Yeah, we all know it. But some days it sucks more than others. Maybe it's just in a flux.
Yes, I did have two guys ask me out this weekend, but not that right ones! I feel perfectly comfortable saying that. I don't find it appealing when a phone call starts out with, "I got so sh*tfaced last night". Of course, this was preempted by the fact that I observed him passing out pharmaceuticals to people at the Old Settlers Festival, and remarking that he wasn't quite sure what they were, possibly Xanax dusted with speed. That's just a bit out of my realm. Recreational use of prescription drugs is something that has never appealed to me.
The other guy? I just don't know, he rants and raves about how attractive I am. However flattering that is, I find it disturbing. He does not know me in the least- most of the phone calls consist of him talking about his GTO muscle car, or how loud his 'racially different' neighbors get. I detect thinly veiled racism there. We have never even been on a date, just happened to meet at Polyester's, which should have been a warning in itself.
On Sunday afternoon while enjoying Hilary, Amberjack Rice, and Ernie C. Ernst's "Songwriters in the Round" set at the Ginger Man, I met a personable, attractive Irishman. Steven made conversation with me on several occasions, and there seemed to be some interest. He bought me a beer, and complimented Sydney, who was enjoying the music with her mom and I. For whatever reason, my confidence was non-existent, so I just couldn't bring myself to offer my phone number. Would that have been a bad idea anyway? Arrgh.
Never mind me, I think I am just being a hormonal wench.
What's that anecdote?
There was a king who searched the world over for the perfect woman, until he found her.
She refused him- because she was looking for her perfect man...