Last Sunday I met up with a lady for some drinks. I would say it was a nice time, and I found myself impressed that I could sustain a conversation for about two and a half hours with someone I really didn't know that well. She was smart and good-natured, and we had some things in common, but I wasn't sure how interested I was in pursuing something with her. Yet, she drove me home, and I wasn't convinced I should write the whole thing off quite yet and decided, if she was game, I would like to go out with her again and I could render a verdict.
We texted each other back and forth a few times throughout the week when I was trying to make a living on the quiet lonely streets of Portland (yes, I have taken up whoring as a way of supporting myself). Months ago I came to rely on the texts of another to help me through those quiet nights, and while those days are long gone, I still yearn for that human contact, so I text random people and see if I can get some conversations out of it. And I found myself having a few with this woman, and I enjoyed them a lot. She had some clever things to write, and we had some good back-and-forth exchanges. So maybe I was correct in not completely writing her off.
The two of us got together last night at the Bar of Chocolate. I had this super chocolate-y cake and an Irish coffee martini; she had the orange-raspberry cheesecake and a chocolate martini. We met up at 8 o'clock, and before nine I was in the bathroom texting a friend telling her I was bored and needed to find a way to get out of there. I just was not feeling it. I was struggling to find things to talk about (she wasn't much help), and I found myself getting into mildly amusing stories about my job and rambling to some extent about them. I was afraid I was turning into the asshole that finds the need to talk about his job at great length, and this really bothered me because 1. while I do walk away with some interesting tales, I do not care for my job, and 2. for me to talk about myself, especially to the extent I that I did, meant a severe lapse in conversation topics.
I thought it was good this did not work out, for once I was in the bathroom I discovered that I did not wash my hair (though it still looked presentable, just more super spiky than usual) and I missed a few spots shaving (though those spots were only noticeable upon a close-up inspection). The reason for my half-assed attempt at grooming was not intentional: before getting ready I was playing Fable III and really got into it, and I lost track of time so I had to shower and groom faster than I would have liked. I didn't even have time to eat dinner.
So I came out of the bathroom and a few minutes later apologized for being tired and spacey - I woke up earlier than I wanted this morning (which was true, pulling my usual stunt of waking up two hours before my alarm, but I was neither sleepy nor at sea: I was just really really bored). She seemed to have bought my story, despite me just ingesting coffee liquer and a fuckload of chocolate. We left the BoC, and I walked her to her car on Moulton Street.
The lady asked me if I wanted a ride home, and I politely declined, giving her a story that I needed to make myself stay up because I worked late the next day (also true), so I was going for a walk. We parted ways, and I walked to Videoport for some discs of Califonication and then onto Boru for some beer.
As I am sure you can guess, gentle reader, I am done with the lady, at least in any sort of romantic capacity. I am out $20 and an hour and a half of my time. This I can live with. But not much more.
such a heartbreaker
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