Back in the Cereal Saddle

Due to my 7-day work week schedule as of late, Cereal Dating recently experienced a forced hiatus, but I’m happy to report that my weekends have since been returned to me and, as such, the never-ending quest to enjoy ill-timed breakfasts with the menfolk continues.

Since last we convened, unsurprisingly, not much has occurred. CASKWBPBACS went on a week-long business trip to San Francisco, effectively ending our communication. I didn’t make any efforts to contact him, nor did I hear from him, and I’m pretty comfortable with that. He was a nice guy, but I wasn’t really feelin’ it and – let’s face it – whatever lucky guy ends up with all this is gonna have to show me he wants it.

Additionally, since creating the Sliding Doors map of my future, I have heard from Gentleman #2 (Granola and All Bran) but twice. The first email arrived about a week or so after our date (and, if memory serves, after two emails from my end). Anyways, he reported having a “crazy couple of weeks” but had a “fun time as well” and thought “it would be good to get together again.” Not this weekend but, you know, sometime soon.

I shall eagerly await it.

And exactly twenty anticipation-riddled days later I received the following email:

“Hey there, I hope everything has been great in the wonderful world of [L.A. Cereal Dater]. Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, but the past couple of weeks have been something else…what an experience. Anyway, that is all done now, so if you are still interested and haven’t already married an artist from Echo Park, I still want in. Actually if you get this and are free tomorrow, my friend is having a pool party in her new house in west hollywood. I know its last minute but if you want to go, break all your rules and call my cell so I can fill you in.”

I like a guy who can respect my bevy of phone number rules (actually, it’s really just the one: Don’t give it out unless you actually want to speak to the person requesting it), but I’m not so much one for last minute invites to strangers’ pool parties, so I coyly played it like I didn’t get the email until the next day and, instead, offered up the following weekend for pre-approved activities.

Now, I don’t know if he drowned at the West Hollywood housewarming bash, or suddenly found himself entrenched in a couple more weeks of disconcertingly vague “something else,” or if my joke about a brief engagement to a musician in Los Feliz scared him off, but it’s been a good two weeks so I’m thinking maybe he’s opted out of this deal.

I imagine I’ll get another email from him in a few weeks’ time, but who knows where my British-accented-multiple-hairstyle-sporting-Gwyneth-Paltrow-catching/missing-a-train-movie-loving soul will be? I’ve got new Fiber One frontiers to forge.