Here’s a glimpse at my creative-slash-procrastination process:

I’m polishing up a year end/resolution type post.  One that I’ve been kicking around for over two months – since my last trip to Seattle, where I had a conversation with an old friend in late October or early November.  And by “kicking around” I mean, “please see the above note about my procrastination process”.

It’s been on my radar in particular this week because:  NYE, right?  Kind of lame to post a year end blog at the beginning of a year.  So, this week is the week.  Naturally, that means that I posted a completely different blog (Asocial Media) earlier this week versus working on the post with the expiration date.

Last night, I tell the Fox as we nightcap at the Big Legrowlski that I need a few hours this morning before we do coffee to review some job posts and work on the year-end post.

Or not.

Those job boards sure got looked at, though!

Then I went for coffee at the Fox’s Lair and watched some of the new season of Mozart in the Jungle.  Great show, and the new season just came out and we just had to get a jump on in…because everyone is hot for the new  season of Amazon programming.

Or not.

But after that…for sure gonna do some writing.

Except, the coffee has unsettled my stomach, so maybe I should get some food.  It is noon, after all.  So, I trundle off to Garden Bar for a $15 salad right about the same time everyone on the planet breaks for lunch and heads out to forage.

It’s beginning to come clear why I am not more of a prolific poster, right?

The Universe being the snarky bastard that it is, I walk in and run right into…the Salad Tosser.

The guy I stopped going to Garden Bar to avoid because there was just no point.  Reasons Why I’m Single 1 (men aren’t worth it) and 17 (doesn’t suffer larger foolishness than his own).  Today’s Chris logic being, they opened a second location so I don’t have to go to the original location and run into this guy.  Also, it’s several blocks closer to me, so that’s double-bonus in my book.

Portland is a small town.  But rather densely populated for its physical size, they have duplicate outposts of businesses a few blocks away from each other…not just coffee shops, salad bars, too!

Of course they moved staff around.  probably should have seen that one coming.  <shakes fist at sky>

To be clear, nothing happened with this guy.  Let me fill in a blank for you.

I had just moved back into town, so this was early 2015 – look, my second procrastination post of the week is semi-retrospective, so if I don’t manage to get my year-end post out tomorrow…this counts, right?

Or not.

So, new in town, chatting with guys on the Scruff/the Grindr just to make friends in my neighborhood.  See also: The Biscuit, The Marathoner and you kind of get an idea for where my chats with this guy went.

Nowhere, man.

He never managed to make the leap from virtual to reality connection, so I just let him fade out.  I can only do what I can do, it’s up to him to make his actions match his words.  If he says he wants to meet up and I suggest options that he can never do…it’s a fairly telling behavior.  And one I can’t change for him.  Fortunately for him, I’ve become fluent in speaking “hint” over the decades I have poorly invested into dating gay men.

Naturally, this means that I run into him a month later at the “restaurant” he works at in the Pearl District, where I happen to live and used to work.  Not that he ever told me what restaurant it was, so this was a fun surprise for us both.  Ok, fun for me.  Ish.  Really not as fun for Homeboy McSalad Tosser.

It’s Garden Bar.

Not the height of fine dining.  But, like I said…$15 salads.  I recognized him but didn’t care.  I’m old enough to just grumble about his behavior and move on – I say, as I blog about it – but from the shade his face turned, he not only recognized me but also felt some sort of chagrin about the situation his behavior had landed him in.

Was it because he flaked and he felt bad?

Wished he hadn’t flaked upon seeing me in real life?

Weighed a good 30 lbs more than his online presence would lead one to believe?

Was as proud of his job as he was of his behavior?

Who really knows, right?

Did I mention Portland is a small town?

Choosing to believe the shade this Ginger Gay’s face turned was meant as a suggestion to try beets on my salad…I reviewed my menu options.

So, it’s not that I ignored him that first time I ran into him in real life, it’s that I busied myself musing on how people really don’t understand Karma.

