Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Failed Attempts & Outfits Missed

It's Friday night, another day, one more evening, a reoccurring failed attempt of going out. Exactly how many times should one try and meet up with someone? It shouldn't be too hard right? You make a date, you anticipate the day, making sure you have the right outfit that says you didn't try too hard (this is something I casually throw on), and then one or the other picks each other up. Done deal, right? Before you know it, you are getting a text, never a phone call because that makes it more awkward and you have to deal with the situation at hand right then and there, he lets you know that he has to cancel. Something unexpectedly came up. Its always unexpected.  You chalk this failed attempt to another flaky moment in courtesy of another gay guy brought not to you by Frosted Flakes.

We met at a night club one evening where we were introduced by a mutual friend. He was outside, having a drink (later to be learned that it was water and he doesn't drink anymore), waiting to go on as the DJ. Standing in front of the double doors, we spoke about music and how the landscape of it has changed over the past few years. I let him in on my guilty pleasure, that I love old skool music, and Art Laboe. Gangster at heart (I can, I wear plaid). He was taken aback that I would be interested in music that was older than me and that he had grown up with...he is 43. It was a great evening, we exchanged numbers and decided we would meet up outside the club where we could hear ourselves talk a little bit better over some food and water/drinks. 

A few days went by when we both committed to a day that would work best with our conflicting schedules. He works Monday through Friday, while my schedule is pretty much everywhere depending on what is going on. Before I knew it, the day had crawled unnoticed into my week and I was finding myself looking for what to wear and getting ready last minute, when, a couple of hours before he extended the time and asked, can we meet later in the eveningOf course, I said. If you warn me ahead of time, that is great. Gives me more time to finalize what I am wearing, brush my teeth for the hundreth time, and make sure I haven't applied too much chapstick. Neurotic, just a tad bit. The evening drew closer, my anticipation was killing me that I had to grab a snack. I eat when I get nervous, which leads to my stomach hurting and me checking my teeth for stains every minute. I turn the Apple TV on, play some music, mellow out, and instead I find my mind wandering, already waiting for the text of, hey can we reschedule. Or worse yet, the dreaded he isn't even going to text and leave me hanging here, all prettied up in the best outfit I have ever worn. What is this, Pretty in Pink? Wake up, where is my Duckie?

He never text back. Or called.

Definitely not wanting to be the bitch to text back and sound desperate, the best was to assume something came up. He maybe had family come by and he isn't out so he had to stay home rather than lie and say he was going out with a woman or something. Or, maybe he forgot he had something scheduled that evening, a cuter guy, another date, washing his hair and relacing his shoes. Because all of those CAN happen.

Later I find out, through yet another text, that he felt really tired after work and ended up falling asleep. Oh, ok. Maybe that's my problem, I am a sucker, gullible, willing to believe any excuse other than listen to my own head. I remember the guy saying he works right down the street from where I live...so he was tired? We could have easily met up right after he was off, rather than drive back home, get ready, and then go back out. We could have made it a short night. 

After that week, I decided I would head out and get a drink with a few friends. There he was the DJ again. Yeah, I knew he would be there, but I wasn't going to get all stalkarazzi on him. I simply wanted to go out, see a few old friends, and have a drink. He walks down from the DJ area and leaves his friend spinning, and walks right over to me. He apologized in person and asked if we could meet up again. I am a nice person, sometimes, so I said yes. Figuring this time he would feel bad so he wouldn't flake or fall asleep when he got home from work.

This time I was going to be prepared and have my outfit picked out and not get ready until he confirmed that evening. I wasn't going to be the fool...plus maybe I could save the outfit for another day if he did flake. The night slowly passed, and I continued to watch reruns of Queer As Folk, my brand new old obsession. On a side note, never watch QAF before a date, especially a first date, all the sex scenes just make you horny and then you have wild circuit party music running through your head in the evening. We had set to go out again at 7, the magical hour. He wasn't going to call again, at least that is what was running through my head. This time he was going to give me some lame excuse that something was wrong with his car and that he couldn't leave the house, regardless of the fact that I drive, and have a car, and can also pick him up. So instead I would go out with my friends to the bar to get a drink, and bitch about that fact that I was stood up yet again...only to see him there at the bar with some other guy. I would have my lines prepared and my dagger eyes sharpened, able to cut through steel and flaky guys.

Worked up in a rage of already making up his excuses in my own head, knowing that he would flake, I was ready and prepared. You don'y just make a date and cancel...two times. Who does that? If you want to see someone then you make the effort, especially if you say you want to get to know the person better.

I hear my phone beep, announcing the inevitable text message. It said, I can't make it tonight, my dad is going into surgery...damn I feel like a bitch.

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