The boy’s name is Mark (quickly nicknamed Funky Bunch or FB by my housemates in homage to the quite steamy Marky Mark we all know and love so well).  So after a chance meeting and a lot of information exchanged I am intrigued but don’t see him again for a week when I then run into him at the hospital coffee cart.  I sit and chat with him and there is instant chemistry and ease.  We talk for 45 minutes.  He seems great; adventurous, honest, funny, and seemingly does not have a lady in every town.  He shows me a suggestive email and a sexual door creaks open just a bit.  I go back to work and 30 minutes later get a text message from him.  Somewhere in there I open the sexual door a bit wider and we both proceed to walk right through.  I realize after some time that I am sexting at work!!  Holy shit!  What has come over me?!  Coffee the next day turns into an hour and a half of talking, laughing, flirting…this is getting good.  Playing hooky from work is suggested by Mark as is getting a drink sometime.  But alas we both return to our respective jobs and he leaves town that afternoon to head back to Seattle.  Hoping to see him again the following week, I keep my eyes open around the coffee cart.  Monday goes by.  No Mark.  Tuesday goes by.  Nothing.  Wednesday morning I’ve given up.  My coworker and I are rushing to a meeting over lunch and I hear my name called out a few times.  I turn, see Mark, beam (according to my coworker) and give him a big kiss on the cheek.  I run to the meeting but Mark suggests getting drinks the next night.  I’m super excited, go to the gym after work, get all dolled up and head out to meet some friends for dinner.  8:30 approaches and I haven’t heard from the guy.  I call in more friends and a housemate for respite and start drinking.  He’s losing points fast.  10:00 rolls around and not only do I hear from him but he’s just down the street and will be walking over shortly.  I’m smiling, excited again.  Then… James walks in!  WTF!  He comes over and says hi, chats it up with my friends.  Then… Mark walks in.  For about 20 minutes I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.  And then James fades into the background.  Mark and I reconnect in a big way and he quickly regains all points previously lost.  I do give him a hard time about how the night had gone earlier and he says to me several times, “Katie, don’t sweat the small stuff.”  Right.  Me?  Good luck.  The night progresses to a walk to my car to drive him back to his hotel.  We make out by the truck and I swear to god the earth moves.  Our chemistry is insane.  So I drive him to the hotel and in a whirlwind valet the little purple pickup and get swept up to an 11th floor room overlooking the river.  We make out, no sex, but hot.  Again in one context or the other I hear him saying not to sweat the small stuff.  Again I think, ‘nice try,’ but only fleatingly because I’m otherwise engaged.  The morning rolls in slowly and I depart, knowing when he will be back in town but with no formal agreement to see each other again.  I walk out to get my truck, which is so clearly not in line with the other BMW’s and classy cars the valet is pulling in and have the following conversation:

Valet: “What’s the name under?”

Me: “Mark.”

Valet: “Are you checking out today?”

Me: “He is, but a little later.”

Valet: “Um, is the truck coming back?”

Me: “Nope.”

Valet: “OK. Do you need a map of the area or directions anywhere?”

Me: “Nope.”

By the time I get home I’m still chuckling to myself about the exchange with the valet and a really wonderful night with Mark.  I climb out of the car with my dinner leftovers and high heels.  My neighbor looks at me coyly… “I think we call that the walk of shame.”  I laugh outloud.  Certainly it is!  And I think to myself walking in the house, ‘but it sure was fun and life is short.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.’

Jeff and I have gone on 6 or so dates.

All nice, good conversation, he pays or I pay depending on who presented the invite.  He seriously believes in Sasquatch which is both head scratching and interesting.  He moves at a turtle’s pace romantically.  Each kiss has been PG and wrenched out of thin air.  Once he has a few drinks, this 29 year old turns into a 6th grader…He makes excuses to break away from the crowd only to fumble and foul up any romantic plan he may have had.  (‘Ah, have you seen my new snowboard and while were at I’m going to kiss you…on the mouth/cheek/chin.’)

Had I been strictly honest with myself I would have said, “Self, this is not earthshattering.  Move on.”  But apparently sometimes I like to beat a dead horse.  …Until New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

New Year’s Eve I get slurry drunken phone calls and several 6th grade texts, the best of which reads (verbatim)…”Holler if ya wanna meet fir a drank at Charlies later.  Ima drinkin the bubbs too!!”  Holy lord.  He sealed his fate on that one I’m afraid.  Needless to say I did not meet up with him on New Year’s Eve.

Instead I watched fireworks shooting out of the back of pickup trucks with snow falling all around, kissing no one.

