Story Part VI
After the usual morning rituals, I noticed he was checking out my music collection, my books...he was investigating the evidence. I, myself, am guilty of doing the same upon my first exposure to a potential's abode. However, having been poor for some time, I had given up painting, collecting music (not to mention that my music collection had been stolen out of my car the year before), my dreams of a Dia De Los Muertos doll collection; in short, my possessions weren't really telling all that much. And I realized he was fairly fixed on using his eyes rather than his ears to assess my worth.
Conversation was excrutiating--I've always hated small talk, but I've never quite been able to figure out how to get big talk going. When it happens, it is marvelous and I'd gladly let hours melt away into an intriguing discussion, but when it doesn't, I'd prefer to be alone. He, being much the same, must have been in quite a bit of pain as well. And, while pithy or sarcastic remarks are easy to come by when filling out the fields of a profile, when you're talking about where you're going to eat lunch, it's a bit more strained.
Oh, but to add the icing on the fun-cake that was becoming this weekend, I realized my department had made a mistake with my pay that month and so not only was I the normal poor, I was now po'. I had $0 to spend on our adventures together. So, in deciding what to do, where to eat, how to fill the weekend which seemed to now be stretching into oblivion, I had to try to minimize however much he was going to have to spend on me.
An aside is probably necessary here: I abhor letting others pay for me. This does not make dating as a graduate student entirely viable. Further, this man had just spent a quarter of my monthly pay to just share the same physical space as me; now, he was going to have to keep shelling out cash to entertain us while he was here. I am unsure if words exist which might capture the feelings of shame, self-consciousness, resignation and discomfort I felt. But there are four for you in a meagre attempt.
So, back to the visit. It was clear that we weren't going to be hanging around my apartment lost in time-melting conversation. I asked him what he wanted to see or do while he was here. And I got that dreaded response: "I don't care. Whatever you want to do."
Aaaaauuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
This response might not have elicited such despair on my part if we had already established an enjoyable rhythm of conversation; however, we had barely knocked out three beats. Further, I am primarily a home-body. I enjoy sitting by myself in my apartment, book in hands, music en stereo, random thoughts spinning through my head. For kicks, I ride my bike to the grocery store. Being continually poor, this routine suits me well. I used to look through the weekly guide for concerts, shows, museums, etc, but because I can never afford them, I don't bother to look anymore. And now, here was a man who wanted to be entertained, had to pay for said entertainment, and was also forcing me to decide what this entertainment would be (and therefore, how much I expected him to pay for me). Awkward doesn't quite sum it up, dear reader.
While we were on our walks to the park or sitting outside at the neighborhood taco stand, he began to make 'observations':
"I bet lesbians hit on you all the time. No, it's just that you're not that feminine--I bet most guys aren't attracted to you."
"You look like a Mom tonight."
"You seem to notice mistakes."
"You haven't bought music since 1997, huh? That's okay, no really it is!"
I think I've blocked from memory most of these kind and gentle observations...which, usually sent me into a wild fit of laughter. I laughed so heartily because I could tell that he didn't realize how completely inept he was at conversing with a potential sweetheart. I gently explained to him how awkward these observations made me feel, and he responded, "Well, I just make observations; they're neutral. I don't mean them positively or negatively...I mean, don't lesbians hit on you a lot?"
I gave up. He just didn't get that when you're on a date, every comment on one's self is being filtered into either "positive--he likes me" or "negative--he doesn't". So, the proper filing for "I bet most guys aren't attracted to you"? Well, this is how that one gets decoded and filed:
"Most guys aren't attracted to you."
"I am a guy."
"I am therefore probably not attracted to you."
Perhaps I might have been more liberal with the 'positive' category, but remember my emotional state at the onset of his visit: neurotic mess.
I had to clear emotional shelves for all of the boxes increasingly filled with negative files.
