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Oh, Diaryland�If only I could just stay at home in my fuzzy slippers and post new entries all day, life would be good. Instead, I have to get dressed and come to work and talk to other people all day about payroll and HR and reimbursements and all that other administrative crap I have to deal with.
Anyway, I�ve got no new news on the Nana front. My mom isn�t home, and truthfully, I�m afraid to call the hospital. This really sucks.
In other news, I did not have lunch with the Artboy today. He had a meeting at 1:00 with one of the curators from the Decordova Museum to talk about possibly being involved with an exhibit there. Much more important than lunch with your ex-girlfriend, I think. It�s all good, though. The Boyfriend and I talked a little about my meeting up with him, and everyone�s okay with it, and the Artboy and I rescheduled for next Wednesday.
It�s funny. I emailed the Artboy back after he told me he couldn�t "do lunch" today, and said, "Is this just because you�re afraid I�ll give you a huge rash of shit about the whole kissing thing from yesterday? I think you punished yourself enough, having kissed that skanky girl, than I could ever punish you now. Besides, I didn�t really want to have lunch with you anyway. You�re a terrible dresser and you have bad eating habits."
It hasn�t been so long since we talked that the Jennifer-is-poking-fun-at-me tone escaped him, which is good. He answered me, "Fine. I didn�t want to have lunch with you, either. You have funny ankles and sometimes you don�t hear so well."
We established that we�d be much nicer by next Wednesday.
*****
Okay, so I promised to share the story of Jamie-the-Take-Your-Pants-Off-Man�(Hannah and Deeje, if you�re reading this, this is probably the longer version than the one I posted on the boards, but I have a little more leeway here, so I�ve written it all down!):
After I found the Artboy in bed with Amanda, I pretty much swore off men. I decided they weren�t worth the trouble, and I was just going to be single for a long, long time.
In order to celebrate my new I-am-woman-hear-me-roar attitude, I made plans with three of my girl friends to go see They Might Be Giants at Avalon. It was an early show, so we met right after work, went to dinner and then headed to the nightclub.
The show was fun. If any of you are unfamiliar with TMBG, they�re insane and goofy, but a really good time to watch and listen to. "Don�t Let�s Start" is on my list of favorite songs ever, I think. It was a great show.
Near the end, I needed to use the bathroom, and signaled to my friends that I would meet them by the coat check after the show was over. I didn�t want to fight my way forward again through the crowd for one song. I walked back, used the bathroom, and then hung out near the doorway for the last couple numbers.
I noticed this guy next to me, writing things down in a little notebook every time the band started a new song. He saw me watching, walked over and started talking. "Great show, isn�t it? I really like this band. The notebook? Oh, I keep a set list of every show I go to. I like to be able to go back and look afterwards to see what they played on a particular night."
We talked for a few minutes as the band finished playing. I found out his name was Jamie, and he lived about five streets away from me. He�d grown up around the corner from one of the guys in the band (had mowed their lawn when he was little) and never missed one of their shows when they came to Boston. He was attractive, in a nondescript white-guy-with-glasses sort of way. We liked to eat at the same restaurant in our neighborhood. He pulled a page out of his set list notebook and offered up his phone number. "Give me a call. We can meet for dinner some night." As the house lights came on, we said goodnight and went with our respective friends.
I went home and stared at his phone number. Finally, I stuck it on my bulletin board and went to bed.
The number sat there for a week, reminding me of our conversation. I debated about calling him. On one hand, he was a guy, and hadn�t I just sworn off guys? On the other, I didn�t plan to stay single forever for real, so I was going to have to go out with someone eventually�why not him? He seemed nice enough. I sighed and picked up the phone.
When he answered and realized it was me, he confessed that he�d given up on my calling, but said he was glad I had. We made plans to meet that weekend and take a walk in the Arboretum, equidistant from both our houses.
The walk was nice. We talked and got along well. I told him I was repainting our kitchen, but was having trouble reaching the top, as my "ladder" was a kitchen chair. On the way home, we stopped at his house and grabbed a ladder. He took it and me home in his truck, came in and introduced himself to my roommate, complemented my choice of paint colors, and asked me out again for the following Thursday. He had tickets to see another band, if I was interested. I said yes.
Our second date went equally as well. He picked me up, brought me irises (my favorite flowers) because he thought they�d look nice in the new kitchen, then made me dinner before the show. Afterwards, we went back to my house and sat in the hammock for an hour or so, talking.
I told him the bare-bones minimum story about the Artboy, and explained that I wasn�t interested in getting seriously involved with anyone right then. I was still on shaky ground, and needed to get my balance. I also told him that I didn�t want to get too heavily involved physically with anyone, as that just led to other issues. He told me he completely understood, and that he enjoyed being with me, and would let me hold the reins.
Great.
He was going to be out of town all weekend, so we made plans to go to the movies the next Wednesday night. I was looking forward to it.
Monday after work, my phone rang. Jamie was back in town and had missed me. Did I want to meet for a drink at the restaurant? I agreed, and got down there about two minutes after he did.
Somewhere over the course of our conversation, I started to get that creepy feeling, like maybe there was more to Jamie than I�d previously realized, and maybe that "more" was more than I wanted to deal with. There was talk of a house he owned in rural West Virginia, a house with a long and complicated story attached that made him visibly uncomfortable, a house his mom was after him to sell, a house he quickly moved away from talking about. Other things, too�the way he talked about his family in general, his living situation, the mention of an ex-girlfriend, moved away from too quickly. Nothing blatantly obvious, but enough that I started to feel, well, less-than-thrilled.
I didn�t cancel our plans for Wednesday, though. That would have been rude. I figured, though, that I didn�t need to make any plans beyond that if I didn�t want to.
Wednesday night, he picked me up and we went to the Kendall Square Cinema. The Kendall is a cool movie theater in Cambridge that shows mostly "artsy" films, stuff that doesn�t run in your suburban mall multiplex. He�d chosen the movie, and wouldn�t tell me what we were seeing until we got there. It turned out to be some subtitled French film about an older woman having an affair with a much younger Italian man. The opening scene showed her rolling around on a bed, naked and crying, masturbating and yelling out "Adolfo! Adolfo!" over and over. It got worse from there. I shrank in my seat.
Two long hours later, we walked back to the truck. I was silent. Jamie didn�t notice.
He pulled over on the way home at a 7-11 to grab a couple things they needed for the house�toilet paper, paper towels and milk. He asked if I minded if we stopped to drop them off before he brought me home. He didn�t want the milk to spoil. I agreed, but pointed out that it was a Wednesday, and I had to work tomorrow, and I didn�t want to be out too late, blah blah blah wayoutearlycakes.
When we got to his apartment, his roommates were spread out with their friends over the whole first floor, so he suggested we go up to his bedroom. There was an old bluegrass album he owned, one we�d talked about a few days earlier, that he wanted to play for me. We went upstairs and sat on the bed, the only place to sit in the room, and he put the record on.
We talked about the movie for a minute, and then he kissed me. Then we talked some more, and he kissed me again, and we talked, and he kissed, and I talked and he kissed, and I talked and he kissed, and finally I talked louder.
"Gee, Jamie, you know, it�s late. I should really head home. Work tomorrow," I said, reaching for my shoes.
Jamie sighed a deep, painful sigh. "You know, Jennifer, I�m feeling a little frustrated," he said. When I looked at him puzzled, he continued, "I don�t feel like you�re giving enough of yourself to this relationship."
"Relationship?" I thought, "We�ve been on four dates!" I looked at him and tried not to laugh. "I�m not sure I follow you, Jamie."
He started on this big speech, telling me that he understood that I�d just finished a long-term relationship, and that I�d set up these boundaries that I felt I needed to stay within, and while that was all fine and good, he was tired of playing the nice guy and being taken advantage of. Then he said, "I think you should take your pants off."
"Excuse me?" I was sure I�d heard him incorrectly.
He smiled. "Just take your pants off, and get under my covers, and in a little while, I�ll take you home, and everything will be fine."
I glanced around the room, looking for something I could use to defend myself with if necessary. That�s when I realized the man only had six books. Six. That�s it. And the one on the end of the shelf, the one most easily identified from where I was sitting, was a copy of the Unabomber Manifesto.
Get out now, Jennifer, I thought to myself, Get out now, before the police find you in a closet a month from now, or no one ever finds you again!
I sat up straight, took both his wrists in my hands and held them against the mattress, and looked him straight in the eye.
"Perhaps you didn�t understand me the other night, but let me make this perfectly clear, just so I know there�s no misunderstanding. I�m not taking my pants off. I�m not taking anything off. In fact, what I�m going to do is get up and put my shoes on. And then whether you take me home or I walk from here, I�m leaving, because this evening is over."
He mumbled apologetically as I tied my shoes , then drove me home. On the way, he attempted to backpedal. "You know, Jennifer, I really like you, and I think we could have the start of something good here, and I really hope you call me again, and that we go out, but I understand that that needs to be your decision, so I�ll wait to hear from you."
I said goodnight and went inside.
(Yep, there�s more�you didn�t think he�d go away that easily did you? I�ll have to post it later, though�this is becoming the world�s longest journal entry!)
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