Confessions of a Recovering Manic Pixie Dream Girl 2.0: The Portland Post-Undergraduate Doldrums, Philip

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Sometimes you just have to leave town. That following summer, I finally resolved the three years of unresolved sexual tension with the last person on my “to-bang” list. I’m not going to say much other than it was hot, literally, because neither of us had air conditioning and we were in the sticky part of the Midwestern summer. After a year as a college bookstore shipping clerk, I wasn’t about to spend my life there, so it was time to move to greener pastures. Those greener pastures were in Portland, Oregon. By day, I worked as an office temp. By night, I sought diversions. One of them was flirting with Philip, the guy from the sushi bar I frequented on Hawthorne.

We went to a concert.

Philip bought a couple of beers and we sat at a table as The Slants (80s synthpop Chinatown rock band) were setting up. I left my half-drunk beer on the table and got closer to the stage. Philip didn’t join me, but just sat there. I later downed the rest of my drink and he said, "You must really like to dance." I shrugged. Damn right, I do.

He said the drummer sucked, but eventually took it back after he stopped the cymbal vibrations with his hands on a song. Philip mentioned it's sort of hard to do that, which I thought was the only interesting thing he said that evening.

But still, I really wanted to like him.

One night, we went to the restaurant next door to his family's place. Our server recognized him and commented on how good the sushi was at his family's restaurant. Though the waiter recommended the skate, Philip ordered a pasta dish with chicken since "you never know with fish." This unnerved me considering how often I ate where he works.

I never went to that sushi place again. Oh, or go out with Philip.