I Don't Understand Men, Part I
So yesterday afternoon I get an email from Mr. Poopypants, who shall heretofore be known as ROMP (Rain on My Parade).Generic question asking me how my weekend was. Then some blurb about not being able to get last-minute concert tickets. There was a joke in there about his obsession with "Pirates of the Caribbean 2" (which, I might add - not proudly - has saw twice last weekend). And then, at the end, a request for me to let him know when I'm free to go out and tear it up with him.
Okay, let me see if I get this straight: we meet. He likes me. We pursue one another (admittedly a mutual thing). We go out. We hook up. Wait, no, this is wrong. He likes me, but isn't ready for a relationship, even though we didn't really have one. He comes over. We talk. He tells me this. And now he emails me again to ask if I want to go out, after telling me that wasn't what he wanted.
I responded this afternoon (after hoping that he sweated it out a bit). Very vague. Told him no big deal about the concert tickets, as I'd already made other plans for tonight. (A boldfaced, necessary, girl-defending lie, as my plans involved a glass of pinot, mozzarella sticks, and typing this.) And then, the punchline - "Up to my ears in work this week. Shoot me an email next week and we'll talk."
I think the most amusing thing that came out of this situation is that for as overanalytical as he is, he's now probably talking himself in circles trying to figure out where my head is at.
New motto: If you can't f*ck them, mindf*ck them.
posted by KA @ 7:13 PM
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