Monday, July 14, 2008

We'll Be Back in Two and Two

Elena emailed me back and wants to get together. I didn't scare her off. My hormones jump for joy and I plan our life together in South America, pooping out kids while she sees patients and I work on music.

We plan to meet at the cafe to exchange music on our computers. She wants to share her Latin music and I want to get her up to speed on goth and punk rock. It's our second try to hook up and I make sure to wash myself really good.

She calls me 10 minutes before we're supposed to meet.

"My friend is here and we want to go to the jazz festival across town," she says.

The last thing I dig is festivals during the day because it brings out all the amateur partiers and the chicken on a stick and artwork always sucks and it's not my scene in any way. I want to live under the dark of night.

I tell her I'm not interested and she says she'll give me a call later to hook up for dinner.

At this point I'm frustrated because she didn't even consider the option of keeping our date if I wasn't interested in going to the festival with her.

Later that night she calls around 8pm and says she already ate dinner, but will come watch me eat. I ask if she drinks and we end up at a bar I go to sometimes and it turns out there's a great jazz band playing, so this may work out after all.

We talked and she's staying with her aunt. She had to tell her aunt that she was going to meet someone who would give her computer help and couldn't say she was meeting me for a drink. That was red flag number one since she's 29 and just crashing at her aunt's house for the next month or so. Red flag number two was when she told me her aunt thought she was asleep and she wasn't, but her aunt went through all of her bags and clothes. What did Elena do? She pretended she was still asleep.

I would've told her to get the fuck out of my shit.

Then we talked about punk and how she used to be into the music when she was younger, but she doesn't like to listen to it because she's not really angry anymore. I don't know if she's talking about MTV punk rock or local bands or what.

The sparks, the life with my little half latin half white kid on a beach in South America went kerplunk.

She wanted me to walk her to her car. I'm not sure if she wanted a kiss, then she offered to drive me home, but I had her stop at Camille's bar for a couple of drinks. To soak up my disappointment.

Not that Elena wasn't a sweet girl. 'Chuck, we didn't have a love connection.'

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