net zero date
October 9, 2007

Date with Grace (woman who is actually near my age) went okay this weekend. It was sort of a roller coaster though…we went out to an Italian restaurant at her suggestion…which isn’t the most original thing in the world, so, I was feeling like, “Ehh.” Right after she sat down, she began talking about this amazing book she is reading by Ariel Levy, Female Chauvinist Pigs, and talking about the misogyny involved in the news coverage of Hillary Clinton’s campaign, and really impressing me with some feminist thought, so I thought to myself, “Eeh!” Then she ordered a beef dish– Eeh. But then I noticed that she had the longest eyelashes in the entire world, which accented these brilliant almost teal-colored eyes– I mean, I’m not going to lie, this girl is gorgeous–Eeh! She’s more into playing and following tennis than art or poetry though–minus a thousand. But she’s also really involved in GLBT politics in Nashville–plus a thousand. So as you can see, the scales were tipped down and back again, and I’m still at about net zero opinion. Have you ever had a net zero date? I felt like I went back and forth at a dizzying speed until I really had no idea whether I wanted to drive her directly back to my bedroom and light some candles or run away screaming. I mean, I’d see her again if she calls me.

I miss Alana. I called her last night and can’t help but think she didn’t pick up because she was with Bill. Blah.

Have to work tonight. Major Blah.

Advertisements

date with Alana and other possibilities
October 5, 2007

She sat me down on a plush sofa, brought me a robust glass of red wine, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Then she called me into dinner in this gargantuan dining area, appeared from the kitchen door carrying two square ceramic plates with a supernova-looking aqua glaze, on top of which she had prepared two plates full of vegetarian sushi with pink radish garnish. It was truly edible art.

“Better to be an older man’s princess than a young man’s whore,” my college friend Danielle used to say when we poked fun at her for dating a forty year old. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to see Danielle’s point.

I know Alana has the money to wine and dine me; she’s one of the rare few who can make good money from figure painting. But I don’t want to be someone’s pool girl, like I said. Still, I can’t say I hate being catered to once in a while, considering that I’m on my feet for six or seven hours most days sloshing trayfulls of booze everywhere.

After some relaxing and a rockin’ back rub, I had to set some boundaries.

Darcy: So, if you’re still with your husband, then…I’m also going to date as well.

Alana<pained expression>: If you’d like.

Darcy: Okay. I will.

So I set up a date with Emma, the girl who left her number for me at the bar, this weekend.

The rest of the night at Alana’s was spent looking at photo albums by the light of dimmed lamps and all of these gorgeous candles she has on sconces around the walls. And there was a kiss or two exchanged. But I’m trying to put the breaks on until I can see things a little clearer. I hope I’m not jumping in too deep here. And even if I am, it beats spending the time watching things like it happen on TV.

how (not?) to date married women
October 3, 2007

After my little Sex and the City therapy session on Monday with Ford and an extensive thrift shop binge with Jane yesterday, I felt I’d exorcised Alana from my system. The obsessive cell phone checks had dropped down to about one an hour, which was an improvement. Sometimes when I’m expecting a call from a woman, I convince myself that my phone actually will not ring or vibrate and that the only way I will not miss the call for sure will be to obsessively check the tiny screen for it to light up with that magic name, at which time my heart will emanate rainbows as I pick up the silent call. I say I’m just checking the time, but please. I’m focusing hard on willing sweet little call to come through the airwaves. Cell phone whisperer.

Anyway, cell phone whispering failed. Then last night, as I was carrying two Goblin Tonics to a table of identical twin brothers with hair down to their butts, I nearly dumped my tray onto the floor when I spotted a sweet looking fortyish woman sitting in the corner, stirring a Shirley Temple. Tania, a fellow waitress, brushed up behind me and whispered, “I think someone’s here to see you.” She offered, thankfully, to take my tables for a minute.

Darcy <approaching table with ‘what are you doing here’ tone>: Well hi there.

Alana: Hey Darcy. <which she says, Dahhcy, and I just melt right there, against my will…kind of>

Darcy: Didn’t think I was going to hear from you.

Alana: I didn’t think I was going to call.

