Substitution Therapy

I kind of wonder if heroine addicts are a little disappointed with methadone. Do they take it and feel like it does the job, but it's just a bit disappointing?

So, Superman kicked me to the curb a couple of months ago, and the next day, the Penguin texted me for the first time in a while. I had all but stopped communicating with the Penguin because when it came down to it, I just wasn't that excited with him. He's nice, and we have a good time, but he's quite a bit younger than me, and I was just feeling like he's in a completely different place in life (as in at his parents' house).

But, what a day will do. With Superman out of the picture, I decided that I might as well go ahead and go out on another date with the Penguin--it would be nice ego boost, and honestly, we do have a good time together. So, we set it up for this afternoon, and we went to Dave and Busters.

We had a great time, honestly. We played trivia games (where we were actually astonishingly well-matched), basketball (he kicked my a**), air hockey (I wiped the floor with him), and a whole bunch of other games. We ate mini burgers and talked about movies and sat on Santa's lap (no, really, I have pictures). The luster of the night was, admittedly, a little dimmed when he offered to show me proof of his, ahem, enthusiasm for me (and he sure didn't make shy about how much he was looking forward to taking me home--shame I had a concert to go to at the end of the night). But, overall, I had a really great time.

So, after the date, I went to see a friend perform the Messiah (not just him--he's part of the National Philharmonic Choir), which was fantastic. But I have to say, I was sad not to have Superman with me--he had been my consort at my last musical event, and I had enjoyed having him there. He's thoughtful about what he likes and was a nice companion at a concert. The empty seat next to me was not as engaging.

And so, there it is. It's like switching from top-shelf bourbon to grain alcohol-based punch. The overall effect is more or less the same, but it doesn't taste as good, go down as smooth, and you have one hell of a hangover later.

Superman is dead.

Long live... I don't know.

The Christmas Season

So, for date #4, I took Superman to see the King's Singers Joy to the World Christmas concert. Superman is, of course, Jewish, and is a visual, not musical artist, but whatever. He said he would enjoy it, so we went.

Well, I can't say anything about his enjoyment (although he did a very good job of appearing rapt), but I LOVED it!!! The King's Singers are a singing group that originated at King's College in Cambridge, but they sort of graduated from the university and never stopped singing. It's a sextet (I think--there are six of them, anyway), and they are AWESOME. They sang all sorts of medieval carols from all over--Russia, Spain, Germany, England. They sang the Coventry Carol (a personal favorite), a beautiful rendition of Stille Nacht, and a jazzy version of Deck the Halls. They did just an amazing job, and I really, really enjoyed listening to them.

The rest of the date ended a little less auspiciously, sadly. We had gone to dinner beforehand, and I had come up with the brilliant idea of splitting our meal. Normally, that's totally fine, but I was really, really hungry, and I actually probably could have eaten a full meal by myself. So, I ended the meal still feeling a weensy bit peckish. Needless to say, by the time the concert ended, I was famished, and even the freshly baked cookies that Superman had brought me couldn't assuage my hunger pains. By the time we actually got out of the parking lot and to a restaurant, I was in full-blown low-blood sugar ickiness. I felt like throwing up, and I was babbling incoherently.

Superman, ever the gentleman (at least so far), was very patient and kind. Because the concert was in Fairfax--or about 30 minutes closer to his house than mine--he took me back to his house and installed me on his couch (when I've gone so long without eating, the only thing that helps is food and a horizontal position), and we started watching a movie. We didn't finish it because we were both falling asleep, so we finally went to bed (he offered to drive me home, but I wasn't feeling good enough for 30 minutes sitting up, and anyway, he was clearly exhausted and I don't want to die). The next morning, he eventually took me home (okay, it was the afternoon by that time), where I left immediately for a friend's party, seeing as how I was two hours late. Oops.

I also, due to my overwhelming nausea, missed my friend's birthday party. People are going to think I'm one of those girls who blows everyone off when she meets a new boy...

And Again

So, yesterday night Superman and I had date #3. His office party. Apparently, no one told him that office parties are serious dates to which you usually bring actual girlfriends, as opposed to cute girls with nice legs.