It was glorious!

So, cut to the first day of 2010.  For some reason I’m feeling wild.  I start drinking whiskey and by the end of the night, probably had half a bottle.  But before that craziness ensues, Jeff decides to text that he will meet me at Charlie’s (once again) and buy me a drink.  ”I’m already here,” I text.  He shows up as I’m approaching the front of a very long line and says ”Oh hi, here’s a 20.  Will you get a pitcher for me and buy yourself a drink too.”  So I do, much to the dismay of others in line and Jeff’s friend’s advice just to wait in line themselves.  I hand over the pitcher.

A few minutes later I get a rather abrupt tap on my shoulder and turn to see Jeff.  “Was there any change from that pitcher?”  He asks.  “I mean what is a pitcher…11 bucks?”  I’m totally shocked but, hey, not going to argue.  I give him back all but what the pitcher cost, paying for my drink myself.  A girl friend close by watches all of this and is appalled and I try to keep her from making a scene.  Shortly after that a friend of Jeff’s insists on buying me and all three of my friends drinks.

FYI, Jeff, he just made you look even worse.  To sum up the rest of the night quickly, he again turns into a 6th grader, I tell him it’s not going to work out between us, I dance and party with friends, he gets plastered and pukes his brains out.

Welcome 2010…

Here I sit, sipping on the first of what will be four grapefruit injected flutes of champagne.  It is so refreshing and of course goes straight to my head.  So the flirting I absolutely blame on the champagne.  In strolls a somewhat scruffy gent with cute broken-in jeans and skater shoes.  He has a nice smile and breaks out in several pretty adorable happy dances while playing pool.

So I start to smile and swoon and cheers his success with my now empty second champagne flute.  He chats with Stacy outside while smoking(strike 1) and charms her.  She says he’s witty and personable.  As an aside, he tells her he’s a libertarian and votes committedly for Ross Perrot.  What do I know of this…or care?  Oh but that answer will come soon enough!  By the beginning of the third flute, the dude starts to leave and introduces himself before he does.  His name is Terrance.  Odd name.  Still a bit curious.  He leaves.  No love loss.

Stacy and new friend Kat (hate that name by the way) prod me to run after him and give him the number I wrote down on a slip of paper mid-drink #1.  I say no but apparently not aggressively enough.  Kat grabs the piece of paper and dashes out the door, running the man down and giving him my number.

Oh well, I think, what could be the worst thing…let’s have another drink.  I’m feeling buzzed and altogether forgetting about Christmas, which is a good thing at this point.  Contented…  Shit!  Terrance returns, not 5 minutes after the number exchange.  I’m instantly leery as he plops right down beside me.  He does not present any interesting conversation or ask any questions.  Just sits there.  I get an uncomfortable feeling immediately (strike 2).  Stacy and Kat try to break the awkwardness that Terrance clearly is not picking up on by asking him questions about himself.  As he answers them, he puts his hand on my knee…what the fuck!! (strike 3, 4 and 5).  The hand is swiftly taken off of the knee and I squeeze closer to the wall to create some distance.  Trapped.  The more this guy talks, the more I’m turned off.

Apparently a Libertarian such as Terrance hates people who “don’t matter,” abhors all holidays and has no interest in being any bit a part of society.  As he continues to cross personal space boundaries, I begin to tell him gradually that we don’t really have a lot in common and that I am no longer interested in pursuing a dating-type path.  Terrance then turns the corner fully and picks up strikes 6-10.  He starts to become a bully, berrating me with questions about “what exactly don’t we have in common?!”  And “how do YOU know we wouldn’t be compatible?!”  Pretty sure he called me a liar (while talking about myself…whom he knows NOTHING about) and continued to dig himself into an ass-type of hole.

Finally, after a total of about 15 minutes since he sat down, I am thouroughly exhausted and look him straight in the face…”I’m done.”  He hiccups back more insults that would surely not protect his ego the way he had hoped and just stares at me.  I stare back and repeat the statement.  Stacy and Kat, who admit later that they had no idea what to do to help the situation, sit slack jawed across from us.  Terrance gets up and casually announces that he will be hanging out with his friends and that “oh, by the way, I do care about what matters.”  “Good,” I say nicely, not entirely sure of what he means but no longer caring in the least.  I leave the bar shortly after utterly spent and shocked.

And to make it worse, I realize that trying to forget Christmas may have somehow summoned the libertarian Christmas-hater.  At home I play the only Christmas CD I have while staring at my potted plant strung with lights and more ornaments that it can hold with a new appreciation.