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.

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.