Friday, September 12, 2008
:(
So, the deputy guitarist and I broke up. That's sad because he's really sweet, but my dating life will be much more interesting. :)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Mercy, Mercy Me
So, the Deputy Guitarist and I finally went on our first official, pre-planned date.
A lovely night it was, indeed. DG picked me up at my house a little after 7:00 (he wanted to give me time to go home and get freshened up--I mostly took a power-nap), and we drove to U Street, parking in what I imagine was an illegal parking lot. He has a large car--there's no way we were finding street parking. We went to one of his favorite restaurants in the area (and why he doesn't live in U Street is actually completely a mystery to me) called U-topia--although, unbeknownst to me, some of my coworkers were trolling around U Street and knew I had a date at that restaurant and were peaking in the window to see if I was there. I wasn't--they were a little early.
U-topia's an awesome restaurant. Like most restaurants on U Street, it's a converted rowhouse, but it appears that they actually consolidated two rowhouses. There's a lot of art on the wall--apparently, the owner is an artist and originally envisioned U-topia as a place to eat and sell art. There's also usually a jazz band that plays, although they were only setting up by the time we left the restaurant.
After eating, we went down to the monuments, which was really cute because I had been thinking it would be a nice idea, even though it was a little bit cold out, and DG suggested it after dinner. I thought that was sweet. We couldn't figure out where to park near the Jefferson (and there was a cop making sure we didn't improvise), so we went to Roosevelt instead, which is actually my favorite, anyway. I love the waterfalls, and it's particularly nice in the evening on a date. It was pretty cold, though, and there were a shocking number of children there for 11:00 at night, which really interrupted our quiet enjoyment of making out in front of the pretty waterfalls.
So, we went back to my place, where I learned that some boys handle that whole law of chastity thing better than others. It was a little awkward to have this poor boy rocking and shaking on my couch as if he had a really bad stomach flu. In the interest of road safety as boys leave my apartment, I might need to have a little mercy....
A lovely night it was, indeed. DG picked me up at my house a little after 7:00 (he wanted to give me time to go home and get freshened up--I mostly took a power-nap), and we drove to U Street, parking in what I imagine was an illegal parking lot. He has a large car--there's no way we were finding street parking. We went to one of his favorite restaurants in the area (and why he doesn't live in U Street is actually completely a mystery to me) called U-topia--although, unbeknownst to me, some of my coworkers were trolling around U Street and knew I had a date at that restaurant and were peaking in the window to see if I was there. I wasn't--they were a little early.
U-topia's an awesome restaurant. Like most restaurants on U Street, it's a converted rowhouse, but it appears that they actually consolidated two rowhouses. There's a lot of art on the wall--apparently, the owner is an artist and originally envisioned U-topia as a place to eat and sell art. There's also usually a jazz band that plays, although they were only setting up by the time we left the restaurant.
After eating, we went down to the monuments, which was really cute because I had been thinking it would be a nice idea, even though it was a little bit cold out, and DG suggested it after dinner. I thought that was sweet. We couldn't figure out where to park near the Jefferson (and there was a cop making sure we didn't improvise), so we went to Roosevelt instead, which is actually my favorite, anyway. I love the waterfalls, and it's particularly nice in the evening on a date. It was pretty cold, though, and there were a shocking number of children there for 11:00 at night, which really interrupted our quiet enjoyment of making out in front of the pretty waterfalls.
So, we went back to my place, where I learned that some boys handle that whole law of chastity thing better than others. It was a little awkward to have this poor boy rocking and shaking on my couch as if he had a really bad stomach flu. In the interest of road safety as boys leave my apartment, I might need to have a little mercy....
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Freaky Friday
Okay, Superman's kind of a freak. I mean, we knew he was bizarre, right? We knew he wasn't precisely normal and that he was lacking in some fairly basic socialization with regards to the opposite sex?
So, he and I still speak sometimes. I am weak; I admit it. I like chatting with him, and so I continue to do so even though there's no really good reason. Nothing substantive, mind you--just snarky one-liners, the likes of which have always passed between us.
So, sometime maybe last week or two weeks ago or something, he sent around a video clip to me and several of his other friends. I gave him a hard time about putting me on a bulk email list and didn't think too much of it. Then, the other day, he sends me another clip--this time just to me. It's a very disturbing video illustrated in stick figures narrating the story of a marital relationship, from the standpoint of a woman. The video is called "I Guess You'll Do," which pretty much tells you everything you need to know about the video.
