The Difference, Redux

So after my Friday the 13th romance revelation in Portland, I returned home with a renewed sense of purpose toward my dating exploits.

I dumped the, pardon the expression, fuck buddy after telling him that I sought something more meaningful. I made it clear that seeking that depth in a relationship didn't exclude him, but I knew that beneath his repeat trips to my place lay nothing more than an interest in a good lay. He is 21, after all. Wanting more from that situation is like wanting marriage equality from a Republican administration. Besides, if I knew he was coming over each week, how hard would I really look for something deeper?

That said, try to keep up with this account of my initial foray into the wilds of Seattle:

I met a guy in a bar while I was out enjoying a few drinks with my friends, Mark and Brian. I spoke to him. I expressed my interest in him. As he was leaving me with nothing, I became aware of another man in the bar staring at me. I ignored this. I can project, fairly accurately, what his thoughts might have been-but until he makes himself available, he's just another barfly.

Seriously...he's there with a pitcher of my favorite food every time I go to the Elite.

Soon enough, all of my friends fade into the night and I am nursing the last of my beer alone. The Barfly is staring at me again. No easy thing, considering I am directly behind him. He has turned himself completely around on his barstool to stare at me.

Feeling belligerent, I stare back. Holding his gaze with mine. I realize how much stronger I am than him, as his increasing discomfort is betrayed in his eyes.

Still, he won't let go. I am slightly impressed by this but suspect he has selected a spot slightly over my head to stare at, making it easier for him to rise to my challenge.

I release him with the raising of a single eyebrow-no small feat given the amount of botulism in my forehead. He turns around and nurses his loss in his pitcher.

Finishing my beer, I reflect on the evening and how quickly I retreated from my earlier assertiveness to my old habits by playing a mind game with the Barfly. He's someone that I have been warned to stay away from which should be reason enough for me to engage yet I confine my actions to games-which, not for nothing, I do win. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my friends found him to be an unsatisfactory person for me that kept me from exercising my new strategy of making myself available. Putting it out there, so to speak.

Yet I was the one who was in the hot seat. The object of affection. For the moment. Why must I make any move at all? If he had wanted me, he could have very well (perhaps) gotten off of his barstool and come over to speak with me, right?

Laying aside these distinctly un-heavy thoughts, I make my way to the bathroom before heading home.

He tracks me in the mirror the whole way. Pussy. But that pejorative may be a bit harsh depending on how long he has lived in Seattle. He simply may not know how to behave or express his interest in a functional capacity. It is a hazard of this environment.

Or probably he was drunk.

Berating myself in the restroom (internally, of course) for letting his bs put me off my commitment to myself to be more assertive in finding an acceptable dating situation, I made a point of stopping to speak with him on my way back from the bathroom.

"I couldn't help but notice you looking at me before." No wonder I'm single.

But what a wonderfully sublime statement. He was staring. And my return gaze was simply hostile.

Anyway, Barfly and I talk, he invites me to sit and I accept having found that I actually am enjoying the conversation.

After about 20 minutes, the first guy walks back in. Gay-ja vu!

He seems absorbed with his group of friends, so I just stay put and enjoy the conversation while the bar burns down around me. No, wait...that bright light wasn't fire, it was the lights coming on. Shit, I closed the worst bar in Seattle! Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Barfly is too drunk to drive, so I bring him home and let him sleep it off. He passes out immediately, which is nice. I stick to my own side of the bed and have a fitful night's rest. In the morning we snuggle a bit and then exchange numbers as we head out into the day.

Midway through the day, I get an email on my phone letting me know that a friend request on facebook.com has been approved.

WTF?

It might be sad that I don't recall making a friend request of anyone recently. Then it hits me. On a lark, I had made the request while I was talking with my friend, Brian, the night before and the guy he was chatting up had told him to hit him up on facebook. Knowing, ok-suspecting, he wouldn't, I did.

This had the added advantage of perhaps helping me find the original boy from the Elite the night before as he had come to my attention when his friend had struck up a conversation with Brian. God bless ulterior motives.

My life is like an episode of Soap. Remember that sitcom? If they made my life into a TV show, it would be, of course, a shitcom. But I ain't complaining! LOL.

So now I have options. Just by dropping a set and talking to people I find appealing. Even if it's only physical. I mean, that's generally where anything starts, right? Who ever says, "I met the ugliest guy last night!"?

I make a tentative date on facebook with the first guy. No name for now but I am sure one will come to me soon enough. He immediately starts texting me. Frequently. It's cute, but come on, we haven't even met yet. Officially.

Around 2:00 a.m. that next day, I get a few texts from Barfly. Closing time. How charming.

Barfly wants to come over. That's a negative. Some of us have to be awake in four hours, pal. I make plans with him the following evening. Feeling good about the sitch, good practice if nothing else.

A lot happens that next day.

The boy with no name continues to text me like a teenage girl on spring break and Barfly cancels our date for that evening, not feeling well.

I leave Barfly with the "Call me when you're feeling better" chestnut, expecting never to hear from him again and make a date with the boy with no name...let's actually call him the Mad Texter.

So, as it happens, I have no real time to commit to either of these guys in the upcoming week so it's good that Barfly has malaria and is out of the equation for the week. The Mad Texter, on the other hand...sooner for him is better. I have learned in the interim that he is 22. Nothing like instinct to guide your attractions. In my defense, he looks much older. Might just be the company he keeps.

Between working toward a VP visit at work-chaotic hours included-and the gym, I manage to carve out a couple of visits to my fave watering hole, Purr, to keep up with my friends and frenemies.

Both times, the Mad Texter just happens to be there.

Creepy. You'd think I would have noticed him before this if he's so frequently in the places I frequent.

I usually enjoy a few minutes chatting to this guy (sic, as he doesn't say much) but would like to see him when one or both of us is not buzzed, so I am looking forward to our dinner date later in the week.

The big day finally comes and I get a text as I am walking over asking if we are still on. This kind of ticks me off, but I confirm.

Long and short of it? Finally? My first thoughts when I see him are "Are you stoned?" and "Thanks for dressing up". He's in a baseball tee and jeans and has eyes like he just came out of a burning building. Maybe he was at the Elite when it burned down, too...

He says almost nothing during dinner. More awkward is the fact that he seems to have difficulty making eye contact.

I find myself hoping it's because he has had a change of heart upon seeing me while he is sober. After buying dinner for him, I am barely able to manage the offer of a ride home. Barely. So I am not surprised when I exit the car at my curb and have not been thanked for dinner.

Diane Fossey, could you please begin teaching your gorillas to use sign language to communicate again? It was so useful.

Before the elevator reaches my floor, I recieve a text saying "Thanks for dinner". He is, after all, The Mad Texter.

That point notwithstanding, I haven't had much to say to him recently. What, I need a long distant relationship with someone that lives in the same town as me?

But, at least I am out there. In person and off line, which is how god would have intended it if he had any designs on my social and romantic life, I'm sure.