I was the cute girl with nice legs, by the way; I just want to make that clear. On Friday, I found myself an excellent trapeze dress that, when paired with my fun, red, patent leather shoes, really just showed my legs to their best advantage. Superman may have commented as soon as he saw me. :)

So, we went to his office party, where his coworkers are not only the people he works with but also some of his best friends-he's known one coworker for literally ten years. That was, um, interesting. Actually, his friends were really cool--I enjoyed hanging out with them. His boss danced with me for a while because her husband is apparently unwilling to make that sacrifice (really, people, Superman danced with me!), and another of his bosses attempted to introduce me to everyone twice (apparently, she thought I was charming ;).

Actually, it was a pretty good time--we were on one of those dinner cruise things, and we just chatted a lot, and I tried to pressure Superman into drinking (yes, that would be the Mormon girl). It was so exciting to see someone else be the target of that pressure! It was great.

Afterwards, of course, we came back to my place and had wild making out. I have a hickie. Thankfully, nobody put together that I went on a date on Monday and came into work with a scarf around my neck on Tuesday... Poor Superman had to wear a tie to work. Ha!

Analyze That

So, I went out with an analyst. Not of the psychological variety, mind you, but of the mathematical.

I have to say, I'm digging the geeks. I met this one at Tryst, a coffeehouse by my house. I sat next to him on a couch because that's what you do at Tryst, and he started chatting with me because, hello, it's DC.

Our evening started Saturday at 7:00 at Tryst because it's a spot we both know. This boy had done actual research about where to go in the city and had chosen Cafe Bonaparte in Georgetown. I have to say, I dig going out in Georgetown, if only because I never do it. The restaurant was small--maybe 10-14 tables or so--and the ambiance was very charming. Dark wood, red curtains, the works--it was all attempting to be out of Amelie, and it did reasonably well.

We had a lovely time. The analyst is more watcher than talker, but he said that he was glad I'm a talker because he isn't always (I'm not sure if that's code for I'm not getting a second date--I'm not the code breaker at the table). We chatted about all sorts of stuff--he's from the Northwest, so we had lots to talk about there. He's incredibly smart, being a math PhD, so that was lots of fun.

We walked around Georgetown, sat at Starbucks until it closed, and then went to Adams Morgan. I'd been looking to try The Potter House coffee shop for a while now, and it looked like the perfect opportunity until we walked in and found out it had actually closed 10 minutes before. They graciously allowed me to use their bathroom, where I discovered a friend that had come to visit, which may have brought our date to a premature close. Ah, well. Perhaps there will be another. This is a boy that follows the rules, so I suppose I won't know until tomorrow.

God's Plan for Me

Apparently does not include riding a motorcycle. Bummer.

So, months ago I decided that since I can no longer pay for a trip on a motorcycle, as in the Third World, I needed to learn how to ride myself, and I had signed up for a motorcycle riding course taught at Northern Virginia Community College. The course is taught in a weekend, and they're pretty emphatic that you have to be on time in order to pass the class.

My class began yesterday at 6:00 PM. I left work at 4:15 to get there on time, but unfortunately, between traffic and the lack of signage that is Northern Virginia, I spent twenty minutes looking for the entrance onto campus and for the building in which the class was held. I was 15 minutes late, right in time for one of the teachers, who had the very sore look of a stick up his a**, to tell me that I couldn't join the class because it started fifteen minutes ago. Which is so ridiculous because dammit, I'm a smart girl and could have figured it out.

Whatever.

So, after bursting hysterically into tears (unfortunately, not in front of the mean teacher, who might have let me into the class because men can't handle tears), I jumped in Greta and Michael's car that they had loaned me (sorry, Greta and Michael--perhaps not the wisest thing for me to do in terms of driver safety!) and drove their car back to their house.

Their house is in Alexandria, right by the Braddock Road metro, which is coincidentally, very close to where Superman lives. Superman had invited me out on a date for Friday, which I had had to push back because of my motorcycle class, so after cleaning myself up a bit, I call him and ask if he's made alternative plans.

He had none that involved other people, so instead of heading off to Bed Bath and Beyond to improve his apartment, he drove the metro, picked me up, and we went out to dinner at Five Guys (burger and fries). True to form, we closed down the restaurant and contemplated what to do next. It was really cold, so walking around Old Town was out, but we both knew we wanted to continue the date. So, we opted to go back to his house to watch a movie (which I had really sworn to myself that I wouldn't do until date #4, but when have I ever exercised self-restraint?).