I honestly found the video kind of appalling. The woman, after acknowledging that she and the man in question come from similar socioeconomic backgrounds and are equally attractive, dates, shags, moves in with, and eventually marries said male romantic lead (such as he is--stick figure and everything). It struck me as a little misogynistic--the engagement lasts for a year and a half so that she can be the center of attention and draw it out as long as possible, and she has no aspirations to travel, educate herself, or think interesting thoughts--she just wants to be skinnier than her bridesmaids in her wedding dress.
And I get that this was a 5 minute short that was drawn out of stick figures, but for some reason, this movie really FREAKED ME OUT. I guess it's the whole anti-commitment combined with fear of mediocrity in my life, and oh yeah, this video was sent to me by a man who I just dated, who coincidentally, also just got a divorce (and yeah, bitter much?). He told me later that he had actually sent it out to several people and just had sent me my own copy to avoid getting flack about a group email, but that didn't mollify me much. At some point, I think it would be really great if he remembered that whatever our relationship is now (and I really don't know what it is), we met at a speed dating event. We dated for a month. He dumped me. It's not appropriate to send me videos about marriage. Or, by the way, to complain about how little action you're getting--also annoying. There are lines. And lines of lines.
So, he and I still speak sometimes. I am weak; I admit it. I like chatting with him, and so I continue to do so even though there's no really good reason. Nothing substantive, mind you--just snarky one-liners, the likes of which have always passed between us.
So, sometime maybe last week or two weeks ago or something, he sent around a video clip to me and several of his other friends. I gave him a hard time about putting me on a bulk email list and didn't think too much of it. Then, the other day, he sends me another clip--this time just to me. It's a very disturbing video illustrated in stick figures narrating the story of a marital relationship, from the standpoint of a woman. The video is called "I Guess You'll Do," which pretty much tells you everything you need to know about the video.
I honestly found the video kind of appalling. The woman, after acknowledging that she and the man in question come from similar socioeconomic backgrounds and are equally attractive, dates, shags, moves in with, and eventually marries said male romantic lead (such as he is--stick figure and everything). It struck me as a little misogynistic--the engagement lasts for a year and a half so that she can be the center of attention and draw it out as long as possible, and she has no aspirations to travel, educate herself, or think interesting thoughts--she just wants to be skinnier than her bridesmaids in her wedding dress.
And I get that this was a 5 minute short that was drawn out of stick figures, but for some reason, this movie really FREAKED ME OUT. I guess it's the whole anti-commitment combined with fear of mediocrity in my life, and oh yeah, this video was sent to me by a man who I just dated, who coincidentally, also just got a divorce (and yeah, bitter much?). He told me later that he had actually sent it out to several people and just had sent me my own copy to avoid getting flack about a group email, but that didn't mollify me much. At some point, I think it would be really great if he remembered that whatever our relationship is now (and I really don't know what it is), we met at a speed dating event. We dated for a month. He dumped me. It's not appropriate to send me videos about marriage. Or, by the way, to complain about how little action you're getting--also annoying. There are lines. And lines of lines.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
March Madness
I don't know that a two-hour make-out session counts as a date, but why not?
So, Deputy Guitarist is from the island of Dominica, in the Caribbean. He went back home last week, so it had been a while since I last saw him (although he very sweetly emailed several times and called me from the airport in Puerto Rico on his way back). Although he came back on Monday, it wasn't looking good for me to see him before Friday--I'm booked all this week, and he had a meeting that directly conflicted with our Tuesday practice. But he called me in the evening, saying that he was going to stop by practice because he wanted to see me, and sure enough, about ten minutes after I arrived, there he was.
He was only able to stay for maybe 45 minutes before he had to dash off to the meeting, which was disappointing. We continued our practice in his absence only to have him rejoin us about 30 minutes later. He had rescheduled his meeting to 5:30 AM the next morning so that he could return.
