Wednesday Wakings

I can still vividly remember the night I had to tell a friend about you. We were in the getting-to-know-you phase, and I felt it was something in my boring, waking life. I needed to tell a close friend, and so I did. It did not sit well with her. She is high maintenance with high standards after all, or at least she seems to be. She asked me what's the status, and I said, "Text, text." "How cheap" was the reply I got. I did not expect such an offensive and straight answer. It was a really hurtful blow to my ego because I knew exactly what she meant. 

You acted like we are close friends, but you could not even ask me out. You loved texting and chatting, telling me silly sweet nothings, but you could not even ask me out.

Three years later with much realization, proof and assurance, my friend was actually right. No matter how harsh the words were, they spoke the truth. You are cheap and you get cheap girls. I am happy that I did not end up with you, or I could have been included in your cheap list. I am not cheap after all. I am way above you and your girls' levels. And I regret I wasted a lot of my time with a tasteless person like you.

The Date Chronicle

The ever-elusive, frightful date night. It can be a complete disaster. If you have been on one, you are not alone. Mine was dreadful and nerve-wracking; all butterflies, pins and needles. Anxieties and excitement all abound and aflutter. If not all, well, most first dates are.

It was that sort of spur of the moment thing. The asking was done through text messaging. Communication nowadays can be really romantic. LOL. It was fast and spontaneous. But I did not commit immediately because I was unsure and unready. If I knew of it I would not have drank ice blended coffee the night before, which made me suffer insomnia and caused me to feel lethargic on the big day. Even an afternoon beauty nap was taken in vain. Pep talks from colleagues were also forgotten. 

Nothing could beat one’s raging nerves except alcohol, I suppose. I did not have a drink though; neither was there a bottle in sight nor had I the time to think about it. My mind was filled with a gazillion of things. The what ifs. Think about mixed emotions with a running imagination. It was pretty crazy, especially when the clock is ticking and you are getting closer and closer to that distressing time.

When a certain model was asked about the perfect outfit for a great first date in a magazine article, she said, “Anything conservative. It’s the best way to find out if he likes you from the neck up or from the neck down.” Well, I took this by heart. And  unbeknownst to me of our dinner location, I was also totally clueless of what to wear. As if! I had completely forgotten about how to dress to impress and opted to dress safely instead. To embody class, comfort, identity and personality, I went for a lacy gray cardigan top, black denim, jeweled flats, some pearls, headband and my favorite scent. It was conservative alright, and if all else fails, at least I smelled really good.

And then there was the accidental faux pas of sending the incorrect text message to my date: a curse word intended to be sent to someone else. Ah, perhaps a great premonition of what was about to come. Crazy, clumsy me. I was such a klutz! Well, it only made me apologize to him numerous times.

So, we were meeting for the first time, and he picked me up on the dot. He was definitely an eye candy. He was not much of a conversationalist so there were a lot of dead airs while we were in the car and in the restaurant. I hated it. Not only was it awkward but nerve-wracking as well. I was not much of a talker myself so it was a struggle finding the right words to say or ask just to break the ice. He barely cracked jokes nor had he initiated the asking. The topics were mature, and I felt it was too much for me. I felt that I was so out of range with him and that I could not relate with whatever he was saying even though I completely understood him very well. I just felt disconnected. Too bad because I could just stare and listen to him all night or day for that matter.

He made me smile and paid some compliments though. I liked it but it made me feel uneasy. I dislike people, especially strangers, paying me compliments. I think it is insincere and unnecessary. He gave some suggestions on how to better enhance my appearance which made him appear gay. Thinking about it annoys me as it has affected me in a way that I am willing to change myself to satisfy or please him. I know that I should not change for anyone but myself, and it is not like we will ever meet again, so screw his opinions.

We had some bottles to drink. Instead of making me talkative, it made me sleepy and drunk. I just wanted to shake off the nerves and ease the tension. I never thought about the consequences not until some colleagues brought it up later on at the much-awaited post-date storytelling. So it was a really bad idea. Something unpleasant could have taken place, for instance date rape. Thanks to my naiveté it never even crossed my mind. Thanks to God and angels for the lookout. As for him, I do not know if he got drunk at the time, but the fact that he drove me home alive and in one piece, I am thankful.

What happens next? The aftermath posted a lot of questions. Luckily, there was still communication even after a week since the incident. He made his presence felt by texting messages even if they are one-liners and dead-enders. It was frustrating but even with the absence of persistence and curiosity, I still appreciate the effort. No expectations, no attachments; no disappointments, no heartaches. Second date? If I could just stare at him, yes please.