Passive Agressive Is The New Flirting

The right guy will call someday but he is not getting my number.

Gentlemen, I got your number now.

Six years with a Yukkell really strips your self esteem. But that is not his fault. The onus is on me. He's guilty of being a jackass. I am guilty of riding the jackass. Figuratively, of course. Looking back, he really wasn't good for anything in my life and I don't mean that in a Bitter Attack kind of way. I mean it in a See The Light kind of way. But the rut, she is gone. Thank god. The sex sucked. The mean rages sucked worse. And frankly, I certainly don't need him for laughter anymore. Can't remember what it was we shared. He followed me, I followed him. We both probably had issues. Moving on now.

So you start to feel all pretty, confident, and happy again. Your creative juices are flowing. You like your suntan. When you walk into a room you hold your head up. You meet people's eyes now. And friends compliment you on this Newfound You. Thanks Mav. You would know. And then boom. The jackass bucks you yet again. Albeit, a jackass of a different color. They look different, but then you see that really they are just the same jackass in a different costume. Who is that Masked Man, so "into me" one moment, so aloof the next? Oh. Another Yukkell in disguise. I don't want another Unhappy, Stressed, and just Sad person. I am so over Broody. Why do I want that again? I'll fall into the same role of Nurturer and Walking On Eggshells and dammit I am ready to be nurtured. So shoo fly shoo. I will no longer waste my time debating the phonecall vs. the not-phonecall and the Meaning behind lack thereof and "why didn't he call" is he testing me of course he likes me all my friends saw it and he's waiting for me to call and will he like me tomorrow and not just for today, etc. etc. etc. (Lest I get on a Vince Vaughan speed-talking monologue tangent. Go see Wedding Crashers.)

Mr. I-Called-And-Promised-To-Call-Again-But-Will-Not-Call-Again,
You are dead to me.

So I reeled in the Flirt and the Baring of the Soul and the Hope That Leads To The Waiting Game this past weekend. It went a little like this.

Shamrock: "Go!"
Agressive Me: Beeline for the door, navigate the crowded bar, settle in behind a Tall Cute Boy at a bar that is three people deep. It's also Closing Time. It's late.
Target: Turns around, looks me in the eyes. Big smile. "Hi!"
Waning Agressive Me: OK. I didn't have to do anything but be there. Flash him my pearly whites, "Hi yourself!"
Target: "What's your name?"
Really Me: "Well...(chuckle)...they call me Boa."
Target: "Boa, huh? Well my name is Brett."
Really Me: Always with the hard of hearing, "What?"
Target: "Brett"
Really Me: "Well nice to meet you."
Target: "Well my friends are waiting for me outside."
Defensive Me: "Yes, my friends are out there too."
Target: "No, I mean, my friends are ready to leave. Outside. What are you doing?"
Passive Me: "Hanging out with my friends."
Target: "Well, what are you doing tomorrow?"
Passive Me: "Going to the beach. Then going home."
Target: "Well I will be here tomorrow at 9 AM."
Really Me: "Ah. Bloody Marys." Ears perk up.
Target: "Here, let me give you my card." Fishing in his wallet.
Passive Me: Abruptly, "I got to go. But I will be here next weekend. You can find me then." Leave dust. As I'm walking off I hear a very faint, "Well....uh...bye Boa?"

(One Week Ago Me would have snatched that card....probably called...or given him my number...or simply invited him back to my deck at the house to drink under the starlights....fall in love....debate the phone call issue...etc. etc. Break the cycle!)

This way, I'd like to think I left a little mystery. The carrot dangles. Rabbit will hunt. We all know that jackasses don't.

New improved tests will be performed this weekend.