After band practice, he and I drove to his office so that I could see his digs--and so that we would have a comfortable, heated place to make out. :D Of course, we had lots of conversation, as well--I realized last night that my make-out sessions have to involve conversation to keep me engaged. I really think it's just me. I can't say that my ability to retain information is as strong when my brain is addled by hormones, but my inquisitiveness does not rest just because I'm sucking face. So, we talked about his trip, the island, his business. I don't think I had a lot to add to the conversation, but I love hearing him describe his home--he's so fond of it. Of course, so is everyone else I've ever known who's gone to Dominica.
In other news, I think my relationship with the Penguin may be officially over: I bought a new phone, and I tossed my old phone without actually copying all of my phone numbers. The Penguin's was one that was lost, and since he most recently asked me out, I think that means we might be done. Alas, I was so hoping for date #5!
So, Deputy Guitarist is from the island of Dominica, in the Caribbean. He went back home last week, so it had been a while since I last saw him (although he very sweetly emailed several times and called me from the airport in Puerto Rico on his way back). Although he came back on Monday, it wasn't looking good for me to see him before Friday--I'm booked all this week, and he had a meeting that directly conflicted with our Tuesday practice. But he called me in the evening, saying that he was going to stop by practice because he wanted to see me, and sure enough, about ten minutes after I arrived, there he was.
He was only able to stay for maybe 45 minutes before he had to dash off to the meeting, which was disappointing. We continued our practice in his absence only to have him rejoin us about 30 minutes later. He had rescheduled his meeting to 5:30 AM the next morning so that he could return.
After band practice, he and I drove to his office so that I could see his digs--and so that we would have a comfortable, heated place to make out. :D Of course, we had lots of conversation, as well--I realized last night that my make-out sessions have to involve conversation to keep me engaged. I really think it's just me. I can't say that my ability to retain information is as strong when my brain is addled by hormones, but my inquisitiveness does not rest just because I'm sucking face. So, we talked about his trip, the island, his business. I don't think I had a lot to add to the conversation, but I love hearing him describe his home--he's so fond of it. Of course, so is everyone else I've ever known who's gone to Dominica.
In other news, I think my relationship with the Penguin may be officially over: I bought a new phone, and I tossed my old phone without actually copying all of my phone numbers. The Penguin's was one that was lost, and since he most recently asked me out, I think that means we might be done. Alas, I was so hoping for date #5!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I'm late? For a very important date?
So, after Saturday night's drama, I have to confess I wasn't so much looking forward to band rehearsal. We'd lost our drummer, who I adore, we lost our bass player, who I though was uber-cool, and I just wasn't actually excited about it. But, I knew I'd see the Deputy Guitarist, and that was a small bone thrown in my direction.
Not shockingly to anyone who knows me, I was late. And the band was actually totally rocking the Police when I arrived. Good for us. And Deputy Guitarist was HOT. Well, he is. So, after about an hour and a half of practice, Deputy Guitarist and I said good-night, and he asked me if he wanted to go somewhere to talk. Well, of course I did, but I was also extremely hungry, so we needed to talk at McDonald's.
We chatted for a fairly long while over cheeseburger and fries--what music we thought would be good to play, our weeks, etc. Chit chat, really, but it was pleasant. And I made him eat McDonald's fries, which apparently aren't his thing. After I was finished, we made our way out of the restaurant and into his car so we could continue our chat. And of course by that I mean make out like the make-out bandit I am! But there was talking, too.
Yeah, we chatted/made out for probably 2 hours or thereabouts. I think the Deputy Guitarist was a little taken aback by this behavior--normal people don't kiss for this long. But I do. And we talked some more--I confirmed his age (37), his marital status (divorced--and what is it with me and these divorcees?), what else? I'm the first white girl he's ever kissed (apparently, white girls have a reputation for being very aggressive--we all know that I fulfill that very well). I don't know--it was very chill. I enjoyed it. He's very effusive and poetic in the way that so many men from the Third World I've dated are. Commented on my warm aura and openness. I try not to take it too seriously.
As I get to know him, he reminds me less of Austine and becomes more of his own person. I can almost believe that he's a reserved person (almost). But I still don't entirely trust a ridiculously hot, guitar-playing, reggae-singing non-native English speaker. Too bloody hot and not exactly sure what his expectations are (or what stereotypes have invaded that mind of his). But, he's thus far been the perfect gentleman, and he followed me half of the way home to make sure that I was going the right way (I wasn't). This is a good sign.
