blurring_the_edges_10_that_space_cadet_glow birdmad Your evening out with Elena turns out to be fun, but also strange and unsettling. The whole event is marked by a weird flirtation between the two of you that neither seems willing to admit. She gets closer. You get closer. She backs up. You back up. It's as if the two of you are dancing around each other's defenses. Dinner at Verdi's turns out quite nicely, you opt for the quasi-romantic setting so as to make a good impression with out being too obviously romantic so as not to give the game away before you are totally prepared to say what's on your mind. In reality, you were looking to get reservations for a patio table at Palazzo Toscana. You remember from conversations you had way back before graduation that she is something of a sucker for a good Italian restaurant and when she called you and asked if you were inclined to spend the evening in her company, it jumped right out at you that this was the way to go. Still, the patio tables overlooking the fountains and the little garden area over at Palazzo would have been. Luckily, both are run by the same chef and so you are secure in knowing that the food will be better than average. She orders the penne alla vodka and you order the gnocchi. Both are almost orgasmically good and you follow with a dessert of tiramisu that is almost good enough to compare with your last couple of cigarettes this afternoon. You stop by the theater box office to get your money back for the play you were going to see which apparently barely made it through it's premiere the night before and as such resulted in the cancellation of the rest of the run. "Movie?" you ask, as nonchalantly as possible, fishing for a means to make the evening last as long as you possibly can in the face of this little setback. "Umm," she pauses for a moment, biting her lower lip in a way that momentarily takes your attention off of the road..."Sure." "You pick," you tell her, fullly prepared for the possibility of having to sit through one of the leftover "chick-flicks" from the recently passed Valentine's Day glut of them. When you get to the movie theatre, you are surprised to see her litterally turn up her nose at that exact type of movie, and are even more stunned that she picks a horror movie. "Wow, color me surprised," you laugh. "I heard it was good," she says, giving you a funny look, "I get a kick out of scary movies, at least if they are good ones." You watch the movie, sharing a bucket of popcorn. As it unspools you realize that it is a good movie, a surprisingly intelligent film at that. Your don't mind that not all of your preconceived notions have turned out wrong. When the movie is over you are hoping to find some other activity to keep her entertained and keep her in your company a little while longer, but after all this is Phoenix, not Scottsdale or Tempe and neither of you are 21 yet, fake ID or no. As you make your way up to her house, you let her out of the passenger seat and are prepared to walk her to her door. The minute you step up to the gate, however, her two ill-tempered jet-black chow dogs, pop out from the shadows and begin snarling and snapping at you. Startled, you jump back, practically out of your skin. Elena laughs almost as hard as she did during the wasabi incident. "Weird," she says, "I've never seen them act like that before, except with Orlando." (ouch, you had gone the whole evening without the subject of the ex popping up, you had hoped to make it all the way through the night without him being mentioned) "Hmm," you answer, "I dunno, maybe we both wear the same cologne or something." "Could be...anyway, Alex, i had a really good time tonight, call me tomorrow after i get off work and we'll plan something else, okay?" "Alright," you say, smiling audibly, " i'll do that." Right about then, she surprises you, instead of opening the gate and walking up to her door, she stops, turns around and plants a light little kiss just off to one side of your mouth. Well, that was unexpected, man. 030413 what's it to you? who go blather from