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.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Saturday, June 16, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)