Thursday, June 26, 2014


Time is time, right? Then how come that last hour of work can crawl while, after fifteen hours at Disneyland, you feel like you just got there? I hear people talk about their forties whizzing by while a line at the airport is where someone can suddenly acquire a full head of grey hair, arthritis in the left hand and an urge to start wearing black knee socks with sandals.

Father Time plays tricks on us. Why not? He’s got plenty of—well, you know.

In my last blog post, I shared how it took eighteen years to finally go on a first date with Tim. That was nothing. A mere blip compared to the week of waiting for Date Number 2. Actually, it’s a week and a day. That explains comparisons to an eternity. So much more rational.

It’s like that old Heinz ketchup commercial—for those of you who go back in time as far as the mid-‘70s. Cue the Carly Simon song, Anticipation. Ah, it’s keeping me wa-a-aiting. And I am hoping for so much more than a dab of sugared tomato sauce.

Even a decade ago, the specifics about a next date would be firmed up through a phone conversation that followed a bit of phone tag which had the added benefit of allowing you to play back the recording to hear his voice and to feel something aflutter inside again. I remember having to towel off after nervous phone calls during which I fretted over every word. Now communication comes through text messages. Convenient, yes, and hygienically more pleasing, but perhaps too controlled. We can type, delete, type, delete, delete until any vulnerability and awkwardness are neatly expunged from the record.

Indeed, Tim and I exchanged a few texts Sunday night and Monday morning until a tentative plan was in place for Saturday. Not much spontaneity in the words. Still, I will admit to rereading Tim’s opening words—Hey, handsome. He really wrote that. I just went back and checked again. (Just for the sake of keeping this post authentic, I assure you.)

There is no further contact, at least until Friday afternoon or Saturday morning when one of us sends out a confirmation text. Just in case. So much can happen in the span of a week.

My inner voice implores me to think of other things.

Pretend that the World Cup matters. Yea to any team wearing green!

Watch another episode of an obnoxious celebrity chef berating fledgling restaurant owners and wonder why I cannot swear off the #$%*@ show once and for all.

Go outside and tame the blackberry bushes (but don’t get all scratched up before the big date).

Sudoku. Another chapter in a YA book I cannot relate to. Laundry. A valiant effort to rid the shower of any trace of mildew.

Anything to pass the time. Let another hour tick away. I am that much closer to Saturday. It is important not to spend much thought playing out the possibilities regarding the date. That is not constructive. There are some really wonderful What ifs, but given my track record, there are many more less hopeful ponderings. How will I blow this? What better-than-me guy did he meet on Wednesday? When will it dawn on him that I have a perma-pasty skin tone?

Ah, yes. If scrubbing the bathtub doesn’t temper the excitement, self-doubt will. It is there. Always is during the early stages. I’d say I’m not being too brutal with myself this time around. There is more confidence, a sense that I deserve a great guy and a real hope that Tim just might be that guy. But who knows?

Saturday still seems so far away.


oskyldig said...

There is nothing wrong with being excited about something. :)

Rick Modien said...

Hey, Handsome. Tim got that right.

Man, do I understand your anticipation (and the reference to the ketchup commercial).

But another word of advice, if I may. You have every right to be excited, but not over much. Don't put TOO much emphasis on this. Treat it more like a couple of friends, who really enjoy each other's company, getting together. That should help to take the pressure off.

Play it cool, be yourself, and have an awesome time.

You so deserve a great man, dude, because you're a great man. Don't forget it.

And Saturday will be here before you know it. Just keep yourself busy. You'll see.

(On another subject, I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but I like YA books, and you wrote one. So I bought it for my iPad a couple days ago, and I'm reading it now. Really enjoying it. Your sense of humor comes through in every chapter. Can't wait to read more. I read somewhere your book was going to be used in schools. Did that happen?)

Rural Gay said...

Indeed, there is nothing wrong with being excited. I am blogging this in-between period because many people who have been in lovely long-term relationships may have forgotten the earliest moments when everything ends in an exclamation mark...and a question mark. What, if anything, will come of this?

Perhaps I should be more subdued. But, really, good things don't come along often for me on the dating front. I am rather certain that I will be plenty relaxed when the date actually occurs. Tim's smile and physical touch calm me. All the edginess comes as I wait.

Hey, Rick, I'm flattered that you downloaded (or whatever the correct techno-verb is) my book. Technically, it is MG instead of YA. I had to be restrained with the language and I had to cut half the manuscript to fit with the publisher's word count for MG novels. Tom's point of view got slashed. Still, the entire process of writing, revising and working with an editor was immensely satisfying. Hope you continue to enjoy the read!