Wednesday, September 14, 2005

boys are mean and icky...

...though sometimes they surprise you.

Did I tell you I got some flirt on with a 19-year-old college sophomore on Saturday?And then kinda got asked out by a 21-year-old waiter Monday night? Always going for younger men; I am hopeless.

We were standing outside Westville, considering going there to eat, but I wanted a cheesesteak at Wogie's. So the waiter persuaded us to come in, with the promise of good sandwiches of his own. When we sat down, he told me about his trip to Philly and the cheesesteak he had at Geno's, I told him he should try Pat's next time. Then I told him about all the good new places in New York, which of course wasn't at all appropriate, while standing in a different restaurant where he works...

SO then he said, maybe after I get off here one night we can go for a drink and you can tell me more?
And then he went to get our beers.

And I looked at my dinnermates, and asked, did he just ask me out?
And Matt, the voice of guy authority, said, yes, definitely, as blatently as he could appropriately do so while being our waiter.

So then, at the end of our meal, we chatted some more, and I asked him when they close, becasue it was almost 11 and they'd just seated a new table. He said someone always comes in at the last minute, and they can't kick them out.

And I was all sympathetic, and he held his hand out to shake, and introduced himself (Aaron, cute, funny, and so very Seth Cohen-esque), and thanked me for deciding to stay. And I said that if he ever gets out earlyish, we'll have to go for that drink and a cheesesteak, so now I might have to go back for dinner on a slow night. As Irishman said, just showing up around 11 would be a little too much. But if I've just had dinner, then how can we go for cheesesteaks? Hmm, this might need a bit more logistical sorting.

By the way, men suck. The Irishman agrees; he'd defend his gender but he knows too many jerks. Of course, we all concede there are good ones, like maybe the cute waiter. But even Seth Cohen has been being kind of a jerk in the Season 2 DVDs I've been obsessively consuming this week. Ditching his girlfriend for a comic boook meeting? Come on!

Okay, I'm being unfair, I know. Irishman is a dear, sweet friend who offered to drive by the garage to check on my car, and who's coming to my race to cheer for me on Saturday (and why aren't you?!??!). Eighties Dave is the best ever, but alas he is gay. My dad is a paragon of sensitivity and strength, of course; I'm such a daddy's girl, even when we fight it ends up being a good thing (if only he were a Democrat!).

Really, the only evil guy right now is the Kid, and because of him I'm generalizing, sorry. I just ran into him in the hall upstairs, and he scowled as we passed. And I'm disappointed and hurt.

What is it about you guys? I can almost understand how sometimes you are crazy for us and then suddenly you're not anymore, because you are fickle characters and you don't always exhibit the depth. But why, oh why, after losing interest, do you look at us with hatred or disgust or disdain when you run into us, as if we should no longer exist, as if it is RUDE or inappropriate of us to still be around for you to have to look upon once you're done with us? As if your trash won't stay in the bin, but insists on coming back and spilling on the floor.

I hate that. It makes me never even want to try.

And then I'm the evil one, because I went straight back down to my desk and called the Italian, who wants to see me tonight, which might assuage my sadness (of which he knows not, of course, as it is caused by another man). But at least when I lose interest, I'm still nice and kind. Ask my many exes with whom I'm still friends.

My heart aches. I wish I didn't care, and it shouldn't for so brief an encounter, but it was so perfect. If I could, I would show you the picture he took of us together that night. We look so happy and cute (and I had great hair). But no pictures of my face on here, sorry.

(I'll add links tomorrow.)

No comments: