Chapter Eight

It has been requested that I tell the story of yesterday between 3 and 5 p.m.. Somehow, Princess thinks this will be interesting. And we all know what happens when you don't listen to Princess.

I had already cancelled once. He had been too pushy on email. Slightly. The kind of guy who will email you again if you ignore his email. So red flag. So give no last name, no phone number, no location. Everything vague . . . like smoke.

We were meeting at a Starbucks out near him. Another red flag. I live in one of those damn "cool cities" of Jenny Granholm's vision. Men usually offer to meet near me. So I have to drag myself out of my orbit.

And he wants to meet early and only for " a half and hour". Okay. Well, I have lots of rules . . . about children, about not dating the newly divorced . . . I'll tell you how to live your life, no problem. Seems only fair that someone else have some rules too.

I run home from work. Change clothes, shoes. Am fixing my make up when the phone rings. "Private call" Interesting. "You are coming, right?" Why wouldn't I be? I explain my philosophy about being stood up. Just more of a chance for "me" time . . . I'll just get to read my book for half and hour. But assure him that I am not standing him up. (yes, I finally gave him a phone number -- I have caller id)

He then starting freaking out about the meeting place. He knows a guy that goes there three times a day and doesn't want to run into him. " . . . just don't want to deal with that . . . " Another red flag. So you are asking me out but don't want to be seen with me? And men are so weird about meeting on the internet. "Just say we met at the grocery store." I say. "Yeah, that'll work" he agrees.

I am five minutes early. Have the book that I keep carrying around, hoping that I will have time to read. Spook Country. The new Gibson. I have read chapter six three times. And Gibson always starts with about twelve chapters of characterization before he connects the plot line. And he is ten minutes late. At least I'm now to chapter eight.

It funny how your capacity to observe changes when you are waiting for someone. I rarely look at everyone in a coffee shop when I'm just there for coffee. Three employees. One with his mustache dyed to match his toupee. Two women, one pregnant, telling the story of how she announced she was pregnant at school. I assume she is an elementary teacher. One Asian man sitting in the corner, on the comfy chair. He is frowny. One good looking man, slightly older in the other corner, working on a laptop. And when my date arrives, I secretly wish I was on date with laptop guy.

He is not my type. But I knew this from the pictures he sent. But despite the red flags, and the tardiness, and the bo-hunk exterior (which very bleached white teeth), I give it a chance. Eternal optimist.

Within five minutes he is telling me about his girlfriend . . . and his other girlfriend. This dating thing is too much. Too much emotions expended and he doesn't know where the emotions should go. Which girl should he pick? And the one girl? She hasn't called him back. And it's been a whole . . . FIVE HOURS.

"So you decided to solve this dilemma by going out with another girl?"

"Yeah, well . . . I'm sorry, my head is just not in this . . . " Really? I'm shocked? And the half an hour thing? Girlfriend no.2 (the married one) is coming over to his house. (but she is now separated . . . and he just doesn't know what to do with that) And I can't figure out if he is lying or really serious about all this. No, really, wait . . . where are the cameras? Am I on punk'd?

I cut him off at half an hour. Nice meeting you. Go get your head together. Sorry I don't know who Catherine McPhee is (American Idol?).

Maybe I need to start to work on "No". Just saying it in the mirror or something. But then again, where would I get my stories?

And I did get to chapter eight.