Not shockingly to anyone who knows me, I was late. And the band was actually totally rocking the Police when I arrived. Good for us. And Deputy Guitarist was HOT. Well, he is. So, after about an hour and a half of practice, Deputy Guitarist and I said good-night, and he asked me if he wanted to go somewhere to talk. Well, of course I did, but I was also extremely hungry, so we needed to talk at McDonald's.
We chatted for a fairly long while over cheeseburger and fries--what music we thought would be good to play, our weeks, etc. Chit chat, really, but it was pleasant. And I made him eat McDonald's fries, which apparently aren't his thing. After I was finished, we made our way out of the restaurant and into his car so we could continue our chat. And of course by that I mean make out like the make-out bandit I am! But there was talking, too.
Yeah, we chatted/made out for probably 2 hours or thereabouts. I think the Deputy Guitarist was a little taken aback by this behavior--normal people don't kiss for this long. But I do. And we talked some more--I confirmed his age (37), his marital status (divorced--and what is it with me and these divorcees?), what else? I'm the first white girl he's ever kissed (apparently, white girls have a reputation for being very aggressive--we all know that I fulfill that very well). I don't know--it was very chill. I enjoyed it. He's very effusive and poetic in the way that so many men from the Third World I've dated are. Commented on my warm aura and openness. I try not to take it too seriously.
As I get to know him, he reminds me less of Austine and becomes more of his own person. I can almost believe that he's a reserved person (almost). But I still don't entirely trust a ridiculously hot, guitar-playing, reggae-singing non-native English speaker. Too bloody hot and not exactly sure what his expectations are (or what stereotypes have invaded that mind of his). But, he's thus far been the perfect gentleman, and he followed me half of the way home to make sure that I was going the right way (I wasn't). This is a good sign.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Sink and Swim
I'm in a band. It's huge fun--it's probably the coolest thing I'm doing right now. I love it.
Tonight, we performed at a charitable event in the city. And, sadly, to say, we sucked. As in bombed. I'm not really sure what happened--I mean, our last performance was really strong! And suddenly, everything just fell apart. Our songs that we usually nail were crap. The whole thing was off. And sadly, even the songs we did nail were so old that the audience members (mostly my peers) were just not into it. And, oh yeah, there was a far superior band upstairs.
But the upside to all of this--my budding flirtation with on of our guitarists (apparently, I may or may not have learned my lesson about not dating coworkers, but I clearly have not managed to extrapolate from that lesson anything about dating other band members) came to a head tonight.
The Deputy Guitarist in our band is cute (actually looks a little like Austine, but I try not to hold that against him), has an amazing voice, and understands music incredibly well. He's affable, a good dresser, and has a charming Caribbean accent. And he flirts with me like nobody's business.
He asked for my number after last Wednesday's rehearsal, and there was no questioning the intent. And I had my suspicions when he offered me a ride home after our performance. Sure enough, we chatted in the car for probably an hour, hour and a half. When I made to leave, he got out of the car to open my car door and actually locked me into the car as he came over because my hand was too close to the door latch. He let me out of the car and gave me a big hug, which not shockingly turned into a kiss, which even less shockingly turned into fifteen minutes.
I have no decided that anything less than an hour is a goodnight kiss.
We undoubtedly could have kissed longer except that it's about 25 degrees or something in DC, and I was in my super-short sparkly dress procured for Superman's office party. Such a good purchase that was!
Under an hour.
Tonight, we performed at a charitable event in the city. And, sadly, to say, we sucked. As in bombed. I'm not really sure what happened--I mean, our last performance was really strong! And suddenly, everything just fell apart. Our songs that we usually nail were crap. The whole thing was off. And sadly, even the songs we did nail were so old that the audience members (mostly my peers) were just not into it. And, oh yeah, there was a far superior band upstairs.
But the upside to all of this--my budding flirtation with on of our guitarists (apparently, I may or may not have learned my lesson about not dating coworkers, but I clearly have not managed to extrapolate from that lesson anything about dating other band members) came to a head tonight.
The Deputy Guitarist in our band is cute (actually looks a little like Austine, but I try not to hold that against him), has an amazing voice, and understands music incredibly well. He's affable, a good dresser, and has a charming Caribbean accent. And he flirts with me like nobody's business.
