post-ironic quotation marks

Slightly neurotic (but cute!) singleton looking for adventure, finical stability, and some delusion of meaning. With much thought in the topic of sincerity and the occasional film review.

Thursday, May 04, 2006


Him or me, or both.

I don't know. After a few days of deliberations, he actually came up with a place to meet and a time, and offered them up voluntarily instead of the teeth pulling number we've been doing for the past couple of days.

And we met up last night. But it took awhile to get there. I was just about to leave my apartment when Elge, the new Lithuanian film student, texted me saying that she was coming over to move more of her stuff in. Well, over the weekend we re-arranged that apartment to iron out the inequalities (small scale communism here), making a room that was too small too be a triple a double, and making the large room a quad. Because the French Grrl (who will always be know as that around everyone else in the flat) was not pleased with the new layout, and raising holy terror, I was afraid that Elge would be too. So much so that she might pull out. Eeek. So, I didn't leave when I wanted to. I wrote her a note explaining where her storage space was, and why we did what we did, and left her a cookie. Twenty minutes afterwards, ten minutes to make a twenty minute trip, I leave figuring that I should just a bus to Oxford Circus instead of walking to Lancaster Gate and going directly to Tottenham Court Road. Not the smartest move on my part, because I was impatient and couldn't read the bus map. I assumed that all buses from Bayswater lead to Oxford Circus. They don't. I didn't start panicking until I ended the bus started going over the Thames, and then I frantically texted the guy telling him that I was stuck on a bus and was, indeed, coming, then rushed down to the Victoria line cursing to myself and running over otherwise nice pedestrians who's only crime was to be in my way. The highlight of the evening being when I sat down and frustratingly started crying on the bench.

I did manage to get the pub, forty-five minutes after I was suppose to. And by the graces of god(s), he was still there, and only made fun of my slightly. Until I explained the real reason I was late.

"I ended up in Vauxhill," I said.

"Vauxhill? Didn't you realize that you were going the wrong way," he said

"Well, after Victoria Station I was just curious to see how they would swing back up, but once I saw the water I realized that all hope was lost."

We ended up chatting about stupid stuff (like my lack of interesting stories about myself. If anyone can think of any interesting stories about me, the more embarressing the better, please comment), like how one gets over the fact that their younger sibling is more mature than you are, or parental pressure and dating. He complimented my necklace, a silver celtic knotwork hound that I got for Christmas, which I had to lean into to show him. And then later, he decided to look at my rings. Now, there two methods of looking at a ring which a person is wearing. The first, and most effective method, is to express interest in said ring, and wait for the wearer to take them off and hand them to the other person. This has the benefit of being able to examin the ring. The second way is to bring the hand up closer to you in order to look at the ring, while at the same time gives you an excuse for holding someone's hand. Or maybe he was just really interested in my class ring.

However, the night ended with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I can't even remember if we made any commitment to talking to each other ever again or not. Of course I keep checking my e-mail a hundered times a day, but there's been nothing from anyone except the fund-raisers for the DNC (ahhh, mid-term election season). And while I enjoyed my self, and I think he had fun as well (or why would we even be here, we concluded), although I fear for my reputation around his friends because some of them ended up in the same pub as us, and thus my companion has some explaining to do. I even got introduced to them, and invited on a day trip. But the boy (he needs a better name, I'm consalting with Rose) said that he would tell them stories about me. Luckily, one look at him makes everything he was going to say very, very implausible.

Yet I'm still trying to figure out what that was. If it was just hanging out as friends, or is there any interest on his end (and if there isn't can I just figure it out). Where's my copy of he's just not that into you?


Post a Comment

<< Home