9/28/09: I'm wrong ... and I like it

He called. We headed out for pizza to a little local spot that he'd raved about and I'd never really tried. He picked me up at my building and we had a sweet little kiss hello. More on this later. We walked and talked the couple blocks to the restaurant and after waiting a bit for a seat, he ordered a salad and an olive plate and we decided on a pizza to share. I like that this one isn't a big eater. Even though he graciously deferred to my non-meat eating tendency, I suggested a pizza with fennel sausage because that sounded really good for some reason. And it was. Very, very good.

After the weirdness of our last date, I was initially very cognizant of not being weird myself. Not letting him in on the fact that I sort of had a freak out and thought he wasn't interested. I forgot about this very quickly as the conversation flowed so naturally between us. I mentioned offhandedly at one point about wanting to see all four of Shakespeare's major tragedies performed and that I'd seen three so far. Haven't seen Hamlet. He said he'd go with me ... I said okay.

We lingered a bit after dinner, finishing our beers, telling stories. We split the check and walked home. I told him I had to rescue some laundry from the dryer so he dropped me at my place and we had another sweet kiss goodnight. I asked when he was leaving town and then told him that I was leaving too, this coming Saturday for a couple relaxing days away. He said he'd call soon.

This was Monday evening. We had a lengthy text conversation last night and I heard from him tonight just a few minutes ago. He wrote that he was headed out but jut wanted to say hi. "So, hi, hello. Hope ur day was great." Smile. It was, I wrote back.

So, since we met, we've not gone a day without having some sort of communication. Only once has this communication been at my initiative. This is good. I know this is good. This is a sign of interest. I'm excited to keep hanging out with him, getting to know him, and experiencing the fall (my most favorite of seasons) with him.

Here's the rub: why, oh why, has this man not tried to get in my pants? He's 38 years old so I think I'm safe in assuming that he isn't nervous about physical contact. I thought about inviting him in on Monday but it was ... well ... Monday. So, not ideal if anything were to happen. On the one hand, I really appreciate the fact that he's moving slowly. But, on the other, I wonder whether this is actually what he's doing and if so, why? (The voice in my head says: because he likes you ... duh.) I realize that the reason I'm even obsessing about this is because all these other fools I met were not slow movers. At all. And I guess maybe I got used to that and got conditioned to using that as a gauge of interest. Didn't we learn not to do this in, like, middle school? God!! It is these moments when I realize that as much as I feel I've learned about myself and about men, I have no idea what's happening here.

But: Do I really need to analyze this? NO. Do I need to enjoy this? YES. I'm so used to looking for the red flags with these guys that when there aren't any, well, shit. Is it possible for there to be no red flags?

For the time being, I'll consider the 5 cats a red flag and consider myself ahead of the game. Well, I'll try. I'm hoping we'll see each other before we each go out of town. As always, I'll keep you posted. Tata!!