****
On our last night together, we drove back to LA. We went to my friend's restaurant (I could at least manage a free meal if I couldn't pay for one, myself), and then stayed in a hotel downtown. The next day, while he trolled Ameoba for his expansive music collection, I went across the street to a movie. It was the first respite I had had, and while I didn't care for the movie, I would have stayed for the next showing had the ushers let me.
It was about an hour before he would take me to the train station and depart for the airport. As we sat outside, twirling pieces of pie in our forks, pigeons pecking for whatever crumbs they might rescue, I began my fourth cup of coffee and my 17th cigarette that day. I knew the weekend was not going well. I also knew that if we had met under different circumstances, or if just a few of the details of that weekend had been changed, things most likely would have gone much better. We did have a deep well of commonalities. I knew he hadn't seen many of those similarities, because upon learning of my trial for his affections, I been careful to safely hide them away from his keen eye. Yet despite this most terrible first date, there was something drawing me to him, and I wondered if he felt drawn, too. If he didn't, he could take me to the train station, and the minutes of ensuing awkwardness would be minimized:
"So, do you think you'll come back to San Diego? You have an invitation."
"Yeah, I'd like to do that." (heard: I'll think about that)
"What?"
"Yeah, I'd like to do that." (heard: I'll think about that)
"What?"
"YES. I'd_like_to_do_that."
I have a hearing problem. So, each response was a mumbly mystery, interpreted as described above.
But maybe that day, my hearing was working just fine.
We kissed at the train station before he left, he gave me a hug, and told me he would call the next day. I still haven't received that call.
But that was by no means the last time we spoke.
Conversation was excrutiating--I've always hated small talk, but I've never quite been able to figure out how to get big talk going. When it happens, it is marvelous and I'd gladly let hours melt away into an intriguing discussion, but when it doesn't, I'd prefer to be alone. He, being much the same, must have been in quite a bit of pain as well. And, while pithy or sarcastic remarks are easy to come by when filling out the fields of a profile, when you're talking about where you're going to eat lunch, it's a bit more strained.
Oh, but to add the icing on the fun-cake that was becoming this weekend, I realized my department had made a mistake with my pay that month and so not only was I the normal poor, I was now po'. I had $0 to spend on our adventures together. So, in deciding what to do, where to eat, how to fill the weekend which seemed to now be stretching into oblivion, I had to try to minimize however much he was going to have to spend on me.
An aside is probably necessary here: I abhor letting others pay for me. This does not make dating as a graduate student entirely viable. Further, this man had just spent a quarter of my monthly pay to just share the same physical space as me; now, he was going to have to keep shelling out cash to entertain us while he was here. I am unsure if words exist which might capture the feelings of shame, self-consciousness, resignation and discomfort I felt. But there are four for you in a meagre attempt.
So, back to the visit. It was clear that we weren't going to be hanging around my apartment lost in time-melting conversation. I asked him what he wanted to see or do while he was here. And I got that dreaded response: "I don't care. Whatever you want to do."
Aaaaauuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
This response might not have elicited such despair on my part if we had already established an enjoyable rhythm of conversation; however, we had barely knocked out three beats. Further, I am primarily a home-body. I enjoy sitting by myself in my apartment, book in hands, music en stereo, random thoughts spinning through my head. For kicks, I ride my bike to the grocery store. Being continually poor, this routine suits me well. I used to look through the weekly guide for concerts, shows, museums, etc, but because I can never afford them, I don't bother to look anymore. And now, here was a man who wanted to be entertained, had to pay for said entertainment, and was also forcing me to decide what this entertainment would be (and therefore, how much I expected him to pay for me). Awkward doesn't quite sum it up, dear reader.
While we were on our walks to the park or sitting outside at the neighborhood taco stand, he began to make 'observations':
"I bet lesbians hit on you all the time. No, it's just that you're not that feminine--I bet most guys aren't attracted to you."
"You look like a Mom tonight."
"You seem to notice mistakes."
"You haven't bought music since 1997, huh? That's okay, no really it is!"
