I can't get Saturday's driving lesson out of my head.
Don't get me wrong, the triplets' yearly birthday barbecue (which reminds me - Happy Birthday Chuckies - isn't that what we had a party for on the same night as the triplets last year?) was great fun, from mocking Peter for his dazzling new hairdo, to finally meeting his drop-dead-stunning and quite amicable girlfriend, to getting Helen and Stef shockingly stoned (goths around here seem to avoid that sorta thing), and paranoid, and giggly and uhm...
To quote: "I can see the air move!"
Now how many times have you heard a stoner say that?
Not as often as Stef said it between 9 and 10 pm on Saturday, thass fer sure. Wow.
Ahhh, but the driving lesson, superimposed in my thoughts even over Kaff's black lace thong underwear, and the consequent binge partying at le Sphincter. (I'm *still* hungover)
Saturday morning I got to experience firsthand That Which Happens to Other People.
Or to Other People I Went To High School With.
Here I thought I'd gotten over the majority of "I'm too fat and ugly for so-and-so to approach me" and yet somehow I was still shocked at the delicous deliberations of herr young driving teacher dude.
Who, on my second lesson, had me do all the nasty steep hills in Westmount, screaming "there's a guy in a porsche behind you and he's in a hurry so don't stall!!!" (which I didn't ;) then turned to me and grinned and after commenting on the sexiness of my tattoo exclaimed:
"You're too nervous. You know what you need? To smoke a big fatty."
At which point, the remaining bottom half of the hour was spent driving into the thick of town (which has me freaked on a crowded saturday in a car I'm accustomed to, let alone a scary manual-transmission) to find "his guy" then onto the highway and back to my place where I couldn't find mine, then on to Dom's place to buy some off him cuz it's always dependable...
We didn't see the time go by, two hours I've been driving, Yoav's stopped commenting altogether, it's turned from a lesson to a leisurely friendly drive across town.
I park, sans hesitation (apparently two lessons was enough after all), in front of Dom's, we play with his puppy (Yoav looked far too sweet crushed under a 16-month-old over-exuberant black lab), roll one, and take off.
By the time we've gotten back to my car, we've discussed body piercings (he spent a year living in Daytona and opened up a piercing shop, not bad for a "Nice Jewish Boy"), tattoos, drugs, life, people who can't learn, why he thinks I'm great, etc...
Waitamminit, rewind a sec there.
"Why he thinks I'm great?"
This, coming from a laid-back happy-go-lucky beachboy with access to the most lithe-of-limb nubile princesses on the planet?!?
Whoa.
From slavering geeks who'll hit on anything that moves, I'm used to the attention, and happy to complain about how sick I am of it.
But...
When he dropped me off for breakfast, and said that we ought to get together and smoke some more sometime, I was too stoned by then to make head or tail or insert-random-bodypart-here of it.
In retrospect, the intention was clear, and I feel half-bad for not seeming a little more positive about the idea. Let alone the "stinger" incident. ;)
And now I'm wondering if'n it would be appropriate to call up the driving school and grab his number, or leave mine for him - but the thought occurs that this weekend's pretty busy with skydiving and stuff, and John seems to think that since I didn't give him my number straight off then the deal is out, but...
Ya never know. I never gave a rat's rectal protrusion for appropriate behaviour anyway.
Maybe tommorrow I'll hear a snatch of hebrew on the way to work and it'll send me jonesin' for the boy.