He asked for my number after last Wednesday's rehearsal, and there was no questioning the intent. And I had my suspicions when he offered me a ride home after our performance. Sure enough, we chatted in the car for probably an hour, hour and a half. When I made to leave, he got out of the car to open my car door and actually locked me into the car as he came over because my hand was too close to the door latch. He let me out of the car and gave me a big hug, which not shockingly turned into a kiss, which even less shockingly turned into fifteen minutes.
I have no decided that anything less than an hour is a goodnight kiss.
We undoubtedly could have kissed longer except that it's about 25 degrees or something in DC, and I was in my super-short sparkly dress procured for Superman's office party. Such a good purchase that was!
Under an hour.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Best Laid Plans...
As previously noted, it's been kind of a slow year so far. So, determined after my trip to Zambia to get things going, I texted the Penguin and arranged for an outing. He was a little slow to respond--apparently, there are limits to how much you can neglect a guy before he loses interest (I can't say I wasn't warned, seeing as how that was one of the first things the Penguin told me on our second date).
But, after a modicum of effort, I was able to worm my way back into the Penguin's good graces, and he agreed to a Saturday date to the Spy Museum. Squinched between brunch with a friend and a Saturday night performance with my band, I didn't actually have a huge amount of time for the date. So, I experienced a little chagrin when we got to the Spy Museum and there was a block-long line to get in. We opted to forego the espionage for another outing (the Penguin has been to the Spy Museum, so he didn't mind, but I was pretty disappointed). Lucky Strike proved to be a misnomer, as we found out that there was a two hour wait to get a lane. So, thus disenfranchised, we wandered around Chinatown looking for something to do.
Our walk was limited, by the way, by the Penguin's shoes, which were apparently not made for walking. HA!!! Since when are the BOY's shoes the limiting factor!?!!? The Penguin expressed disappointment, by the way, that his boots did not have spurs, which I thought was funny because he didn't actually know what spurs are for ("fashion?" he said).
So, instead, we found a fortune teller and had our tarot read. The Penguin went first, and I played with the puppy in the hall (aptly named Sugar). Then it was my turn. The woman did a tarot reading with which I'm unfamiliar (I'm not actually up on all the ways to read tarot card--it's not so much my thing, generally). She told me that my childhood was pleasant and that my family is supportive of what I do--true. She said that I've already found my true love, and that he's surrounded by evil. Okay, Mattie's definitely the love of my life, and he's definitely surrounded by evil. She then said that she thought that the "gentleman outside" was the love of my life because he's my "twin flame soul mate," which I thought was HYSTERICAL. I mean, honestly--we're on date #4!!!! The love of my life??? Yes, that is what I would tell him if I wanted to get rid of him quickly.
In any case, she went on with her prediction--I will get married in the next two years and have children (by the way, I remember when I had my runes read once, and the guy said that I would receive a proposal for marriage in the next 6 months or something, and it was true except that the fortune teller neglected to tell me that I wouldn't like the guy making the offer), and that my job involves travel--well, she got that right, at least! She also, by the way, offered a more in-depth service to figure out what the evil is that's plaguing the Penguin. He thought that a 3 hour trance, which was the service she offered, would obviously make the evil go away because I would get bored and leave.
Afterwards, we went to the National Portrait Gallery and made out in the stairwell for an hour. Because I've graduated from high school. And I've found my twin-flame soul mate.
But, after a modicum of effort, I was able to worm my way back into the Penguin's good graces, and he agreed to a Saturday date to the Spy Museum. Squinched between brunch with a friend and a Saturday night performance with my band, I didn't actually have a huge amount of time for the date. So, I experienced a little chagrin when we got to the Spy Museum and there was a block-long line to get in. We opted to forego the espionage for another outing (the Penguin has been to the Spy Museum, so he didn't mind, but I was pretty disappointed). Lucky Strike proved to be a misnomer, as we found out that there was a two hour wait to get a lane. So, thus disenfranchised, we wandered around Chinatown looking for something to do.
Our walk was limited, by the way, by the Penguin's shoes, which were apparently not made for walking. HA!!! Since when are the BOY's shoes the limiting factor!?!!? The Penguin expressed disappointment, by the way, that his boots did not have spurs, which I thought was funny because he didn't actually know what spurs are for ("fashion?" he said).
