Born yesterday

I'm 28 years old. I've had enough experiences with men to have at least some insight into the male mind. And yet, when it comes right down to it, I haven't the foggiest clue.

In the past two weeks, I've amazed myself, both with lack of clarity when sober, and astuteness when drunk.

A few doors down from my house, there's been ongoing construction, and as with most construction, there've been construction workers. I get up rather early these days to take the dog for her morning walk, and on these early morning, dewdrops-on-your-sneaker-tips kind of mornings, I've walked by the site. There was a rather attractive fellow working there, and he and I would exchange hellos, gradually lengthening the scope of our conversations to "how are you's", and "bad weather we're having". Not exactly sparkling, but a start, anyway. One day, as I walked by and went up my front steps, he ran after me, and introduced himself properly. He suggested we exchange phone numbers and maybe go out sometime. His phone, he said, wasn't working, but it was getting fixed that day. I, admittedly turned on by his rather well-muscled physique and lovely blue eyes, said yes. I mean, not everything has to mean something, right? A date or meeting with someone new doesn't immediately have to send me into apoplectic fits worrying how I'll break up with him if it doesn't work out. Emboldened by my new disregard for my usual over-thought, I sauntered that day. I felt filled with a certain brand of freedom, both sexual and from my own nature. I felt hot.

Later that night, my best friend called me up, and we made spontaneous plans. Wow, I thought, this is a new me. I never make spontaneous plans, I don't even know if I'm spelling spontaneous correctly! We met at a bar near both of us, and had a few beers, and a great time chatting and watching the cute waiters. Confidence is infectious, and both of us were feeling a bit more !!! that night. Sitting next to us was a fellow who came and joined us after his female companion left. I'd noticed him earlier as he walked back from the bathroom, we'd made prolonged eye contact, and I was again amazed at how un-self conscious I was being.

He talked a lot about the ridiculously interesting life he'd been leading, his fantastic job, which put him in league with the upper eschelons of Canadian music gods, his philosophies on life and choices. Both me and my friend found him entertaining, and not too arrogant, for one so well-connected and travelled. I noticed he was pretty much ignoring me, and for some reason, I knew it was because he was trying to be aloof. Usually, I'd think he just didn't notice me, but the construction worker's interest in me had bolstered my ego a bit, and so, without the headache of lowish self-esteem, everything was standing before me, remarkably clear, even as I got progressively drunker. When my friend excused herself to the bathroom, my suspicions were confirmed, and he started in on how he'd fancied me from the moment he saw me, he wanted to know me, and that he'd been playing it aloof so I'd think he was cool. I was tickled, and at the end of the night, under the initial intention of walking my dog, we went back to my place.

I don't know when exactly I cottoned on to the fact that he was completely coked out, that there was a very strong possibility he was actually something of a liar, and a rather grand one, at that. But after a rather unmemorable encounter, and some pathetic excuses as to why he wouldn't be able to join me for breakfast,(I didn't invite him!) I saw him, in my drunken stupor, for what he was. It wasn't that far off from who I thought he was at the bar, someone used to partying and saying what sounded good. And amazingly, there was no shame or self-criticism involved, post-revalation. It was what it was. A one-off. Not without a lesson or two.

Fast forward to not one, not two, but three sweet phone messages from the construction worker. After the second call, I had decided I wasn't going to call him. I know, it sounds despicably classist of me, but I just couldn't see it, couldn't fathom what we'd have in common. A week went past when the third call came, and with it, a sharp reminder that I can be a bit too judgemental and introverted with people I don't know, and so I fished out his phone number and gave him a call.

A woman answered. I asked to speak to "Bob". 'Who is this?' she asked, suspiciously. I told her my name, and when he got on the phone, the jig was up. He was cold, aloof, positively reluctant to talk to me. A colonoscopy might have been more comfortable for him. There was that clarity, just a bit on the tardy side. His phone was broken? Asking me about the construction site that he was no longer working on? Oh, you silly, naive simpleton, you daft, not-tuned-in-to-your-first-instincts girl. I'd been so worried I was being a bitch and not giving him a fair shot, that I ignored whatever the heck it was in me that initially said "don't call". He tried to get out the words "I'll call you later", but I cut him off and hung up.

I was embarrassed. My ass was a bit sore from falling off my chair in disbelief, both at my ignorance, and his idiocy. But I reminded myself that I've fallen off several turnip trucks before, and I'm still able to laugh about it, even with that purpley-red emotional bruising.

They're out there, my future bad dates, blissful and short lived love affairs, and perhaps, if I'm lucky, one or two more deep, enduring ones. I'll try not to shy away from musicians and hard hats out of past experiences. I'll just have to go by my guts.