Since then, our paths have crossed several times.  Multiple times at Garden Bar, although when my job up the street from his “restaurant” ended, I stopped going there.  All you fans of my grumpy old man pride would be disappointed to learn that I never made any effort to make him uncomfortable or exploit his behavior for a discount or anything awkward like that.

He eventually got comfortable with the fact that I wasn’t going to initiate a conversation with him outside of placing orders, for better or worse in his book, I couldn’t guess.  He certainly wasn’t going to, either, it seems…so let’s go with better?

But, WASPy peace with the situation and my dysfunctional job ending disgracefully restored comfort to his job, “no blood/no foul” rules in effect, so who cares, right?

We both move on with our lives, I assume.

Except, that darned small-town that Portland insists on being, of course our paths have to cross a few more times.

I was getting a haircut at my neighborhood Bishop’s Barbershop one afternoon from a friend of mine who had somehow gotten onto a “fix Galby up” kick.  For the second time while I was sitting in his chair, he mentioned a client of his that comes in around the same timeframe that I do.  “He’s cute, you’d like him”, he says.  “Plus, I think he just broke up with his boyfriend.  His older boyfriend”, he stresses and proceeds to describe him.

Oh, him.

Precious.

My poor friend.  This is the second of three fix up efforts he puts forth for me and I already know the guy.  And use a rather telling tone of voice when I tell him that I know who he’s describing.  And already know I don’t like him.  Well, his behaviors, anyway.

You obviously know my tastes well enough, I’m just not his cup of tea for some reason.  I say, trying to give him a graceful exit.

“But his boyfriend sounds very similar to you” he persists…and I end the conversation with something like how that proves I’m not his ideal type.

Which is verified a few months later when he ends up sitting next to me at the loathsome Scandals, both of us on dates.  His, definitely not an indicator that he favors my type.

His date is ten years older than him, I’m 20 years older that he is.

His date is a bear-ish type, I have some extra lbs on me, but am not in any danger of getting shot by Sarah Palin or Dick.

Portland.  Small, small Portland.

He studiously avoids my gaze, which is challenging, since he ended up sitting right over the shoulder of my date.  We’re in each other’s peripherals, at worst.  But, I also have side row seats to his bearish date/boyfriend.  I have an internal side conversation about how I was maybe right about just not being his type and how at least he doesn’t seem to be repeating the same dating pattern.

Unlike yours truly…

So, today – a month or so later – while I’m procrastinating working on my blog, I run smack into him at the new location.  Which I didn’t love, but hey…big boy pants.

“Hey buddy, what can I make for ya?”

We’re not buddies, I think.

I order.

With substitutions.  Not because I am a dick, but because if I’m gonna pay $15, it’s gonna be the salad the way I goddamned want it.

He’s really nice about it.

As I’m leaving, though, I think about how I’m not distracted by whether he feels bad or not about how he treated me anymore.  Rather, I muse on about whether he recognizes me as that guy he did that lame thing to or whether there’s more than enough guys he does that to that he just wonders how come I look familiar.

Likely just that.

If I wasn’t a behavioral pattern of his, I’d be surprised.

I’ll bet he remembers me from Scandals.  Without recalling the “scandal” that made me seem familiar to him at Scandals.  Yeah, I overworked that one.  Sorry.

So, that’s the process or procrastination here at Chez Galby.

Acknowledge the need to write.

Apply for some “real” jobs.

Go watch TV and have coffee with my best friend.

Get lunch and promise to come back and write during lunch.

Watch some TV.

Go to the gym.

Stop at RiteAid and get some Diet Coke and licorice instead and come back home to write.

Read and eat licorice instead of writing.

Clean the condo.

Go meet best friend and his ex-wife for a cider, but then absolutely come home after and write.

About a different topic.

I put the “pro” in procrastination.

Sorry to disappoint all you people who thought this was going to be about analingus.

You perverts.

All you non-perverts, please feel free to google “analingus” at your own risk.