Hiatus and return

I'm back!

Was depressed there for a while over my soon-to-be-married evil ex, but really I should just feel bad for her. Except I can't quite. Such is unfortunately how the heart works. I shouldn't love him but I still kind of do. We were a good match, although my mother thinks we were a good match because he's manipulative and knows how to ingratiate himself to people and give them what they want.

Still...

I went on the date with the doctor. It was fine, we met at a sports bar (not my kind of thing) and had a fine talk for an hour, but I just wasn't attracted to him and all. I tried, but he kept leaning in and touching my on the shoulder and he had his legs spread really wide, which I think is kind of a gross unconscious sexual aggressiveness. I kept moving my chair back. Anyway, when I went to say "thanks!" and give him a hug before getting in the taxi, I went for the side kiss, but somehow we kissed on the lips and that's when I decided I was quite sure I didn't want to go out with him again in that I wanted to get some mouth-hand sanitizer and make rub in on my lips to make sure I didn't get a cold by accident by kissing some guy I didn't want to. When you are thinking about catching a cold instead of how amazing your kiss was---that's a bad sign. So I emailed him and said that I thought we didn't have chemistry because he emailed me twice after that and I had started to feel anxious, like it was a problem I had to solve. Sometimes I worry that by being nice and polite guys think that I like them, but I think having manners doesn't mean you are interested in someone, it means you were raised properly.

Anyway, I ALSO went to a dating event and it was truly heinous, as all meat markets are. But I walked right up and introduced myself to people, otherwise I get stuck talking to guys I don't want to talk to and then am too polite to extricate myself from. So, I took matters into my own hands. And it sort-of kind-of paid off as Apple Juice and I got invited to a dinner party. We're psyched! With brits. I love british men. They are polite, have EXCELLENT social skills, and usually pretty good looking, sound fantastic when they talk, and know how to treat women. They also do not like skinny girls, which I love! Pass me that plate of pasta! One of the guys I was talking to I asked "okay, so who do you think is cute here?" and he said, "okay, follow my thumb" and he was pointing to this girl who was, by new york standards, overweight (by rest of the US standard's just a little bit overweight). He said "I think she has a really pretty face." WOW! I wonder why I don't move to Britain right now. I should point out that this dating event was also not always successful...one guy I introduced myself to said "Um, I have to go talk to my friends. Maybe I'll come back." hmm. I could have been discouraged, but why would I want to talk to someone who doesn't want to talk to me?

I also had a pseudo-not-date last night with an artist who looks strikingly like my evil ex, but hopefully without the predisposition toward anger. We had fun, but I don't think it will go anywhere. We'll see! More fun that my other dates recently!

how's everyone else doing out there?

Up in the Air

So the date was supposed to consist of the old cliché: dinner and a movie. In that order. However, when I showed up at the chic Thai restaurant, I got a message from J. informing me of a little switcheroo: movie, then dinner. OK, except, I was starving marvin, and was in dire need of a *little* snack. So, on my way into the cinema, I purchased a combo-deal all inclusive of: a gallon of diet coke, a tub of popcorn large enough to feed a family of ten, and a ginormous pack of Twizzlers. J does not eat popcorn, nor does he drink diet soda. Apparently, he eats only healthy things, like vegetables, meat, and protein shakes. He did agree to taste a twizzler, and we had a cute old couple moment when he held the twizzlers and I shouted "that man has my candy!" and he handed them back to me, shouting "this woman is holding my twizzler!" The couples around us chuckled in approval. The date started off well after all. Contrary to multiple warnings, the movie Up in the Air, was perfect: it shamelessly denounced a life of loneliness and social detachment and advocated marriage, children, and San Francisco. I appreciated that J. did not make any moves that may have distracted me, and let me watch the movie while scattering popcorn matter about my person like a pig in hay.

Equally as refreshing was his choice not to order me a drink at dinner. Because I almost walked into the door he was holding open for me at the restaurant, and then proceeded to knock half the silverwear off the table, he probably figured it was safer not to throw any alcohol in the mix. I am a super cheap date.

Even sans alcohol, dinner was merry. J. has a great sense of humor, which totally jives with mine. He told me of his days in Connecticut where he drove the *apparently* seriously bad-ass Dodge Charger (oooooo!). When he moved back to New York, he sold this cherished piece of machinery to a man in Queens whose claim to fame was, as it turns out, falafel pizza. This man, apprently owned a falafel pizza store. Only in New York, I say. I ordered a coconut broth soup, and apologized for biting into the scallion bits. J. said he would bite into a large clove of garlic to get even. He ordered a brown soup, which ignited a delightful conversation about the potty, and revealed my penchant for potty humor. I noted some dirty looks from the proper couple sitting near-by. Success! Though, I quickly found I was no match for J. He really got on a roll (pun not intended) and spewed a string of dirty and politically incorrect jokes, some of which I am convinced came off a laughy-taffy wrapper. "Why do Jews have big noses?" "Because air is free." Other topics of conversation included a horror film we planned on producing about Zombies looking for their eyeballs at the Eye Bank, how to hook up an HD TV without getting electrocuted, and dialectical pronounciation of the word "vitreous." J. insisted that he could see my vitreous. I was embarassed.

He walked me, like a perfect gentelman, to the Subway stop, saying he will then find his underpass. I told him to stop talking about his underpass, and he accused me of trying to get into his underpass. Cute guy. He earned that hot subway kiss. And, even better, a weekend-night date!