So here we were, fish had bailed on our “morning after” breakfast which had scooted my foot a little more out of the proverbial door. I’ve wondered since if fish suggested the follow-up more casual (and decidedly sober) park walk as a sort of olive branch, but I can’t be certain. At any rate – we we’re sort of flopping around our intentions and I wasn’t convinced he took me seriously, and after three months of doing whatever it was that we we’re doing – I’d lost emotional steam, so to speak, it just felt like it was falling flat with fish. And with one foot out the door, my effort and interest was taking a nosedive.
A quote about my dating life from my middle sister:
Honestly, a guy has to work so hard before you even give them a chance. You never believe anyone is interested in you. What do they have to do? – Labella
She’s not wrong. Because of the relationship with my ex, and my penchant for being most attracted to men who show the bare minimum interest in me, I take precautions to the extreme, too extreme; I pull the rip cord, hit the emergency eject button or I run away at the first sniff of apathy. I’ve concluded in these past few months that I’m still just not ready to really be dating. It’s not just meeting the wrong guys, which I think I have; but I’m also convinced I’d probably screw it up with the right one too.
Shortly after our park date, during a text conversation, the tone I was picking up was just “smh” from fish. And I get it, I feel it too from time to time, and I started to overthink it, and thus you’ll see me reaching around blindly for that aforementioned rip cord:
Me: Sometimes your aloofness reads as disinterest.
Fish: Dunno where you get that from
Me: Me neither just a vibe
Fish: Shove ur vibe up your @$$
Me: Will do! You want me to leave you alone?
Fish: No all is fine and good
Me: Dude I honestly can’t tell.
Fish: Gee what do u want me to do
Me: I got nothing
Fish: U can be worried if I stop talking to you, dunno what ur worried about now
Me: I’m not worried. I just don’t know you well enough to know your humour.
Fish: Well if i didnt like u i wouldn’t have went on a walk.
The next day he texted me again after playing volleyball, complaining of an injury and tensor bandage. As he texted me, I was busy gossiping over tea with my mother, who you may remember has known fish since he was a tween. I read these messages out to her as I sent and received them and she was beside herself in the absurdity of reality and more importantly, she was totally goading me that I had to go:
Fish: … im holding down the parents fort while theyre away tn. so if u wanna check it out come on by haha. im just eating a box of kraft dinner watching bucket list.
Me: lol are you asking me to come to your parents house?
Fish: Could haha. Just me atm but [baby brother] should be back in a hour or something.
Me: Tempting. Leave before he gets back?
Fish: U wouldnt hafta no. I was just stating hes gone.
Me: Hm. You’ve peaked my interest.
Fish: Just wondering what shell do.
Me: [Baby brother] tells [Dad] that Fish had Mimi over here while he was gone? Funny. I’d do it if you wanted me to.
Fish: I do! Could possible be weird though. I dunno. I wanna see u soon again. Maybe hafta waiter out.
Fish soon thereafter left town for a concert/festival not far out of town – it’s a big binge drinking affair so I wasn’t surprised I got a few drunk texts calling me babe. I ended up golfing over the weekend and then heading to take in the sights and a few concerts at the CNE in Toronto with my daughter and friends. But we set our next date, going to the movies to see Happytime Murders, for the week I returned from the cottage. I went out and picked up some happy sativa weed called Strawberry Cough for us and rolled a joint.
What comes to mind as I look back on this time frame is that this is when eight begins to watch my social media, and in short order, reached out to me after our “hiatus” of sorts. Sad isn’t it? That after all this time – and in the midst of reflecting on fish – there’s eight – clouding the issue. Here’s a snippet from the eight blogs from this time-frame:
[Eight] asks me what I’m up to and I tell him I’m getting ready to go to the movies. The truth was I was going to the movies with … fish that night. – from Eight #3
So after a week at the cottage, sometimes spent exchanging long emails with another guy I call the professor, I returned home a little freckled and in summer spirits just in time for our marijuana movie night. We left the specifics to the last minute as usual – which resulted in me ordering the tickets on my phone as I drove to meet him at the theater – my treat I guess huh fish? We parked near the back row, and smoked a joint I had rolled while sitting on the sidewalk/curb. He coughed his guts out, which I found surprising given the amount of cigarettes he smokes, then headed inside to grab our seats. Before the movie started I watched as he became agitated and visibly paranoid. He rubbed his hands together in a bewildered state, unable to sit still in his seat. The movie is perverse and hilarious – I highly recommend it (punny) and afterwards we got back to our cars and fish still looked sort of off. I didn’t want him to drive but he wouldn’t accept a ride so I told him to sit and chat with me. We sat on the curb but he didn’t have much to say – I sort of felt like I was recapping the movie unnecessarily and interviewing him. We looked at each other silently a while before he chimed in with “Do you want to make-out in the car?” Spoiler alert: I did not really want to make out, and yet it seemed as good as any way to pass the time while I made sure he was clear to drive. We climbed in the backseat of my hatchback, but make out we did not. We had sex, pretty much immediately. It was, despite not really being that thrilled by it, really fun in retrospect, and at the very least, juicy fodder for the blog. While we romped in my tinted back seat, other couples came and went to their parked vehicles nearby which caused us to laugh several times. When we were finished I climbed back out of the car, he seemed himself again. As the date came to an obvious end, I pulled one of my more awkward stunts:
I high-fived him, said “thanks for the sex”, got in my car, and then drove away.
Over the next few days fish checks in, lazily. He’s either sore from a sport, or work accident, or hungover, or doing laundry. Timeline wise for these stories/blogs were in the last week of August now – which you’ll remember means a guy I called eight and I are a few nights away from a blackout birthday boink. Let’s end on how fish, a guy I’d been talking to for three months at this point, wished me well on my 32nd year: he texted me “happy bday” a day late because he’d been so drunk on the day of.
Bless this fish – he tries – sort of.
In the next blog I’ll tell you a quick little tale that takes place in at the end of September that I call the “tuck-in” and about another faux-pas the morning after I found a fish at a beer festival downtown. Until next time dear readers – stay floppy.