Waiting for me

The title is a typo, but I decided I liked it better than the actual lyrics that should go there.

Anyway, Jay picked me up from my volunteer position on Thursday evening to take me out to dinner. All week he'd been saying that he wanted to take me out to dinner and "do something", the something being anything but going back to my place and probably falling asleep. Me being me, I kept asking him what the something was. I wasn't too surprised when Thursday dawned and he didn't have anything.

We went out to a nicer Italian place, about twenty minutes from my house. Maybe my palate is just a philistine, but I was less than impressed. The breadsticks were good though? And the raspberry martini I had wasn't bad either. But for as much as he paid, I would have liked to enjoy my meal more. Seriously. I might be a schlub, but I like Bertucci's better.

While I was there, I was so completely the dominant female. It was interesting, really. Jay didn't do much of the talking; I was the one interacting with the hostess, the waitress, etc. I walked in before he did, I sat down before he did, I did the ordering for the most part, I made the decision to have dessert, and when the waitress came over, she asked me if everything was okay, not Jay. It was as if he were invisible, almost. I took over, and was the smooth, in-control adult woman. It was fun, if a bit shallow on my part. That part of my personality exists, sure, but the way I was doing it was a bit too smooth and black-cocktail-dress-and-diamonds-on-everything, if you know what I mean. And here I am saying that I want a guy to Dom me!

The other thing that struck me was that everyone else in the restaurant was talking, and we were silent. Jay and I said about ten words to each other during the course of our meal. Now, it's nice to have someone with whom you can be silent, sure. But it feels like we have nothing to say to each other. My friends (and anyone who reads this blog) know that I can be a wordy, chatty bitch. Hell, I go out to dinner with Elizabeth, and we don't shut up, ever. With Jay? Nada. I resorted to watching the mock NFL draft on ESPN that they had on, and god knows that was fucking ridiculously boring. I said a prayer of thanks when a baseball game came on instead.

It was the same after dinner. We got into his car, and started driving, and I again asked him what his plans were. All he could come up with was driving an hour south to where his parents' cottage was, to show it to me. Not inside, just the outside, as he didn't have a key. Yes, he was serious as he said this. I about smacked him, but restrained myself. Don't get me wrong, I like driving, but what the fuck. He then asked me where we should go, and I suggested that we go someplace that I wasn't familiar with driving - figuring we'd get lost in one of the suburbs, which I used to do when I had a car, to my great and never-ending entertainment. Instead he drives straight west on a highway I drive all the damn time, and we wound up going past where he works. He pulled into the parking lot to show me. I could barely contain my glee, let me tell you.

I was so irritated - well, not precisely irritated, but for lack of a better word, irritated - when we got back to my house that when we parked, I got out of the car and started walking without him. I took a certain amount of satisfaction in hearing him run to catch up to me (what good are long legs if you don't put them to use?) I was so intent on walking away that I nearly walked past my own house. Not a good sign. I really think that he takes my coming back to him at some point as a given. Sure, there are days when I think that too, but there's a lot of them when I don't, and I don't think he's gotten the memo yet - despite the multiple copies I stuffed in his mailbox.

He wound up falling asleep and not going back home; his parents called in a panic at 6:15 because his car wasn't there. He got up and went to work; I went back to sleep to avoid the world for a little longer, him included. He seemed pretty happy with life; I've been trying to change mine again, in spectacular fashion.