My Mr. E man

So this guy I've been seeing—you remember, the one I met at Trader Joe's—seems like the real deal. But there's something, just under the surface, that seems off. I can't quite put my finger on it. He's so sweet and generous, not that I'm a gold digger, but it really seems like he's hiding something from me. He still hasn't told me what he does for work, which probably isn't such a big deal as my job ain't nothing to write home about either.

The other night we were up in the city having dinner and he get's a phone call and leaves the table to answer it. When he comes back he's and stays distracted the rest of the night. When I asked him if everything was OK, he said the obligatory, "Yes, it's nothing. Just work stuff." Not one to pry, I left it at that, but I'd be lying if I told you that the ongoing not-entirely-present thing wasn't annoying.

But that's not what's really chewing away at my conscience. Before the check came, he and I were talking (actuallly, I was talking and he was sitting there still kinda distant) and I mentioned to him the drama with my roommate T-Snake and Cuntessa, how she sucker-punched him for really no good reason, and how both Carlos and I would love to see her put out of her/our misery. For some reason that caused him to snap back to reality and he was oddly attentive. I jokingly asked if he knew any good hitmen and he smiled and said he'd make a couple calls with a quick wink. Later we were driving home (he's got a sweet town car and a sexy driver—should I be jealous??) and he brought back up the topic of Cuntessa and how the world might benefit from her ceasing to exist. It started off kinda humorous, but by the time I was being dropped off, the conversation had gotten pretty dark, even for me. Morbid humor is awesome, but after thinking about it, I was left with a slightly queasy feeling (unless it was the seafood from dinner disagreeing with me).

To make matters worse, I hate feeling that people are keeping things from me. That's when the Bloodhound Gang in me starts to kick in. And for the sake of clarification, the Bloodhound Gang that I'm referring to is the one from the PBS series 3-2-1 Contact, not the musical group from the late 90s.

Like I said before, it's probably nothing. I'm probably just looking for something to be wrong with him, or wrong with me, or wrong with us because subconsciously I hate myself and don't think I deserve any happiness. Or some crap like that. Sorry, Oprah moment, had to be done.

Am I over analyzing?