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Jan. 2nd, 2019 12:43 pm
Novel priorities
New Year's morning I was presented with the choice of bros vs hoes and made the right one.
At some point in the evening, the Street (someone Liver Laddoo introduced me to and subsequently fell out with) texted me and offered me a ride to NYD's brunch at Big Red's. We've fooled around a couple times but the last time we got together, he made some...interesting choices which have left me thinking of him as something of a flakeburger. In any case, I said "Sure"...and then heard nothing until ten minutes before the event was scheduled to start; I don't know if he forgot when it started or what, but it was going to be at least a half hour before he'd be ready to come by. I told him I'd simply meet him there, knowing that this would most likely sink my chances of hooking up with him (which they did). It was another hour or two before he made it to brunch.
But wait, there's more! I always keep a ho in reserve, so I texted this new man who was slated to be my first ever hookup from the monthly bear coffees. He'd offered me a scent diffuser--which I'm genuinely interested in--but any illusions that this was other than a pretext for him were shattered when he responded to one of my texts with "hey sexy". We were supposed to get together on Sunday, but he pleaded illness. Once I knew the Street was a dead end, I texted to see how he was doing and went right back into the sweet talk.
He lives around the corner from Big Red, so I considered stopping by for a quickie. It was a surer thing than calling on him afterwards, but it would also make me later and I was determined not to saunter in hours after the start time like last year. So I went right to the brunch. After being there about three hours, I texted to see if he still wanted to get together; no answer. I hung around another hour-an-a-half waiting for a reply before setting out for home. (A five-word reply finally arrived around 10 p.m., long after I'd written him off for good.)
I'm also embracing my role as the "Party Introvert Whisperer". I owe Lily-of-the-Valley for making me conscious of this. He mentioned some weeks back that he gloms onto me at parties because I'm someone he knows he can have a low-key chat with. I used to value those interactions less because I'd see them as distracting me from the real purpose of a party, i.e. maximising the number of interactions, but now I see myself as providing a valuable service.
This came home to me on NYE, at a party hosted by a Neapolitan friend and his husband. At first I felt like I shouldn't be monopolising one of the hosts and tried to circulate. But I ended up with the Italian again, we started talking books, and he invited me to see his library upstairs. We ended up going through them exhaustively as it occurred to me that he'd much rather be here than checking in with his guests. Less than thirty minutes to midnight, his husband (an electrical engineer who hasn't cracked a book since college) appeared in the door way asking, "Where have you been?" and we reluctantly rejoined the modest throng. (Later, me and the husband would sneak down to the basement to play pinball on his restored machines.)
At some point in the evening, the Street (someone Liver Laddoo introduced me to and subsequently fell out with) texted me and offered me a ride to NYD's brunch at Big Red's. We've fooled around a couple times but the last time we got together, he made some...interesting choices which have left me thinking of him as something of a flakeburger. In any case, I said "Sure"...and then heard nothing until ten minutes before the event was scheduled to start; I don't know if he forgot when it started or what, but it was going to be at least a half hour before he'd be ready to come by. I told him I'd simply meet him there, knowing that this would most likely sink my chances of hooking up with him (which they did). It was another hour or two before he made it to brunch.
But wait, there's more! I always keep a ho in reserve, so I texted this new man who was slated to be my first ever hookup from the monthly bear coffees. He'd offered me a scent diffuser--which I'm genuinely interested in--but any illusions that this was other than a pretext for him were shattered when he responded to one of my texts with "hey sexy". We were supposed to get together on Sunday, but he pleaded illness. Once I knew the Street was a dead end, I texted to see how he was doing and went right back into the sweet talk.
He lives around the corner from Big Red, so I considered stopping by for a quickie. It was a surer thing than calling on him afterwards, but it would also make me later and I was determined not to saunter in hours after the start time like last year. So I went right to the brunch. After being there about three hours, I texted to see if he still wanted to get together; no answer. I hung around another hour-an-a-half waiting for a reply before setting out for home. (A five-word reply finally arrived around 10 p.m., long after I'd written him off for good.)
I'm also embracing my role as the "Party Introvert Whisperer". I owe Lily-of-the-Valley for making me conscious of this. He mentioned some weeks back that he gloms onto me at parties because I'm someone he knows he can have a low-key chat with. I used to value those interactions less because I'd see them as distracting me from the real purpose of a party, i.e. maximising the number of interactions, but now I see myself as providing a valuable service.
This came home to me on NYE, at a party hosted by a Neapolitan friend and his husband. At first I felt like I shouldn't be monopolising one of the hosts and tried to circulate. But I ended up with the Italian again, we started talking books, and he invited me to see his library upstairs. We ended up going through them exhaustively as it occurred to me that he'd much rather be here than checking in with his guests. Less than thirty minutes to midnight, his husband (an electrical engineer who hasn't cracked a book since college) appeared in the door way asking, "Where have you been?" and we reluctantly rejoined the modest throng. (Later, me and the husband would sneak down to the basement to play pinball on his restored machines.)