I couldn't help but wonder...

OK, seriously, Universe. Did you not get my memo? It is the Year of Stef, dammit. I proclaimed it; you are to make it so. And that means all bullshit where dating is concerned is to vanish and Mr. Considerate and Right-for-Me is supposed to appear. This new "positive attitude and optimism" thing I'm trying can go only so far; you really do need to pitch in a bit and throw me a bone.

All this is to say that I am home alone on a Friday night, partaking in long-neglected household chores like doing laundry and cooking a proper dinner and purging expired food from my cupboard and fridge, instead of hanging out with either of the prospects I was so excited and optimistic about a mere week ago. Mind you, I am actually not at all bothered by my home alone state right now... I'm sort of a hermit by nature, and frankly, all this exciting whirlwind single girl stuff does tend to wear on me fairly quickly and make me long for my couch and solitude. But still. It would be nice to have some options.

Date #2 with The Scientist was far from awful; it had its "on" and clever moments, I'd say. But thanks to either my near complete lack of sleep the previous night or the precarious phase of the moon (or some unfortunate combination thereof), the overall event was shrouded in a disconnect and awkwardness that I'm not entirely sure he's convinced is worth trying to charge past. Never mind the magic of that first date; apparently in the early stages, one "off" night just can't be overlooked. We shall see.

As for The Neighborhood Giant, I'm entirely baffled. Trust me; I have dated enough to know when to expect a vanishing act. I've been on both sides of that act more times than I care to recount, and I'd like to think I have a good feel for when to expect some follow up and when not to be surprised by a quiet slinking away. Last week's date (for which I'd rate rapport and conversation as comfortable and lively, respectively, and post-Boggle action as a second-date-appropriate PG-13) did not warrant any sort of vanishing act. In fact, it did not even occur to me to say, "So, give me a call..." as we parted, because it did not occur to me that he would not, in fact, call or write.

And yet, here I am, a week later, with no contact whatsoever, even after I gave in and broke all those stupid rules by sending a cleverish follow-up myself.

Since my life is apparently Sex & the City to some of you, I can explain this only in terms Miranda taught me. Remember that episode where she was stood up for a date, and decided it was so unforgivably rude that she was going to call the man on it and give him a piece of her feisty, red-headed mind? Remember how she phoned his home only to have his mother answer and find out he'd very recently died of a heart attack? Well, I'm going to presume The Neighborhood Giant clearly succumbed to some similar and dismal fate. It's the only excuse, wouldn't you say?

Except that no--it's maybe not the only explanation, and it would be harsh to wish him dead anyway. I haven't done a proper Friday Five in a while, so how's about I give you five other possible explanations for the unwarranted and unexpected disappearing act?

1. He carelessly walked his 6'7" self into the upper edge of a door frame (whilst daydreaming about me, most likely), and the impact caused short-term amnesia. The poor guy can't even remember where he works, I suspect; how can I fault him for forgetting about me?
   
   
2. Being a less-than-brilliant computer user, he foolishly visited a Web site that infected his computer with a virus and wiped out his entire mailbox, thereby losing both my e-mail address and any reference to my phone number. He's currently wandering my neighborhood, trying to remember exactly which blue house on which nearby street is mine, so he can come over to apologize and reunite in person.
   
   
3. He was more bothered than he let on by his tragic loss in Boggle, and he's simply too ashamed and wounded to ever show his face to me again.
   
   
4. He ate some bad sushi the day after our date and has been in a hospital bed, writhing in pain from a horrible bout of food poisoning ever since.
   
   
5. I have a secret admirer with a disturbing possessive and violent streak who didn't like the idea of any competition for my affection and therefore found The Neighborhood Giant and chained him to a pipe in a dark and scary basement, where no one can hear him scream.
   

All of these are valid explanations, I'm sure. It's just a matter of deciding which is most plausible, right?

And with that, I'm going to get on with my spinsterrific Friday. My oven timer just beeped, my dinner looks and smells awesome, and I've got a Netflix envelope I've been ignoring for weeks to open. Hope your weekend is less tinged with confusion and bitterness than mine's started with, and I'll catch up with all of you a bit later.


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Update 2/24: OK, so he actually did e-mail me, approximately two hours after I posted this. His message was so maddeningly flip and casual, however, that I still don't know for sure what to make of it. Also, The Scientist finally called me tonight, so perhaps he has not written me off just yet either. See, this is why I generally avoid documenting date details unless I'm sure I am or am not going to see the guy again. This sort of back-and-forth overanalysis is really best left in my own head or in a private journal. Carry on.

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