I'm proud to say that we actually watched the movie before we started our marathon makeout session (another thing I had promised myself wouldn't happen until date #4--I suck at this game!). When he finally took me home around 4 AM, we had covered, once again, all possible avenues of conversation--religion again, morbid art, sexual and marital histories (really, kids, this is only date #2!), vomiting, wow.

It's like we're on a train, and I'm not sure where we're going, but we're definitely traveling at a high rate of speed. And probably not on a motorcycle.

Pick up a Penguin

Really, every girl should pick herself up a penguin.

My penguin comes, of course, from my speed dating experience a couple weeks ago. The penguin was my first post-speed-dating date (about 20 minutes after speed dating finished, actually), and while I can't say he has the sheer effect on me that Superman has (and just ask Danny DeVito how fair that is), I can say that we always have a good time. He is the party.

A well-planned date it was, too. We started at Ching Ching Cha in Georgetown, a lovely little tea house. After snacking on chicken dumplings and tea, we made our way to DC Improv, an activity I have literally wanted to do since I moved to DC in 2000.

It was definitely worth the wait. The comic tonight was a hypnotist, and after making several lazy sperm jokes (apparently, conception was a problem for his family), he moved on to the main event, hypnotizing about ten people on the stage. It was hysterical! He gave one poor woman MPD, where she had two hands that disagreed with each other and each had their own opinions about what he was saying. One woman looked truly pained as she discussed the aliens that came and destroyed her trailer park and made her pregnant, while the man in front of her jumped onto his chair and formed letters with his body. The highlight of the evening came when one woman was compelled to tell a joke and demanded that the comic snap in her ear so that she could tell the proper punchline (the first compulsion was to forget the punchline).

It was a great time--the penguin and I get along well and have a fair amount in common (I still think he lives with his parents). Our date was a respectable four hours long, and while I can't say I floated home, I still had an excellent time.

Dating Dream

Okay, I may have just been on the best first date EVER. Yes, it stems from my mini-speed dating experience, but WHATEVER.

So, Superman and I completely hit it off at the speed dating, and rather than waiting for Professionals in the City to weigh in on whether we were a match, we just exchanged emails. After a couple of emails, he makes the comment that it feels like we're passing notes in class. My response: "When I passed notes in class, I folded them into little t-shirts." The next day, I get an invitation titled "psst--pass this to Julie." He had created a picture (Superman is a graphic designer) of a notebook paper t-shirt that said "I think you're cute. Do you wanna go to dinner with me?" with a checkbox indicating yes or no. WHO could resist such an invitation? Obviously, I said yes.

Thursday was the big night, with a dinner at Mei Wah planned (after telling me he was gastronomically adventurous, he suggested Chinese). We met at 7:00. At around 10:00, after enduring literally hours of waiter glares, we decided that perhaps we should move to greener pastures--Kramerbooks for dessert. Again, chatted for hours. About everything. Corn flavored condoms (a given with me), thinking in colors, living in the city vs living in the suburbs, birds chirping in the morning, pulling all nighters in college, Pixar movies, you name it.

Finally, at 1:00 AM, we could no longer ignore the people sweeping the floors, balancing the tills, turning off all the lights in the store. Or our ever-increasing need to sleep. So, we finally left for the metro, which was--HAHA--closed. This poor boy had to charter a taxi to Alexandria--no fun task. We flag down a taxi, and he asks for a good night kiss. Given that I just spent the last several hours actively restraining myself from grabbing his face over the dessert table and planting a big, wet one on him, I was only too happy to oblige.

And there went the taxi.

But, it's Dupont, so we were able to find another without too much fuss (although obviously with some more kissing in between), and I made my way home. I could have floated, but given the hour and the temperature, I opted for the taxi, instead.

There was no point. I don't think I got to sleep that night until 3:00, anyway.

Because I Can (and My Friends Can't)

Things married people generally can't do:
1) Move abroad in 5 weeks
2) Be apathetic about unemployment
3) Speed date

In my quest to fully enjoy being single, I have finally accomplished number 3. An events service in DC has a speed dating event something like every Tuesday, and I finally decided that that would be a fantastic way to jump start my dating life.

