sarahrose: (lips)
My current FaceBook status: has had the most bizarre twilight-zone-esque day... Now, to recuperate by, er, watching Doll House (because clearly -that's- the cure for a topsy-turvy, not-quite-right universe).

My date last night went... well? Yes. I think. It went well. (I can't tell... and I can't quite figure out whether I can't tell because I'm not being given positive signals to be picking up on, or because I'm just totally dense and don't have the perspective to see the forest from the metaphorical tree). The plans themselves were rather impromptu: she sent me a message during the day saying that she was up for hanging out that night if I was available. So I took the time to sit down for a yummy home-made cheese fondue dinner with Matthew, and then off I went to meet her for funkily-flavoured shakes at a hyper-hip place called East is East (oh, my, but she's a hipster) (there was flamenco going on in the restaurant!, and they give you little samples of chai tea when you step in the door!, and it was lovely). Then, we went back to her place for the 'wine and movie' plan. (Oh, dear me: "and then we went back to her place".) She lives in an absolutely yummy character house with a clawfoot bathtub, and a loft, and beautiful hardwood. We chatted some - me looking through her bookshelf, her playing me some music from her laptop, me asking questions about where from her intimidating travels the beautiful pieces on her wall came from. Then, we popped open the bottle of wine and settled on watching a lesbian romantic comedy. (Oh. My. God., this evening is such an L-Word stereotype, it's tripping me out.)

And... Nothing happened during the movie. We were laying together on her bed, watching the flick on her laptop.  Our hands didn't brush; we didn't lean against each other. Our legs maybe touched, I think? And then, when the movie was over, at 1:30am, and the bus schedule kind of sucked for getting me home, she says I was welcome to spend the night if I felt comfortable. Now I'm half kicking myself for having chosen the 5-dollar cab ride instead of a night with her. See, this! This is what "dating"(?) girls does to my brain function.

After making another date for tonight via swapped emails this morning ("I'm tickled we've come into each others' lives, and really enjoyed our time together"; "I think you're awesome, and absolutely adorable!"; "yes, let's check out the burlesque festival tonight!, ooh, and tomorrow, too!"), she starts getting wishy-washy ("hey, my friend may come with us tonight, if that's ok"; "oh, er, yes! sure! my friend wants to come, too"). So, my Newfie Friend (/newly appointed wingman) and I end up at my neighourhood watering hole (where, yes, "everybody knows my name", from the dark and mysterious psychology student who serves us beer on our regular Sunday night expeditions and chats me up when I run into him at other pubs in the neighbourhood, to the dude who performs requests every week and yoinks me up on "stage" to back him up on his Ani covers). Our plan is to get some dinner. and then join this girl and her friend at the show afterward.

("I'm having girl problems!," I tell the psych student when he comes up to our table to greet us and take our beer order (honey brown). All he knew of my relationship status is that I'm engaged to Matthew: he looks at me funny. "Uh... like, uh, physiological problems?". I laugh and spill my decidedly neither heterosexual nor monogamous nature. He treats me like I'm an alien with special powers for the rest of the evening.)

Newfie Friend resumes gushing to me about this girl he's had a few dates with and is absolutely, wildly crazy for. Things seems to going smashingly for him with her: they've kissed; have plans to see more of each other; are, it seems, mutually smitten. He'd been sharing random bits of information about her throughout his gushfest, and, all of a sudden, it clicks: this is the same girl who, years back, Stalked (yes, capital S: fake internet identities were involved) my Bohemian Actor Friend. (Oh, bless the Bohemian Actor's teenaged heart: he slept with Psycho Girl while dating her little sister; Psycho then wouldn't leave him alone, for years. In fact, he and I met via LiveJournal, through a mutual local friend. The night we got together in person, one of the first things he said to me was, "Wow, I was worried for a second there on my way to meet you that you were actually this chick who stalks me.."). I text the Bohemian Actor and confirm that this is indeed the same girl. Upon finding out this disturbing piece of his new girl's history, Newfie Friend spends a few hours in an essentially catatonic, blindsided state. Can you imagine the cognitive dissonance?: he was so taken with this girl by date #2 that he'd been angsting about how to bring up with her the fact he's been considering a career relocation to the UK ("and, oh, man, I figure that if we're totally in love by, like, June, I'll ask her to move with me!"), and this person is actually Bat-Shit Crazy with a history of Stalking and sleeping with her little sister's boyfriend.

(And amidst all of this, I called my new friend to tell her that Newfie Boy was in crisis, and we just couldn't make it out to the show with her and her friend, but I'd still see tomorrow, yeah? "Mm, well," she responded, "I kinda wanna go to yoga after work tomorrow; I need to stretch, so, uh, I'll let you know!"...)

(My Newfie friend and I, we've kinda given up on finding a woman to love in this city...)
Music:: Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl

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