So, instead, we found a fortune teller and had our tarot read. The Penguin went first, and I played with the puppy in the hall (aptly named Sugar). Then it was my turn. The woman did a tarot reading with which I'm unfamiliar (I'm not actually up on all the ways to read tarot card--it's not so much my thing, generally). She told me that my childhood was pleasant and that my family is supportive of what I do--true. She said that I've already found my true love, and that he's surrounded by evil. Okay, Mattie's definitely the love of my life, and he's definitely surrounded by evil. She then said that she thought that the "gentleman outside" was the love of my life because he's my "twin flame soul mate," which I thought was HYSTERICAL. I mean, honestly--we're on date #4!!!! The love of my life??? Yes, that is what I would tell him if I wanted to get rid of him quickly.
In any case, she went on with her prediction--I will get married in the next two years and have children (by the way, I remember when I had my runes read once, and the guy said that I would receive a proposal for marriage in the next 6 months or something, and it was true except that the fortune teller neglected to tell me that I wouldn't like the guy making the offer), and that my job involves travel--well, she got that right, at least! She also, by the way, offered a more in-depth service to figure out what the evil is that's plaguing the Penguin. He thought that a 3 hour trance, which was the service she offered, would obviously make the evil go away because I would get bored and leave.
Afterwards, we went to the National Portrait Gallery and made out in the stairwell for an hour. Because I've graduated from high school. And I've found my twin-flame soul mate.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Like Molasses in Winter
Okay, so it has not escaped my attention that we're close to V-Day (or, as Mormon #1 likes to call it, Singles Awareness Day) and I actually have not gone on a date this year. It's been a slow year so far--so much for my horoscope. I'm pretty sure I was supposed to have a good year.
Noting my particular lack of engaging activities with the opposite sex, I went to a breast cancer fund raiser last night, fully prepared to buy a date at the auction. Yes, I know that I'm cute enough that I shouldn't have to buy my date, but really--I've never won a date at an auction. I thought it would be fun.
Except that it's EXPENSIVE!!! I thought I'd be willing to put out about $50, maybe a little bit more. The cheapest guy went for, I think, $65. The most expensive was $150! Can you imagine that!?! I guess this is what it means to be in DC with such a ridiculous ratio. In other news, I put together small group dinners for church, where every party had 2 guys and 4 women. Except for the 1 party that had no women. Wow. Kind of a rough town, I guess.
I will be going out with the Penguin on Saturday. This will be date #4 (it's only taken 3 months to get there); we'll see how it goes!
Noting my particular lack of engaging activities with the opposite sex, I went to a breast cancer fund raiser last night, fully prepared to buy a date at the auction. Yes, I know that I'm cute enough that I shouldn't have to buy my date, but really--I've never won a date at an auction. I thought it would be fun.
Except that it's EXPENSIVE!!! I thought I'd be willing to put out about $50, maybe a little bit more. The cheapest guy went for, I think, $65. The most expensive was $150! Can you imagine that!?! I guess this is what it means to be in DC with such a ridiculous ratio. In other news, I put together small group dinners for church, where every party had 2 guys and 4 women. Except for the 1 party that had no women. Wow. Kind of a rough town, I guess.
I will be going out with the Penguin on Saturday. This will be date #4 (it's only taken 3 months to get there); we'll see how it goes!
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy New Year!
And what a year it's been so far! It's 6:00 PM, I've been up for entirely too long on entirely too little sleep, I have successfully made it back to Washington, and I started the year off right with an excellent New Year's celebration (hence the little sleep).
I really did not think I would have a good New Year's. As I drove into Portland wearing the super-smokin' dress I bought for Superman's office party, I was pretty sure that my night was going to suck. I'm driving 45 minutes into the city at 10:30 at night, I have to leave home at 4:30 the next morning to make my flight, which means I'm going to have about an hour and a half to ring in the new year BY MYSELF. Because I'm in Portland, and everyone I know in Portland is OVER 60.
So, I drove into Portland listening to iTunes top 10 Metallica purchases (okay, that was kind of cool--I love Metallica), got lost on the East Side because I'm not FROM the East Side, and finally managed to get downtown. I parked my car and checked my phone, where my night was immediately brightened by the news that the one friend I have in Portland that's my age (a byproduct of my American Idol tryouts) was going to be able to join me with her sister for the evening.