And a jump start it was! Speed dating is just like it is in the movies (although, sadly, Will Smith did not make an appearance)--women on the outside of the circle, men on the inside, men rotate. Make the men work for it, that's what I always say. You talk for 4 minutes--which truly is enough time for a basic screening--and then the men move on. You write down each name on a sheet and put an "x" next to "interested" or "uninterested," so that mutually interested people can contact each other.

You get kind of a typical assortment of people--some fairly cool people, some young people, some old people, some scary people. Well, I don't know if the women ran the full gamut, but the men certainly did. There were, I think, 7 men (and 7 women). I've been contacted by 5, I think, so far. Not bad odds.

Actually, not only have I been contacted several times, but I've actually already had my first date! As I left the event, I left with a guy that I particularly hit it off with, and he confided that he had marked "interested" for me. I was delighted, as he was the one guy in the joint that I actually was hoping would mark "interested" for me, and we walked together for a few blocks before we parted ways.

I crossed the street and found yet another guy I had met at the evening, and he and I started chatting. After a couple of minutes, he mentioned that he was hungry and invited me to dinner (we were standing right outside a restaurant). I accepted, and we had a great time chatting over Ethiopian food. It turns out that he has an MPH (and he knows what epidemiology means, which leads me to believe that he's telling me the truth), he's interested in travel, and he doesn't like spicy food. A great match! I won't mention that I think he's 24 and lives with his parents. After all, these are just hypotheses of mine.

So, that was my evening. The only downside (and it's hardly a downside) is that I didn't get home early enough to put my hair in curlers for Halloween. Whatever; I didn't win the costume contest, anyway. Much more profitable to go on my date!

Back on the wagon

I've done it--I've officially signed up (and paid for!) the Halloween 4-minute dating experience courtesy of Professionals in the City. Hopefully, more food and fun to come... Now, I just have to figure out what to wear! :)

Sneaky!

I've decided that Mormon #1 is very sneaky.

We were in choir practice (there's something really wrong with this), and I was sitting next to Mormon #1--he sings bass, I was singing soprano. Another bass comes in and sits in the 3rd row, and I inform this new guy that the choir director is likely to want him to sit in the second row (between Mormon #1 and me). He declines because "he doesn't want to interrupt anything," at which point Mormon #1 says, "We wouldn't do anything here, in public," to which I add, "Certainly not in the chapel." Mormon #1 and I cackle in the back, while the choir director is trying to maintain order (just for a bit more weirdness, Mormon #1 is actually dating the choir director, albeit inexclusively).

So, Mormon #1 gives me a ride home after choir practice--a mercy, given that it was fast Sunday, and I hadn't eaten anything yet. As we're driving into the city, he tells me that he had this image from choir practice that he was having trouble getting out of his head--that of scoring a little "necmo" with me. For those of you who don't know, "necmo" is NCMO, and it stands for "non-committal make-out," and I haven't heard this term since college. I can't believe someone used that term around me. Anyway.

Just to clarify, while I did invite him to stay for my dinner/break-fasting meal, and we hung out for a couple of hours, THERE WAS NO NECMO. I just want to make that clear. He did, however, as he was leaving, say that he intended to score some with me at some point.

So, here's my take: if we're going out on little tete-a-tetes to see the Mets (hee hee--that rhymes) and we're also making out, how does that constitute not dating? I say that's looking for a loophole.

On the other hand, the Big B has been remarkably reclusive lately. I think I may need a new make-out buddy. What to do, what to do?

A date?

So, I'm not sure, but I think I may have just been on a date.

Now, I've kind of been on hiatus--I went home for my brother's wedding, caught my sister-in-laws bouquet, and decided that I'd better back off and not tempt fate, lest I see the bouquet's promise brought to fruition.

Scary thought.

So, I put myself "on the shelf," as my friend Gina likes to call it. Of course I visit the Big B, but that hardly counts. Stopped calling the Nigerian, broke it off with Mormon #1, and Mormon #2 has taken to avoiding me in church, so that was easy.

Mormon #1 and I are still pretty good friends--he took me out for my birthday, even while I was on the shelf, and we chat every week in church. So, when he emailed me today and asked what I was up to, I was more than happy to go with him to a baseball game (this is our regular date, apparently).

