Mixed Signals.
I had a lunch date with a guy today. While I don't want to rip his clothes off, I didn't want to rip Stephen's clothes off either when I first started dating him. This guy is cute enough, he looks a lot like me, actually...
He's got his shit together, he owns a house, a BMW... he's a Jew... We ate at Jimmy Vs on Las Olas. Lunch went well enough, I acquiesced to having plans on South Beach tonight with him, because he didn't want to go to some dinner party with his friends, that would be a bunch of old family friends getting together, and he didn't want to feel like the third wheel.
Fair enough. So, I agreed to have plans with him.
Now, you all know (or I'd assume that you would by now) that I'm not about to rush into ANYTHING. I want to take things nice n' slow and old fashioned-like. I'm still a bit of a wounded bird, and I haven't recovered my MoJo enough to really want to jump in the sack with anyone.
We were ironing out dinner plans via text message, and I got a message that said, "Should I bring an extra outfit?"
Huh?
There's no good way to answer that. Because if I say, "Yeah, totally!' then I have to have some stranger come spend the night at my place, and I'm basically committing to hooking up with this guy, which I'm not sure I want to do quite yet... or even if I did, it's our fucking FIRST DATE.
I'm not that kind of guy.
And... I don't want to have to nair my back or clean my place.
If I say "No," outright, that's just jerky of me and implies, "No, I don't want to screw you." Which, at this point, I don't. I want to have a date. I don't want to have sex. Date does not equal sex. Date, if I'm REALLY drunk, means making out... and maybe a little more beyond that... but by and large... I lept into bed with Stephen on the second date, and while it helps move things along, I was also under the influence of about four drugs when I did that. So... you know. It wasn't me.
We'll see how tonight goes. This guy was scoring major points until that "Should I bring extra clothes?" question.
I tried to get out of it tactfully, saying that I couldn't make it a crazy night, because I have to see my parents at the airport tomorrow. (I do, they're in on a short layover from Barbados.)
But it caused a mini-drama wherein I had to call MM and ask her what to say to him. Because, that's a DIFFICULT question to have to answer...
Jesus. It's one thing to come on strong... to get through my metal rollaway door exterior, it's another thing to invite yourself on a sleepover on part II of a first date...
posted by SuperBee at 3:10 PM
3 Comments:
A boy who's been, uh, following me home lately mentioned something about "leaving a change of clothes" at my place. Practical? Probably. Presumptuous? Definitely.
Sometimes boys don't think before they speak, and we're the ones left feeling uncomfortable as a result. Good luck on the date.
1:02 PM
while it's not worthy of the same degree of slapping as your dude, I once had a guy refer to me as his girlfriend after our 3rd date.
Um.....no?
But nice job with putting out with Stephen so quickly. You make me proud. I put out with Noel (my exboyfriend) on my FIRST date. And by date, I mean when we drunkenly made out in a bar for an hour. So you know, just something you can aspire too.
9:41 AM
Drunkbrunch - But how long has he been "following you home?" a/k/a making you compete with your across-the-courtyard neighbors? (See? I read you.)
I mean, if it's into its fourth or fifth time... I don't think it's THAT unreasonable to bring clothes. I think I started bringing clothes to Stephen's on the third date. We started fast... stalled for a long time, and then picked back up.
All in all it was a decent date, though. I put my tongue in his mouth. In public. I'm not really sure what motivated me to do it... (Two pitchers of Sangria, and Three Beers, Most likely...) but I wasn't unhappy that I did. And it actually made for a nice Sunday... (I am, in retrospect, glad that I didn't let him bring clothes, though.)
Meg - Makin' out?! C'MON! I went WAY farther than that with Stephen on the first! When I've actually got my MoJo (I've lost it since I've started working, and, you know, my heart was used as a toilet) I'm a speedster. Or I was. Probably not as much anymore, because I don't like what it does to my brain... or my sense of self worth.
Regardless, I'm glad I make you proud. :)
11:00 AM
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