August 30, 2007


Oh, and OGL, Part Deux is moving foward in the absence of PiousMan (he is absent because I'm not returning his calls because I don't want a one way ticket to funadmentalism/orthodox/ultra-catholic-ville. I've met Nguyen (a surprisingly tall and well-built Vietnamese man who runs a construction business) three times, for coffee, drinks, and then dinner. Another recently widowed man, which causes some concern.* Concern regarding his neediness and just who's killing al these nice women? Oh, that was our loving god. Let's give the clearly masculine god a big Bronx cheer for the fun fate that is ovarian cancer.

So today, I couldn't get away for dinner, and Nguyen asked if he could bring me a picnic lunch and meet me in a nearby sculpture garden. He asked if I could consider being serious about him given that he was from another race. As I've said before, I think race is just nonsense. Like dog breeds, it's image, not reality. Although German Shepherds are lovely dogs, and Vizslas are dumber than any other non-flora fauna out there. But I've just been there with PiousMan, so I answered as honestly as I could: "I just don't know when I might be ready to be serious. Right now, I'm just trying to have a nice dinner with a guy without punching him in the nose."

Well you know men, whatever you say they put a positive spin on it: "Well, you haven't punched me in the nose, so I'm figuring we're doing okay."

Well, any man who brings me a lunch picnic with beef pho, curried chicken, rice, spring rolls, barbecued pork and vegetables, chocolate cheesecake, and a choice of red and white wines as well as seltzer water, blackberry soda, and lemonade isn't going to get punched in the nose by me. He's going to be regarded as more than marginally attractive, especially whilst I am dining. Oh, and he brought a tablecloth and a blanket for me to sit on so my skirt wouldn't get stained.

Oh, he probably also figured that me not worrying about grass stains would help him get some nookie, but he figured without the saving graces of Ms. Bossy, who beeped me to ask about a class I was holding after lunch. At that point, semi-tipsy with good wine, satiated with good food, and generally happy, I wouldn't have given a crap about grass stains caused by a nice muscle-y man, except I did not have time.

Darn those jobs and obligations. Interfering with my ability to get a good lunchtime snog. Really, work is driving me to immorality.

*What's happening to all these wives? They getting knocked off? Probably not, cancer is rather hard to inflict on others, but still. I wonder. And worry.

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