So, we went to the Nationals/Giants game (Nationals lost--why do I always end up cheering for the losing team?) and had an awesome time. I'm finding that now that I'm no longer dating him, I'm so much more comfortable with Mormon #1! But then he said something about us being on a date. And while I get that we're not "dating," so I didn't need to panic, it did throw me into some sort of weird ambiguity.

I decided to ignore it. I deal with many of life's inconsistencies that way. It works very well for me.

But, we still had a great time--date or not--and I love hanging out with him. I didn't even feel the need to call the Big B afterwards, even though he was clearly home. Go me. My life, my shelf.

Mormon Boy #2

I think I may have just had the best date ever. I think I need to date more Mormon boys--the effort they put into dating is astounding!

This was a spectacularly well thought-out date. No catching dinner and a movie here; no, reservations were made at a Chinese restaurant, followed by a superb concert. Dinner was lovely (I'm not sure I've ever been on a date that involved a dinner RESERVATION), but the concert was AWESOME. It was the a band from my hometown, accompanied by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Phenomenal. I stood up, clapped my hands, bopped around, all that jazz. Fantastic.

Otherwise, the date was pleasant. I'll be curious to see whether the boy in question will ask me out again. He and I are extremely different--he's far more conservative than I am and is pretty unafraid of judgement. I'm the queen of liberal, non-judgemental types (except on thoroughly petty issues like sense of rhythm), so there was a certain disconnect. But, we certainly had a nice time, and this boy is wicked-smart. I'm amazed by how much random stuff he just knows--it's pretty awesome.

But he made RESERVATIONS.

Yet More

Okay, dating is now officially exhausting. I had, what, two dates last week? Yup, two. And my lesson there: I need to learn to be more opinionated BEFORE I actually go on the date to ensure a pleasant evening.

Don't get me wrong--both were pleasant. One with the Mormon and another with the Nigerian. But I may have done well to have told the Mormon that I really don't enjoy pool.

Well, it's been a while since I've played, and I have a vague memory of enjoying going out to pool bar once. Granted, that was once, long ago, and with a pretty good sized group of friends, so there was no actual playing on my part--I just danced around the pool table to Rammstein and Metallica. Good times.

This time around I was not so fortunate--we went to a sports bar in I don't even know where except that it wasn't metro-accessible. I think I suffered through three games of pool before I decided that I needed to not fake it anymore. I enjoy watching people play pool, so I sat down and watched for a little while before we left, but I really should know at this point in my life that I don't enjoy playing. I decided that our next date would be a screening of Harry Potter--now THAT'S something I'll enjoy.

The date with the Nigerian was a little better. After my really mortifying faux pas, one could only improve. Well, I was still horribly rude and a half hour late--I had made arrangements to meet someone from church beforehand, expecting that we wouldn't have much to say to each other and it would be quick. I was wrong--we were fast friends and chatted for several hours, including part of the time I was supposed to be on my date.

But, I got to my date, we ate some tasty Thai food and walked the length of DC from U Street to the Mayflower Hotel. I'm a little suspicious that he could go into such a nice bar and order a rum and coke--I'm a little suspicious of men who don't drink beer or bourbon--if they drink alcohol, anyway. I don't know why. But girly drinks notwithstanding, we had another evening of amusing conversation where I learned that when he was little he beat up a girl over a doll. Needless to say, that continues to come up.

I've since been asked out by yet ANOTHER Mormon boy. How can I juggle so many men? Last week, I got a fortune cookie that said "Lovers in triangle not on square." Luckily, I'm not in a lover's triangle--more like a pentagon! So, I guess I'm safe.

Good Lord, Another?

Yes, I had another date. I feel like I've been a datin' fool, but whatever. It's been good.

This was probably my most successful date to date (ha ha), despite my egregious lack of manners. After staying out late on Friday night, I decided to take a nap on Saturday so I wouldn't be Miss Narcolepsy on my date (always awkward). It was a good idea to take a nap. It would have been a better idea to set my alarm. I woke up at 6:00 (the time I was supposed to meet my date on U Street, a half hour away). I texted him and did my best to wake up and run a brush through my hair and walked as quickly as I could to our appointed meeting place.

