Yeah, haven't been blogging for the last couple days because lots of stuff has been on my mind. Stewing, cooking, boiling, broiling...and whatever other metaphors you'd like to use. They all apply.

Anyway, I decided to skip yoga today for some extra hassle, errands and work. I know, what was I thinking. I could really use the meditation. So, I decided to try it myself in my room...and felt like a damn fool. Yoga is just one of those things that you need to do in a classroom I've decided. (Or, on a mountaintop or something like that, where it seems quite zen, "cool" and appropriate...) Alone in your room. On a mat that's freakin' waaaay too small for you, trying to remember the poses--it just ends up being ridiculous. Thank G-d I live alone!

After my little "yoga session," I attempted to get work done, but was instead sucked into a couple fun games of Minesweeper--je vous presente my newest addiction. All day, all night. Minesweeper. Love the game, can't get enough. Keep trying to beat my times on every level. And because my computer crashed, I had to redo all the times, again. Joy! I remember there was a time back in high school when I was really sick and feverish, stuck at home...and every day and night I would play minesweeper, trying to beat my times. After hours I would start getting headaches, my eyes would itch and water...but I wouldn't stop. Not until I won. The only problem is you start losing sense, the ability to think and see after a while...all very key for this game.

During this game, I realized...I'd forgotten to call back the Italian!

The Italian?

Hmm...I dunno if I updated you guys on this one. A couple weeks ago I went to a "pasta party," which was quite fun. A really seemingly nice, good looking French (ethnically Italian, hence his nickname) guy was at the party too. I didn't really notice him until our host asked him what he wanted to drink and he motioned across the room to me and said "whatever she's drinking."

Anyway, he gave me a ride home and asked to exchange numbers, etc. He said perhaps we could play tennis the next day if he went.

Well, the next day, waaay late in the day, as I was getting ready to go out for a run, he gave me a call and asked if I was able to play tennis. I thought, hey, why not...and headed out to meet him. We went all the way into the suburbs of Paris to play...supposedly with him and some friends, but oddly enough, every single one of his friends couldn't make it. So it ended up being just us.

First, we made a pitt-stop at his place so he could change out of his work clothing and into more appropriate clothing--in his case, rather dorky sweat pants and a t-shirt. While he did that he motioned me over to a plate brimming with cookies, leftover from Easter. I did my best to ignore the cookies (okay...I ate like five of them...), while he changed, and also selected my racket from his pile...gracefully swinging them all the while making sure I didn't break vases and china in the living room.

(Which reminds me...I'm down to one cup in my apartment. Seriously, I started with five, then someone bought me three more...Broke the second-to-last one yesterday...sigh.)

Then we headed out to the courts, which were full, unfortunately, because it was such a nice day out. So we sat on the grass and talked, while waiting for a court, and he finally decided to ask two guys if we could do doubles with them.

I was petrified.

It's been...more than five YEARS since I've played tennis. Sucking on my own...fine, but paired with someone else? I don't like bringing other people down, especially with an audience.

These sorts of things always happen to me. I remember back freshman year when I went to play pool with a guy and we ended up having to team up against another two people (a couple Indian guys)...who turned out to be, well, basically, hustlers. It was soooo demoralizing...disappointing...shameful. Yeah...so hate the public team loserish look. No good.

Well, we play. We lose. I get pissed (because I hate losing)...and well, Italian guy gets a bit concerned by the sour-puss look on my face.

I warned him that I hate losing, and that I suck. Although, he wasn't that good either, truth be told...and if I were in practice, I could totally take him.

So, I forgot to mention, throughout this whole thing Italian guy is getting a trillion cell phone calls, even during the game...and keeps taking them. Which, after the 10th or so...gets rather annoying.

After the game, we go back to get my stuff from his place, or so I thought. Instead, I walk into what seems like a scene from a movie...you know, whole big Italian family sitting at a huge table with the whole table full of food and different dishes, etc...

Well I was invited for dinner, everyone was amazing, he was really nice, serving me food, etc...(even though I kept trying to get it!). His parents and sister are all cool; however, their family friends...let's just say quite anti-American and anti-Semitic (in the more modern sense of the word where it applies to Jews, *ahem*).

The guy, who was Iranian, was testing my farsi, found out I was not Muslim when he assumed that my father was (and I corrected him)...and kept making sideswipes about Americans and Jews...I felt like I was on trial for my life. Meanwhile, his family was interrogating me on everything. Wow. I thought. Wonder if all his poor friends have to go through this. Poor guy.

After that...we went down to his piano and played piano for a while. I was miserably out of practice, which was great for my self-esteeem. You know, I like sucking at everything I do, in front of an audience at that. However, I was somewhat redeemed from my dismal performance by my "ability," albeit testy ability, to sightread music. I went on to sightread and sing "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen...and that was fun. Italian guy then showed off some of his improv skills...totally jazzing it up without any music or anything. It was quite impressive.

After all that, Italian guy had me metro all the way back into Paris alone. Honestly, I would never have done that to anyone, let alone a girl at night, past midnight...in the banlieue of Paris (suburbs), where they've done stories about night crime against lone female travellers, etc. He suggested a ride if I was uncomfortable...but I could see his family wasn't that into him driving me back. I didn't want to be any trouble. So I decided to screw my safety and do the independent thing. He waited with me for my metro though, and I got back into Paris proper, safe and sound.

Overall: It had been a fun afternoon/evening/night. Longer than I thought it would be...and well the vibes during dinner where anything but comfortable.

At the beginning the Italian guy kept making overtures about seeing each other again, and at the end, once again. But hey, everyone says that sort of crap. I didn't think anything of it. After a day, I forgot about him. Two weeks passed...and three days ago he called me, out of the blue, and asked if we could get together some time this week. He's a little odd. I mean, I'd honestly thought the whole "Jewish coming out" thing had been enough for him and his family...so I'd just left it, and when he didn't call me up, I just chalked it up to that whole thing--irreconcilable differences, lol...whatever. Anyway, surprise call. Interesting. I told him I'd have to check my schedule and I'd give in a call back either later that night, or the next day because I have late classes, lots of work, etc. He told me he "wouldn't worry." Okay...

Anyway, I forgot. It plain slipped my mind. I kept reminding myself to remember. But I guess that didn't work. So I suppose I'll call him later tonight. Hope I remember...

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