one way or another

Usually, the approach of the weekend while living here in podunk is cause for panic. How will I find something to do on a Saturday night here in Lametown, population: 6? This weekend presents a different problem entirely.

 

It's a long story, and parts of it aren't ridiculous enough for my rigorous blog-quality control standards, but basically, my ex-good-friend/guy I dated briefly is moving out of town on Sunday. His goodbye party is Saturday. All of my friends are going. I had initially opted not to attend — our transition from friends to dating to friends was awkward, to say the least (a tidbit that might give you an idea of just how awkward: he abruptly decided we should go back to being friends circa 5 am while I was topless in his bed, after which I walked the 4.5 miles home); beyond that, I'm good with him leaving but am not sure I need to attend the funeral — but all of our mutual friends had more or less convinced me that this was ridiculous.

 

"I feel pretty strongly that you need to be there," one said.

 

"Lame," said another. "Just come over around nine."

 

"SEE YOU SATURDAY!" yelled a third, exiting the office yesterday.

 

I love nothing more than feeling wanted at a social function, so all of this "you're insane why wouldn't you go" urging had convinced me to rethink my view of the whole situation. Until I spoke briefly to the guest of honor, who was absurdly weird and standoffish. Fidgety. Avoiding eye contact. Like he had just stolen money from my purse, which I know he didn't, because - aha! - I have no money. In all of the drama surrounding me and the party, it had never occurred to me that he of the 5 a.m. breakup might not want me there.

Rather than take the high road and, you know, discuss this with him, I instead came up with A Plan. It was simple: find something else to do on Saturday so that I am Impossibly Busy and Wouldn't Be Able To Go Even If You Begged, Sorry, By The Way I Am Breezy! (Sidebar: I am actually moving to a new apartment Saturday and therefore actually have a perfect excuse not to go, but moving is not SOCIAL ENOUGH, so I had to come up with OTHER OPTIONS.)

 

To implement the plan, I did what I always do. I went to the gym.

 

There, somewhere between cardio and lifting, I Jedi mind-tricked my way into a date. We'll call the guy Marc. I've been talking with him for a few weeks, ever since he came up to me at the bar and said, "You work out at [local gym], right?" (I don't think this is a commentary on my spectacular hotness, by the way; I think it's more about the fact that I live at the gym and that, again, there are six damn people in this town.) We've engaged in mild flirtation since, both in the gym and out, though when we're there, it centers mostly around his fervent desire to "show me the steam room." Yesterday, in my fit of desperation, I succumbed; we sat (fully clothed) in the sauna and when we exited I asked if he was going out this weekend, then told him he should plan to do something and invite me.

 

"You mean like, ask you out?" he said with a grin.

 

I paused, because really, that wasn't what I meant; I meant more like, "go ahead and go to the bar with your friends but give me a call and maybe pay for some of my rum;" but would a date not fit the exact specifications of my plan? So I said, SURE, gave him my number, and left.

It's now Friday. Gym guy has yet to call, though I did see him yesterday and we continued our ridiculous flirtation. Party is tomorrow, he of the 5 a.m. breakup is texting me currently to schedule our Last Conversation (which I guess probably means I am officially unwelcome at the party), I should probably be packing boxes but am instead watching Gilmore Girls in my underwear. Though I have my SUPER SOCIAL PLANS all lined up, it wouldn't surprise me if, aside from moving, this is what I actually end up doing all weekend. Which, to be honest, might not be all bad. Take that, Lametown.