We started at Starbucks--hardly original, but I knew where it was without looking--and passed a couple of hours without blinking an eye. We had a great time chatting--he has a great sense of humor and is great fun to talk to. He was very patient with my lack of timeliness (an important quality in anyone looking for date #2). After coffee, we went for Italian food, which was where my second egregious faux pas occurred.

I don't know a huge number of restaurants in U Street, so I suggested Coppi's, which is where my girlfriends and I go for a Nutella calzone (amazing, btw). So, we arrived, and to my dismay, I realized that the restaurant is a much higher price point than I anticipated (it's been a while since I've eaten there). I felt horrible--this poor guy is a teacher, after all--so, I ordered a salad instead of a meal. The only problem (aside from the obvious threat of being that girl who doesn't eat dinner) is that the salads are appetizers--meant to make you hungry, not fill you up. And they do that with aplomb. But I really didn't want to make a fuss, so I just got dessert (which, to be fair, is pretty filling).

Afterwards, we went to this fun little saloon that has about 4 pages of beer on its menu, where I found out that this poor boy doesn't like beer. And yet, he seems to want to go out again--he even asked me to call him when I got home to assure him that I got home safe.

So, yes, very patient with my faux pas in general (and what is faux pas in plural?)--an excellent date. There will definitely be a #2.

Freedom Fries

Again with the Frenchie...

He was still in town this week, so we decided to go out for a second date in a week. Whew! There's something about going out two Wednesdays in a row that feels vaguely significant... Or at least like it aspires to be.

I opted for Madam's Organ, a neighborhood institution. Wednesday is bluegrass night, to which I'd never been. Madam's Organ, btw, completely deserves its place in the Adam's Morgan Hall of Fame--the atmosphere is fantastic, and the food really cheap. And I liked the bluegrass.

So, on this really horribly rainy night, we settled down at a table in the back of the bar, ordered food, and prepared to be entertained--if not by each other, at least by the band. That's not true--Frenchie and I always have a great time, and tonight was no exception.

The only really embarassing moment was at a point when we were kissing (and I really have gotten shy about kissing in public, but since I haven't brought him back to my apartment, I suppose it's kind of a necessary evil), and I was pulling away because there were people coming down the stairs right by our table. That, in my mind, is an audience. Not nearly as much, though, as when we finally actually pulled apart, and there were three guys sitting with us, despite the presence of other, empty tables. One looks at us and says, "Are we disturbing you?" And I'm surreptitiously wiping my mouth as we says, perhaps too vehemently, "Not at all!" And then, as if he just noticed that we might be on a date, he says, "Oh my gosh, we are, aren't we! We'll move over to another table!" And he and one of his friends moves, but the last friend is going to stay right there, thank you very much, and he starts chatting with us for the rest of the evening.

Forget Paris

So, tonight I had a date with the Frenchie. And as an aside, I just want to say how wonderful it was at my boss's birthday lunch when she says, "So, how's your job search going?" And I said, "I have an interview tomorrow afternoon." And she says, "How's your dating life?" And I say, "I have a date tonight." I love that.

And how much when people ask who I'm going out with, and I say, "Oh, he's this guy who lives in Paris, but I met him in Malawi. His company sends him to Washington for work periodically, and when they do, we go out on a date." Nothing like a man who will travel across an ocean to see you (okay, so technically he's working--but whatever).

So, I've technically known this guy for, like, two or three years now. Of course, I met him once and talked to him for a few hours, and the we kept in contact for a few years, and then he came to Washington last February and we met, and then he came again last Sunday, and we had a date again. Whatever; I've known him for a few years.

We met outside Tryst, Adams Morgan's coffeehouse, and then we ate at Meze. Excellent food, but unfortunately, I had waited so long to eat that I felt a little sick when I started eating. How annoying. So, we ate, and then because I wasn't up for trekking around, per my usual, I led him to a cute little park in the Kalorama triangle, where dogs often congregate. It was very pleasant, if a bit cold, but of course, he wouldn't let me stay cold for long. He lent me his coat, and oh yeah, we probably made out for a total of 40 minutes or so. It was a little ackward because I've somehow become very shy and I try not to force people to watch me (whatever happened to the tease that didn't care?)--so, I kept stopping whenever I heard dog collars jingling. And we'd admire the dog for a moment and then start making out again. It was kind of comical.