So, I headed over to my destination, Dante's, where the band Karaoke from Hell was planning to perform for 28 straight hours. Karaoke from Hell is, predictably, a karaoke band--and they're AWESOME. I signed up for a song ("Don't Stop Believin' by Journey), tipped $5 (the larger the tip, the faster your song will come up), and waited for Hannah and Emma's arrival.
They came, we had a great time, and apparently, my dress inspires more than just Superman. When I was finally called up to sing, the band's backup singer commented on my dress several times (and my shoes!), and informed everyone that I looked hot. Several men approached me, although one was the most--well, determined isn't the word, although his friends were very determined to match him up with me for some reason. He and I chatted for an hour or so--he's from Idaho Falls and lives in LA (doesn't like LA, although he mentioned several times that the weather's really nice) and is a database manager (read: big geek. Have I mentioned I like big geeks?).
Unfortunately, due to my flight, I couldn't stay that late, but it was okay because Emma started to feel a little sick around 12:45 (she's 8 months pregnant and thus is prone to these things). I stayed for a little while longer and talked to the boy, and then it was time for me to go home, myself. As I waited for my coat to be returned to me, the boy informed me that his friends (who had been physically pushing us together all night) had informed me that he must walk me home. I pointed out that he wouldn't have a lot of luck there, but he was welcome to walk me to my car, which he did. We chatted a bit more, and when we finally approached my car, I gave him a hug and a kiss for the new year. It was only 1:15, after all, and I hadn't yet gotten a New Year's kiss.
It was pretty g-rated, though. Poor boy is, after all, from Idaho Falls and painfully shy. I didn't want to harm him only a couple hours after meeting him.
I really did not think I would have a good New Year's. As I drove into Portland wearing the super-smokin' dress I bought for Superman's office party, I was pretty sure that my night was going to suck. I'm driving 45 minutes into the city at 10:30 at night, I have to leave home at 4:30 the next morning to make my flight, which means I'm going to have about an hour and a half to ring in the new year BY MYSELF. Because I'm in Portland, and everyone I know in Portland is OVER 60.
So, I drove into Portland listening to iTunes top 10 Metallica purchases (okay, that was kind of cool--I love Metallica), got lost on the East Side because I'm not FROM the East Side, and finally managed to get downtown. I parked my car and checked my phone, where my night was immediately brightened by the news that the one friend I have in Portland that's my age (a byproduct of my American Idol tryouts) was going to be able to join me with her sister for the evening.
So, I headed over to my destination, Dante's, where the band Karaoke from Hell was planning to perform for 28 straight hours. Karaoke from Hell is, predictably, a karaoke band--and they're AWESOME. I signed up for a song ("Don't Stop Believin' by Journey), tipped $5 (the larger the tip, the faster your song will come up), and waited for Hannah and Emma's arrival.
They came, we had a great time, and apparently, my dress inspires more than just Superman. When I was finally called up to sing, the band's backup singer commented on my dress several times (and my shoes!), and informed everyone that I looked hot. Several men approached me, although one was the most--well, determined isn't the word, although his friends were very determined to match him up with me for some reason. He and I chatted for an hour or so--he's from Idaho Falls and lives in LA (doesn't like LA, although he mentioned several times that the weather's really nice) and is a database manager (read: big geek. Have I mentioned I like big geeks?).
Unfortunately, due to my flight, I couldn't stay that late, but it was okay because Emma started to feel a little sick around 12:45 (she's 8 months pregnant and thus is prone to these things). I stayed for a little while longer and talked to the boy, and then it was time for me to go home, myself. As I waited for my coat to be returned to me, the boy informed me that his friends (who had been physically pushing us together all night) had informed me that he must walk me home. I pointed out that he wouldn't have a lot of luck there, but he was welcome to walk me to my car, which he did. We chatted a bit more, and when we finally approached my car, I gave him a hug and a kiss for the new year. It was only 1:15, after all, and I hadn't yet gotten a New Year's kiss.
It was pretty g-rated, though. Poor boy is, after all, from Idaho Falls and painfully shy. I didn't want to harm him only a couple hours after meeting him.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
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...
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...
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
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!
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.
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.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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!
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!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
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! :)
Monday, October 1, 2007
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?
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?
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