Darcy<raising eyebrows>: I can’t really talk now. I have…well, I’m working. <I see Jane frowning in the background from behind the bar, shaking her head and making the “cut” signal>

Alana: That’s okay, I’ll wait.

Darcy: It’s going to be another two hours.

Alana: Meet me at the diner across the street?

<I look over at Jane, who is now bugging her eyes out incredulously>

Darcy: Ummm…okay. I’ll call you when I get out.

We had coffee at three a.m. She didn’t offer any excuses, except for the fact that she was scared about actually loving someone outside of her marriage. I said I wouldn’t stand for being treated like a pool girl, expected to show up in a garter belt with champagne and strawberries every time her husband was out of town (although, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be so terrible…but I digress!) She was much less forward than our first meeting. Kind of shy. She has such large brown doe-eyes, and the longest lashes. She invited me to dinner at her place on Thursday. I’ll probably go.

When I got back home an hour later, I found Jane in our office, lights off, youtube videos of Mark Wahlberg glowing in reflection on her face from the computer, her ironed-straight bottle-red hair up in a ponytail, with Twizzler hanging out of her mouth. She said, “Well, it’s about time, beotch! What the deal?” I told her Alana invited me over for dinner. “Oh yah,” she said, biting off a piece of Twizzler. “Don’t say anything!” I said. She shrugged, gave me a hug, Twizzler still hanging out of her mouth, and sauntered toward her bedroom. She made a little whip-cracking motion with her hand, and said “wha-chh!” and shut the door. Whatevs.

is free love for free?
October 1, 2007

Making out with Alana and hearing things like “Yor so garrgeous” in a soft alto with rolling Irish rrr’s in my ear kept me more than occupied until about 6 a.m. Saturday morning, when she had to drive to the airport. It makes the back of my head tingle just thinking about her snow-white neck and black stick-straight hair, the way when I was nervous after the restaurant walking around the apartment she laid down with one leg dangling off the sofa and one arm on the back of it and said, “why don’t you come over hare darrling?” And motioned to me. She sat me down, took off my shirt, and sketched me for an hour before she leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Watching someone watching you so they can render you in charcoal: turn. on.

She had to leave at 6 a.m. to drive to the airport…to pick up her husband.

 I had to work Saturday and Sunday night, and I was plagued with thoughts of what was going on at Alana’s apartment. Jane’s currently at her laptop spouting off frequently asked questions from this polyamory website. Thanks Jane.

Ford promised to come over this afternoon for tea and to cuddle and watch Sex and the City with me. Plus he had some kind of date this weekend with some little tennis bracelet of a Vandy undergrad, so he said he wanted to “dish” with me. Not to use grossly overused stereotypes or anything, but isn’t he just the gayest straight man you’ve ever heard of? 

Okay, Alana’s supposed to call me back at noon because I said I needed to talk to her about this. Deep, cleansing yoga breaths.

re: hott neighbor
September 28, 2007

Let’s do the time warp (again) to junior high maturity level. I had Ford do some recon on The Downstairs Neighbor and the marriage situation. She mentioned her partner, Bill, a couple of times in conversation, with whom she has been living for ten years. But also mentioned an ex-girlfriend she broke up with last year. So I was confused. Ford chatted her up last night and apparently she is in some kind of open relationship situation. Which would explain why she kept touching the small of my back while we were walking around looking at her art. Maybe.

She called me though. She called my cell, and when it lit up and buzzed on the kitchen table, and the caller ID said “Alana,” I nearly had a heart attack full of awkward glee. Speaking of junior high, it’s the, ah gee, I am special feeling, which never changes no matter how old I get and I get a call from a woman I really like. I know you’re not supposed to depend on validation of your attractiveness or intelligence from other people, but…come on. I’m all for healthy self esteem, but that notion is so woo-woo self-help-book and a little boring. Did I mention how cool she is? ::junior high self does a little dance in a circle and points disco hands a few times::

We’re going to a Thai place on the corner of her block and then back to her place for painting. Nervous, nervous. Note to self: two glasses of wine at dinner, tops.

In other news, my first day of work at Poe’s was actually great. I love the people there. Some dude dropped a fifty dollar tip for me too.