So, are the French really as good as they think they are? In some cases yes--I recall a Frenchman I made out with in Lilongwe who was seriously probably the second best kisser I've ever kissed (and that actually is saying something). In this case, I don't know that I can agree. If I can taste the effort, it's not auspicious; and Frenchie, um, doesn't get dry mouth, apparently. But, I have to applaud his deep kissing skill--he penetrates well, and he definitely has variety going for him--lots of different plays with a very small surface area.

Overall, though, it was a good night. I actually love going out with the Frenchie because we really have great conversation. And the kissing, while not the best I've ever experienced, is certainly a good change from London and pretty enjoyable in its own right.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

So, I know a guy fwho really likes baseball. And apparently really likes me. Sweet. We go to baseball games together. So far, that represents 2/3 of our dates. Today was date number 3.

I find that he's growing on me. When we first went out, I was kind of dreading it--I wasn't really interested, but we seemed to have a good time together, so I thought I might as well go. The second time, I had had such a good time on the first date, I felt like I might as well go. This time, I said yes in a moment of weakness, when I thought I might be losing my favorite make-out buddy and felt a need to grasp at any alternative options available.

I had dinner with a friend last night, and she said that she wanted a taste of the baseball fan. She likes tall (he's definitely that), and she loves chivalry--a quality this man has in abundance, which really does nothing for me. She has decided that date number four will be a DC United game to which she will be invited. But I digress.

Perhaps it was the thought of competition from my best friend--a terribly attractive redhead--or just the fact that the baseball fan seems to be backing off from me a bit, but I found myself a little more intrigued this time than previous dates. I actually very nearly kissed him (but that would be awfully forward of me, wouldn't it?). I was a little disappointed when he didn't kiss me. Me!!! Disappointed!!! Tis a strange world, indeed.

The DC United game should be fascinating....

Yahoo #1

So, today was my first date with an online match. Florence (names have been changed to protect, well, me) and I have messaged each other a few times and spoken on the phone I think twice. That sounds about right.

My state of being may not have been the best for a first date... I've had an, um, exciting week--two live concerts, two evenings with less than 4 hours of sleep, and an incredibly boring day at work (stimulating it was not). Florence and I spoke on Sunday and decided that we should meet Friday (today--or, technically, yesterday), but I actually didn't hear from him all week.

Today at 5:30, Florence calls me, and we decide to meet up at a restaurant in the suburbs. We agree on 8:00, which will give me time to go home and change, which I do. Of course, I think I need to leave at 7:30, and at 7:30 when I'm putting on my shoes, I realize there's no way in hell I can get to Ballston from my current locale in 30 minutes. So, I call him to tell him I'll be late.

When I get to the metro (our determined meeting place), I see him for the first time. Perhaps I should have reviewed his profile before meeting him--he was a bit shorter than I expected. Not short--my height--but for some reason I thought he broke 6'. He doesn't.

He was a little, um, younger-looking than I expected. His photo is a very flattering one--clearly him, but very flattering, and he looks rather sculpted in his picture. In person, he looks about 16. And there was something about him that reminded me of Jason, a bagger at the grocery store I worked at in college. There was something watery about his eyes--not conjunctivitis, just something watery and soft. His skin was really soft, too--it was a little disconcerting.

We went to a Lebanese restaurant in Ballston and had a really hard time ordering--we kept chatting instead of concentrating on our menus. He's a very avid listener as well as talker, and it took a really long time for us to decide what to order. The waitress kept coming and asking, apparently having never learned the trick of waiting until your diners have put down the menu. We both got meat plates--he got lamb. His lamb looked incredible and I suffered a bit of food envy as he ate it. We also got the baba ghanoush, which was excellent. They were pretty stingy with the bread, though, and we had far too much baba.

After dinner, we went to Dr Dremo's. The last time I went to Dremo's was 2002 with my boyz. My, how things have changed! But not at Dremo's. It's still dirty and cool and has lots of microbrews that I don't drink. It was fun, although I probably should not mention on a first date how many proposals I get in Africa.

Overall, it was a good date, neither incredibly good nor incredibly bad. A strict 5. Florence was a little timid for my taste--he clearly wanted to pay for my dinner (I should have let him); he wanted to in some way physically mark the end of our date (I didn't let him), and he just seemed very timid. A stronger personality for the international tease, please!