not yet I don't!

On the steep slope of things

Oh man, jesus fucking christ! That was one steep slope shit— going down. Turns out 35-year-old men are also capable of acting like 15-year-olds, especially when contraried.

However, my “what the fuck!?” moment lasted only for a night, and it was easily consoled by a bag of potato chips and the second season of 30 Rock.

The very next day I decided to, you know, do that which I’ve never let myself do much of (i.e. have a fucking life), and lo and behold. Are my guts to never know peace!? I have a date. Tonight. Different dude. Hopefully involving alcohol. We all know I need it.

Nevertheless, all I want to do is put my feet up (goddamn high heels), have another bag of potato chips, and top off the third season of 30 Rock in my 30 Rock all-season rewatch.

In which I try to give a new spin to my old blog.

So, second date. Second date with a 35-year-old man. Gray hairs around the edges. A little gut. But I don’t mind any of that. Sort of. He laughs a lot, and most of the time it’s at my jokes. There are also —I used to think— various conversation topics we had in common. Namely, geeky movies.

What started it all was when he found out I’d never seen Star Wars. Now, I know it sounds silly, but when I was old enough to consciously decide to watch it (of course SW was before my time. Of course.), I consciously decided not to. Why? Because I felt more interesting that way.

“But I’m gonna lose my mojo,” I texted him, “if I agree to watch them.”

“That is not what your mojo is about,” he answered. “Trust me.”

I ended up agreeing, if only because it felt nice. Just… nice. First date, however, I changed the panorama and venue from movie-watching at his place to just dinner. I mean, please. This little heart would’ve outbeated itself to death.

I ended up agreeing, if only because that first date went swimmingly. In spite of my quoting Jerry Maguire in my answer to that abhorred question: “So how come a girl like you has never had a real boyfriend?”. I also ended up agreeing after I tried —successfully— to find out if his TV was in his bedroom. It wasn’t.*

So, last night: second date. I’m talking major adult geek here. Huge screen. Those speaker things. Sadly empty apartment. He had the DVD player already going (of course I liked the movie. Of course). A New Hope.

But of course. It’s me we’re talking about. And I left at 2.30 am in the morning after sitting around having pizza and movies (if I were just two days in the past I’d kick myself for saying this), and I was so not satisfied.

Is it the age difference? Does he think I’m a precious sixteen-year-old delicate little bird? I could be a precious twenty-four year old delicate little bird, but I’m not. Not even a goddamn pigeon. Just a twenty-four year old. Eleven years in age difference it may be, but we’re going out for a reason— you don’t need to be so respectful of me. I mean, yes in my usual 21st-century, self-righteous way, but not in the precious delicate little bird way. Come on. Enough is enough. Gentlemen are gentlemen, fine fine fine whatever, but please. Enough is enough. There was a twenty-four year old on your goddamn couch for six hours last night, and… nothing?

The theme for Skyfall.

Only one month to go.