I think I've blocked from memory most of these kind and gentle observations...which, usually sent me into a wild fit of laughter. I laughed so heartily because I could tell that he didn't realize how completely inept he was at conversing with a potential sweetheart. I gently explained to him how awkward these observations made me feel, and he responded, "Well, I just make observations; they're neutral. I don't mean them positively or negatively...I mean, don't lesbians hit on you a lot?"
I gave up. He just didn't get that when you're on a date, every comment on one's self is being filtered into either "positive--he likes me" or "negative--he doesn't". So, the proper filing for "I bet most guys aren't attracted to you"? Well, this is how that one gets decoded and filed:
"Most guys aren't attracted to you."
"I am a guy."
"I am therefore probably not attracted to you."
Perhaps I might have been more liberal with the 'positive' category, but remember my emotional state at the onset of his visit: neurotic mess.
I had to clear emotional shelves for all of the boxes increasingly filled with negative files.
****
On our last night together, we drove back to LA. We went to my friend's restaurant (I could at least manage a free meal if I couldn't pay for one, myself), and then stayed in a hotel downtown. The next day, while he trolled Ameoba for his expansive music collection, I went across the street to a movie. It was the first respite I had had, and while I didn't care for the movie, I would have stayed for the next showing had the ushers let me.
It was about an hour before he would take me to the train station and depart for the airport. As we sat outside, twirling pieces of pie in our forks, pigeons pecking for whatever crumbs they might rescue, I began my fourth cup of coffee and my 17th cigarette that day. I knew the weekend was not going well. I also knew that if we had met under different circumstances, or if just a few of the details of that weekend had been changed, things most likely would have gone much better. We did have a deep well of commonalities. I knew he hadn't seen many of those similarities, because upon learning of my trial for his affections, I been careful to safely hide them away from his keen eye. Yet despite this most terrible first date, there was something drawing me to him, and I wondered if he felt drawn, too. If he didn't, he could take me to the train station, and the minutes of ensuing awkwardness would be minimized:
"So, do you think you'll come back to San Diego? You have an invitation."
"Yeah, I'd like to do that." (heard: I'll think about that)
"What?"
"Yeah, I'd like to do that." (heard: I'll think about that)
"What?"
"YES. I'd_like_to_do_that."
I have a hearing problem. So, each response was a mumbly mystery, interpreted as described above.
But maybe that day, my hearing was working just fine.
We kissed at the train station before he left, he gave me a hug, and told me he would call the next day. I still haven't received that call.
But that was by no means the last time we spoke.
Labels: Story
7 Comments:
Just letting you know I'm still reading. I'm also trying to figure out why much of what I read lately seems it could have been writte about me. Am I just egocentric lately? Or is it a more simple explanation, that this medium has allowed me to pinpoint like minds from around the country.
The whole part when he's inspecting your place and you feel that aching sense of panic because you've been poor (i.e. a student)...I was there two summers ago, that same scenario. I hated him for it.
verification word: upmiypu
um, I think you get the idea.
I think it's that we've all (this micro-community of bloggers) done the internet dating thing, and these experiences must be a symptom of that disease...
Yes, I don't think those whom are 'well off' (which, to me, currently means can pay for food the entire month, and maybe even go to a theater to watch a movie once or twice without overdrafting...) quite understand the state of existence in near-poverty. I don't have the funds to indulge my obsessions, my quirks, my attempts to structure my world. But my attempts to explain this just fell on deaf ears...
fine! tell me where to send your $400!
I'd tell you my address, but I think you actually might send it...and then, once I've had my sex change, disciplined myself to luv a woman and moved to NY, how would I ever be able to court you?
but thank you sincerely for the offer, m'dear.
Actually, I wasn't referring to an internet dating experience, though I did try one date that way and then promptly gave up. (Got hooked on the blogging though.) No, this story sounds so much like an experience with a guy I met in the everyday world.
What did I miss? What's the $400 for?
Well then, it must be like minds! =)
The $400 amount comes from one of ttractor's blogs in which she reminisces about the days when $400 could change one's life (I commented that it probably could still change my life...)
Right...
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