not-- because those are the only things I know for a fact should exist in every relationship regardless.
Okay. That was a seriously run-on sentence. But it's a valid question. The older we get, the harder it is for me to guess how old we are. And can I just tell you that I was accused of being petite and blonde over the phone today? By a very nice woman who lives in Georgia. She's never seen me before, but I just SOUNDED like a blonde to her. Along these same lines, a friend once shocked me to my toes by telling me that he would describe me as "perky." ME?? ReALLY?? But... I'm so BORING! ... and he gave me that "what planet does your mirror live on, really??" look, so I guess it's true. Me. Perky.
...And I'd forgotten about it, and gone back to thinking of myself as boring and not anything like those fun cheerful bouncy cheerleader types... I mean, really. I'm a librarian, man. ...Until I talked with this woman from Georgia. And then the man with the cats called. I found myself trying not to say "like" quite so often, and not being quite as ...uhh... twinkly and random?... in my responses to his conversation. I didn't want to come across as "young" or "immature" or ... "blonde" somehow... And when I realized what I was doing, I had to laugh at myself. Either he'll like me or he won't. And either I'll like him or I won't.
But pretending to anybody that I don't stand on one foot and sing Christmas carols to myself when I wash dishes is just silly. Because all you have to do is walk into the kitchen while I'm doing dishes, and you realize that this is EXACTLY what I do, people. HONESTLY. And, just as with the whole "perky" thing, I didn't even know I did that until one day my mom came home from work early, walked into the kitchen, and burst out laughing to the point of actual tears.
...sigh...
I don't think I have this hangup in person, however (the one about trying to appear mature), so I'm going to cross my fingers and hope that the next time CatMan calls, he'll be calling to invite me to do something face-to-face. And maybe, if he's nice, I'll even sing him a Christmas carol or two. Like.
Questions like: What's your favorite color? and Who's your favorite actor? and Which do you prefer-- boxers or briefs? (well, okay, that was college)... Umm...
It's actually a funny thing-- talking on the telephone, trying to find mutual topics of conversation, not sure of each other's verbal patterns so you end up starting to respond before he stops talking-- often enough to feel foolish about it. Some people are just easier to talk with in person, and with others... an hour or two might go by unnoticed while your relationship blooms via the technology that links you. It's a hit-or-miss sort of thing.
The good news is that I've discovered I no longer hold a grudge against everyone who shares the same interests, career, or bone structure as my Ex. I'm really fine with military guys (though that last one was a bit of a flake), and it's okay if you play the occasional video game (just don't play so much that you have to stop yourself from going into the nearest jewelry store because your "supply of pearls is low"). I can even handle men with a predilection for ... well, never mind that one. It's just good to know that I'm (generally speaking, since I'm not perfect) going into any future dating relationships with no preconceived judgments or expectations. It really IS going to be about how things go between me and the man I'm talking to. The ghosts are finally fading away. YAYYYY!!!
So... No Shight, there we were. Having a conversation about cats. His cats. His two female black cats who sound really fun, and have their own playground that has taken over most of the living room floor, and includes several army-issue ponchos because the material actually sheds cat fur. His cats that he picked out of a litter of kittens, and one of whom he has named Morgan, after Morgan le Fae from Arthurian Legends. How F-ing COOL is THAT?!
The things we talked about HINT at awesome things that didn't quite reach the surface. And I'm hooked. I want to find out if those hints are fool's gold or something more precious. And I want to be respectful. But it takes getting to know someone to really understand what "respectful" looks like to them. And I don't know him very well yet. So I'm guessing. I told myself very firmly-- months ago now-- that if I ever DID date somebody ever again, I would NOT play the whole "how long am I supposed to wait before I call back?!" guessing game. No. And now, here I am. Wondering if I can call and tell him about my weekend on Sunday, or if I should wait until later in the week-- give him a chance to call me again. ...and I'm not sure there's any way to avoid hazarding a few guesses. For instance, I guess I should probably stop editing this blog post, and get some sleep.
I can tell right now that I need to create a new label for all the posts that are going to show up about dating, now that I'm actually out there trying to participate in it.
And-- Hey!-- How the hell do you know if a guy is the right age for you anymore?! It was easy when we were all in school together-- either he was in your classes or he wasn't. But now? ...Umm...
While the whole age-range of datability has expanded as I've grown up (at twelve, dating a guy two years older was like REALLY BOLD-- I mean, he's OLD!!!), and I've discovered that I'm now okay with someone ten years older than me, I think, until proven otherwise, on a case-by-case basis, maybe... TWENTY YEARS IS PUSHING IT. But that's me. And if I run into a couple with a greater range in age than what I would accept for myself, I try to make my judgement based on whether there is respect, appreciation, maturity and enjoyment from each person for the other or not-- because those are the only things I know for a fact should exist in every relationship regardless.
Okay. That was a seriously run-on sentence. But it's a valid question. The older we get, the harder it is for me to guess how old we are. And can I just tell you that I was accused of being petite and blonde over the phone today? By a very nice woman who lives in Georgia. She's never seen me before, but I just SOUNDED like a blonde to her. Along these same lines, a friend once shocked me to my toes by telling me that he would describe me as "perky." ME?? ReALLY?? But... I'm so BORING! ... and he gave me that "what planet does your mirror live on, really??" look, so I guess it's true. Me. Perky.
...And I'd forgotten about it, and gone back to thinking of myself as boring and not anything like those fun cheerful bouncy cheerleader types... I mean, really. I'm a librarian, man. ...Until I talked with this woman from Georgia. And then the man with the cats called. I found myself trying not to say "like" quite so often, and not being quite as ...uhh... twinkly and random?... in my responses to his conversation. I didn't want to come across as "young" or "immature" or ... "blonde" somehow... And when I realized what I was doing, I had to laugh at myself. Either he'll like me or he won't. And either I'll like him or I won't.
But pretending to anybody that I don't stand on one foot and sing Christmas carols to myself when I wash dishes is just silly. Because all you have to do is walk into the kitchen while I'm doing dishes, and you realize that this is EXACTLY what I do, people. HONESTLY. And, just as with the whole "perky" thing, I didn't even know I did that until one day my mom came home from work early, walked into the kitchen, and burst out laughing to the point of actual tears.
...sigh...
I don't think I have this hangup in person, however (the one about trying to appear mature), so I'm going to cross my fingers and hope that the next time CatMan calls, he'll be calling to invite me to do something face-to-face. And maybe, if he's nice, I'll even sing him a Christmas carol or two. Like.
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