clicking? sparking? when? (part two)

I believe Our Story, the one demonstrating that love is not always at first sight or even tenth sight, last ended when I was entangled on a sofa at the 1920s Club with three or four other women, having what was later dubbed the notorious Mormon Lesbian conversation, in which we realized we all could not marry each other because we liked the menfolk too much to forsake them.

At the time I wasn’t thinking about any specific menfolk. Or womenfolk, for that matter. And for this, I have to thank Kramer. Kramer did me a big favor, although he probably didn’t realize it until just now (“just now” being “when he reads this” assuming he does).
Last year around this time, Devota hosted her annual psychic brunch. This was a fun potluck brunch where anyone who attended could pay Kramer to give them a Tarot reading in a private room. Meanwhile, out in the living room, a bunch of women sat around drinking mimosas and eating lasagna and desserts and talking about sex. You know this is exactly the sort of event I enjoy. (I can’t wait for her to host another one.)
Anyway, I had Kramer do a Tarot reading for me because I had never had one done before. I thought it would be very interesting and my one regret is that I didn’t have a tape recorder smuggled somewhere on my person, because I tried to use this scene in some fiction I was writing and I couldn’t recapture it well at all.
I asked him two questions: one was about my love life, and one was about my writing. And what he said made me think about what I wanted to do about these things. I realized I wanted to work hard on a specific writing project, which other people had also urged me to do around that same time. I also realized I didn’t particularly seem to care about the whole relationship thing. I wasn’t having any of those long sad lonely weekends, I was very content pursuing my own interests. Any vague romantic stirrings had pretty much vanished.
It took me a few more weeks or so to realize that I truly wasn’t pining, or feeling lonely and neglected, or running the monthly Why Doesn’t Anyone Want Me melodrama night. It felt weird. I would actually try to provoke myself a little. Isn’t there anyone you’re interested in? Don’t you feel bad about not getting involved with anyone? Don’t you want to have sex with anyone?
Well, no. I was weirdly content and besides, there was always the Hitachi.
But it was a very good time for me generally (except for a stressful parental visit in which I was accused of being bitchy and rude). Local theaters inexplicably showed Billy Wilder movies. I found out Kiss Me, Stupid would be released on DVD. I saw lots of good movies like Bound and A Mighty Wind. The JournalCon planning was working out smoothly and pleasantly and hadn’t hit a stressful point yet.
More importantly, I got a lot of writing done and I started developing a good daily routine, although I would get somewhat pissy if my writing routine got interrupted by office meetings and the like. (I have a good illustrative journal entry from that time about this, but I’m supposed to be moving my archives so I don’t want to link to it yet.)
And this is why people personify Fate and Destiny and Chance and Luck and all those other things, because I was perfectly happy with my life and naturally it was at this point that these speculative thoughts started creeping in.
I had emailed the guy after the 1920s Club evening because my semi-hostess persona was worried about someone who abruptly got up and left in the middle of the evening, although I could imagine why: we’d been talking about thread counts for bed sheets, and he didn’t seem like the type who would find that at all interesting. His response was brief and designed to check further correspondence rather than encourage it. So much for that.
Shortly afterwards, I remember having an extremely vivid dream about him, and waking up totally embarrassed, and then being happy to see him at an Austin Bloggers thingy the next week in which he looked much less attractive than he had in the dream. Whew. I must not have been thinking about him, I told myself, it must have been some sort of conglomerate dream character. I was not interested. I was not attracted.
I told myself it was the Southern-bred part of my personality that was idly, dispassionately interested in whether this guy might possibly find me attractive, which is of course why I ended up sitting across from or next to him at every geek gathering we both attended, and which is why one night I typed his name into Google to see what would pop up. Hmmmm. Interesting.
I don’t recall exactly when I finally admitted I found him attractive and wouldn’t mind going out with him sometime. Nothing serious. It wasn’t a spark as much as a “Hmmm.” But I didn’t want another one of those upsetting episodes where I would ask a guy out and see that panicked look flash across his face as he tried to think of a polite way to say no. I hate that look, when a guy thinks you find him attractive, either because you told him or he guessed (sometimes incorrectly) and he just wants to get away and make it all go away and not have to deal with you and your horrible potential feelings because he does not find you one teeny bit attractive. Ugh.
I thought perhaps I could figure out if he was interested without actually asking or revealing anything. I sat next to him at an Austin Journallers’ happy hour at Gingerman, sometime in June. I watched as his phone buzzed and he slipped off into a corner to have a private call. Yep. He had a girlfriend, I was sure of it. Well, not 100 percent sure. Not yet. I asked him to walk me to my car. I dropped a lot of hints. He didn’t pick them up. Uninterested? Clueless? Who the hell can tell?
I had pretty much decided to forget about it, nothing was going to happen, when I had an email from the Alamo Drafthouse mailing list. I had really wanted to go to an evening of banned cartoons they were having, but it was on a bad night for me. I had mentioned this at Gingerman and the guy said he had actually tried to go but it had sold out, which was a shame. Now this message from Alamo said that they were bringing the cartoons back for a few more showings.
When I saw that email message from Alamo, I came up with a plan. I thought I would let the guy know about the new showings, and mention casually that I was going at this date/time, and then the burden would be on him to suggest we might go together, if he wanted. That would work. I could figure out pretty quickly if he thought I was a boring pest or what.
I emailed him the info and yes, he did reply and yes, he did suggest we might go together, if I wanted. We worked out all the details via email (yeah, we’re a couple of geeks) and agreed to meet at the theater.
But was this a date? Or was it just two people who knew each other slightly going to the movies together to keep each other company and have some nice conversation in a friendly way?
I’ll tell the rest of the story soon. I swear.