It’s berry season here in Oregon. And, yes, I’m aware that cherries are not berries even if they rhyme, but it also happens to be late cherry season. And I just ate a bowl full of Oregon cherries while watching the Ice Storm. Well, I also ate a bowl full of some delicious briyani that I made tonight for dinner.
My roommates have been away for most of the week so it’s just been me and the dogs doing a lot of hanging out. They’ve been a bit rambunctious and I can’t really blame them because I probably would be too if I were cooped up in a kitchen all day and didn’t have opposable thumbs that I could use to cook things. Other than that, though, they’ve been pretty good. I rather enjoy my roommates dogs.
This post isn’t about them, though. It’s about me. Well, not entirely.
As you will recall, I was stood up last Saturday night by the boy I’ve been seeing for the past six weeks or so. When I finally called him on Tuesday and pointed this out to him, he seemed genuinely surprised and begged that he had honestly forgotten that we were supposed to go out Saturday. As to why he didn’t respond to my texts, he had nothing to say.
He asked if there was any way that he could make it up to me and I, being a nice guy—or being a sucker, I haven’t decided which, said yes. Friday seemed to be the night that would work best for both of us so we made plans to meet up after he finished up with a work thing that he had to go to at 5. I figured 7 or 8, though we didn’t set a definite time. 830 rolled around and still no sign of him so I went out for some food and drink with my book and thought maybe I’d hear from him while out. I came home and not long after started getting ready for bed when a little after 10 my phone rang and it was him.
I screened and in his voice mail he said that he was just leaving the work thing and that he and some friends were going to get something to eat and he wanted to know if I’d like to join them. After debating for about 10 minutes whether to even listen to the message I did and then went upstairs to brush my teeth.
My phone rang again. An update in plans about where they were headed for food and a reminder of what his phone number was.
Now, I’m actually not all that angry. I am but not a lot. More than anything I’m just frustrated that I can’t seem to find a mature guy who has his shit together and can handle something that lasts longer than a few weeks. This technically made it to six but even still that’s not very long.
I guess I could go spit cherry pits at him but that probably isn’t going to be a good indicator of my own maturity level.
But, as I mentioned above, I just ate a bowl full of cherries and now I’m left with a bowl full of pits and I’ve got to do something with them.