Ian came over tonight, and it was good to see him. I was looking forward to a romantic night, a glass or two of red and a good talk. I started by asking him what he was thinking about, and he replied it was complicated, but if I wanted to, I was welcome to try to grasp his fundamentals. Then he laughed uproarishly at his own so-called joke. It completely spoiled the mood. He is so immature. I think his need to be a smartarse exceeds his need to have sex. Why does he have to make jokes all the time? We still got there, though.