The Great Fade Awaaaaaay.....

Well things with the scientist were going great for a few weeks.  He was attentive, smart, quirky, and liked dive bars.  He even asked me to spend the weekend (2.5 days worth, people!) with him and I had a glorious time.  It was a rare rainy weekend in AZ, and we napped for hours, listened to Rufus Wainwright (he likes Rufus even more than I do!), and talked childhoods and metaphysics.  Not to mention the hot sex. I even woke up to him gently tracing one of my tattoos with his finger.  I've seen him a few times since then but two weeks ago I began to feel the growing horror of the Fade Away. 

Fade Away - I fucking hate you, you mother fucker. 

First he neglected to let me know whether our plans were on for the weekend.  Annoying, but no biggie I thought.  A few text conversations later, he texted at 9:00pm to cancel the drinks we were supposed to have... at 9:00pm.  As a woman well familiar with the subtle and insidious tactics of the Fade Away, I spent the weekend pouting and pissed, whining to my girlfriends that I'd die miserable alone, and that my vagina would again dry up and implode in a cloud of ladyflower dust.  I was in full-swing post-Fade rage and working my way through it when he did the most evil and despicable thing a man who employs the Fade Away can do:

He contacted me.  Just to say hi and talk philosophy.  Now my Fade ritual is aborted and I'm left in some sort of manic mood swing.  One moment I'm filled with hope that maybe he really is just bad at communicating and we still have a chance, the next flagellating myself for having hope that will only be crushed this weekend when I 'mysteriously' don't get a call from him. 

Doesn't he know the rules?  If a man is douchebag-enough to employ the Fade, he is expected to Fade as fast as possible.  Let me go or ask me to stay, but make a fucking decision.