uh-oh, part two

Anyone who happened upon my previous blog post probably assumed I would never see Ian again. But the truth is, as usual, stranger than fiction - not that I'm complaining, as you'll soon learn.

Ian came by my house unexpectedly Saturday afternoon with a SITREP. He was able to do this as his wife had departed for a week or so Up North.  Seems he had been able to convince the wife that a) we were just talking, and b) he would not call me any more. Not that he had any intentions of sticking to b).

This didn't mean we didn't have a conversation about his situation. Even though I may appear a dedicated homewrecker, I really don't want to make anyone unduly unhappy. This includes women I've never met.

And although I think adultery is a symptom that someone is gradually realizing that their matrimonial promises are near-unworkable in the long run, I prefer that others discover the realities of their domestic gulag on their own. I am only interested in offering sympathy, kindness, and passion: things that are sadly absent from most marriages.

But back to Ian and Saturday. We ended up sticking to our original plan, which was the SMU/Tulsa game. We had chosen seating on the visitors' side, since there was the possibility he'd be recognized by Highland Park lacrosse players had we sat on the home team side, and he discreetly held my hand. Then we walked back from the stadium to the complex of restaurants near the local rail station. The weather was perfect: cool and clear.

We went to the Irish pub. Ian is from good Celtic stock, thankfully. We shared a single drink at the bar, then found a dark corner and ordered dinner. But most of it ended up as dinner for Boris and my other porch cats as we ended up decamping to my place. Somewhere along the line, dinner ceased to be a priority.

I don't know why or what caused me to see Ian differently that evening. It was like he had finally discovered how to transfer his desire for me, to me. He even looked different; his eyes were bluer.

Even though I'd been waiting for this time - the right time - in hindsight, I wish it hadn't taken so long for things to ignite. He was thorough and slow and perceptive. He had some delightful lacrosse-related scars and rough builder's hands. He was even stronger than I'd initially observed (a while back he repaired my front door - solid oak - with no visible effort). At one point, he picked me up as if I were half my real weight.

We reconvened later in the weekend at his place, where he shed some of his initial caution.

More later.

uh-oh

Today was another day with no work but no real worries, and more idyllic weather. I spent the morning cleaning house, then headed north to Cycle Gear to try to find some motorcycle boots.

It's been a problem finding any that fit me as I am plagued with long, skinny feet.  Few manufacturers  make women's motorcycle boots, and those that do usually make 1 style for every 20 men's styles. I was looking for some plain ankle boots for warm weather, but nothing was in stock. I ended up special ordering.

While in Cycle Gear, my cell phone rang. The caller ID said Private Caller; these irritate me, but since my number could be on a lost cat's ID tag, I had to answer. But there was nobody on the other end.

A few minutes later, Ian called.

"Did you get a blocked call a few minutes ago?" he said.

I said yes, but they hadn't said anything.

"I think that was my wife," he said.

It eventuated that it really was his wife.

Earlier today, she had taken a look at their cell phone bill and wondered who the hell Ian was calling so often. When he fessed up (sort of - I doubt he mentioned the flirtation factor), she promptly went jihad, and didn't believe that we hadn't been fucking our brains out the last few months. But then I suppose a couple of snog sessions combined with some coffee/lunch dates are equivalent to adultery, especially if you're Jimmy Carter.

I don't know what will happen now, and neither does Ian.  His only response was to repeat the verbal shrug-phrase "it is what it is", and that he would talk to me again when he could. I hope he won't be made to suffer unduly, but it seems marriage and suffering always go together, especially when the honeymoon is over.

The situation makes me feel really sad. All flirtation aside, Ian was genuinely helpful and sweet, and his sense of humor was beginning to charm me. He does a really good Jack Nicholson imitation.

aggravation central

Even though today's weather is idyllic, I woke in a bad mood.

1. The cooler weather has set off my asthma, but my health insurance won't reappear until next Tuesday. I need to find an asthmatic friend with an inhaler I can borrow.
2. I still don't know if the ad agency is going to counter-offer me a job, but the longer this drags on, the lesser the chances. At least that's my opinion.
3. I've not worked much in the last three weeks so my bank balance will not allow me to go out and buy a pair of motorcycle boots.
4. I have taken the house apart but can't find last year's hiking boots, which would make fine substitutes for motorcycle boots for the time being. How does one lose a pair of hiking boots? I'm not that messy.
5. Ian is taking me to the SMU/Tulsa football game Saturday and I'm afraid I'll cough all the way through it if I don't find some albuterol.

Mel's new scoot

Melina Bueller's day off

Even though it's tempting to fret about the lack of income, I'm secretly kind of glad that I'm not needed back at the ad agency until Wednesday afternoon. This is due to slacker clients (federal employees) not returning their copy comments to the agency on the specified date. Current ETA is Wednesday am.

Tomorrow/Tuesday I can sleep until 10 am, ride my motorcycle, do a few home repairs, eBay a couple of things, wax my legs, and enjoy the weather in true Ferdinand the Heifer fashion.

My return to the Snoopy Borg is scheduled for next week. Although I had hopes of a counter-offer from the ad agency, I don't see it coming through. The client in question needs a writer for business to business stuff, and although I've done tech writing, the senior creatives (the flip-flop wearers) don't seem to really know what sort of writer they need.

Earlier today, I sent them a link to the BI (business intelligence) and data analytics white papers I've edited during the past few years as they're now available for download. I haven't received any response. I fear they may not understand the content of the papers, so this could possibly backfire.

But things can change overnight. They do all the time. Perhaps my ad agency re-entry is destined for a few months down the road. In the meantime, the Snoopy Borg will pay the rent and I may even get an opportunity to torment PD*. Payback's a bitch, innit?

* See Key to Characters at right.