You know all that patience you have to have to figure out what the hell is happening with the members of the opposite sex? I think I'm just TOO OLD to have anymore of it.
I'm talking about things like this: why, when I see the guy I've been seeing, does he look all glad to see me, walk me places he totally isn't going, and then say "No" everytime I invite him anywhere? Why does he ask me to come out and meet his out-of-town friends, and then, when I say yes, not call me ALL NIGHT LONG, even just to say that his plans have changed? Which would be FINE WITH ME. Really!
I mean, at this point, having lowered my standard of settling for nothing short of mythical, bone-deep love, and saying to myself "Self, your requirements are the stuff of imagination! He's cute, and has a cool accent! Why not casually try out a REAL GUY, and see if you like him?" That might be a good approach, right? I mean, DUDES, I do not even require an ounce of real seriousness from this whole thing! I just want to be treated nicely and have someone to make out with sometimes, you know? However, having made those concessions, I find myself sitting in my house, bitching to my blog on Friday night, my cell phone having been transformed into an instrument of torture, just sitting there, NOT RINGING.
Then, when the celly does blow up, it's so he can somewhat plaintively ask me to join him at a nightclub, where he is going with his out-of-town friend that he wants me to meet. By this time, I'm in my PJ's, and the grumpy scowl is in danger of becoming permanent, but here's the thing: I promised to come out and meet his friend. Even more horrifying, I want to see him! Please. Kill me now.
"Oh, alright," I say, get my kit on, and go there at midnight, only to NOT FIND HIM, and have him NOT TEXT ME to tell me where he is. After and hour and a half of fruitless searching in a crowded Prague nightspot, with 80's hits rattling my already rattled brains, and trying to call about a million times, to recieve nothing but a baffling recording in Czech, I went home on the nightbus alone, around 3am, smelling like an ashtray, and muttering profanities to myself for every minute of the journey.
And, tell me again why this kind rigamarole is worth the bother? To think, just ONE MONTH AGO, having gone COLD TURKEY years back, I was entirely free of feeling like crap about crap like this. What the HELL am I supposed to think of that? I'm totally struggling here. Is this standard masculine cluelessness? Is it because he's British, and they have different rules? Drunk? In his late 20's? What? I mean, I guess I could TALK to him about it, but I just kind of feel like, if someone doesn't want to freaking HONOR THE BASICS, what is there to talk about?
The cherry on top? This text: "We got hideously lost. I know, I'm a c*nt. Couldn't find the place. Will make up 4 it tmrw with drinks."