I went on another date.
Not with the same guy as before.
No, he stopped talking to me randomly even though we had been getting along fine and talking about a second date. Which would have offended me if I wasn’t completely serious about taking this whole dating thing with a grain of salt. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on.
This was a different guy. One who didn’t message back and forth for a million weeks before finally asking me out.
Nope. We sent probably three messages, and then he asked me out. Which I liked. And then he made all the plans himself. Which I also liked. I am terrible at making decisions.
Let’s call him D. Since that’s the letter his name starts with, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t referred to anybody else as D yet.
D and I met for dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant that my friend told me was actually pretty gross.
It’s not that I didn’t believe her. It’s that I told D what my friend said and we tried to choose somewhere else but we were both kind of hungry and it just was more convenient since we were already there.
So we ordered. And they got his order wrong. And my beef & vegetable thing was kind of gross. And we laughed at the ingenuity of this woman who brought her own scissors to cut up her kid’s noddles. Seriously. I thought it was a pretty sweet idea.
(At an early point in the date, I took a secret picture of him with my spiffy iPhone. Except I totally forgot to mute it, so he heard the stupid shutter noise. I know, rookie mistake, right? So he was all, “Did you just take a picture of me?” And I told him yes and that I had a friend who I’d promised I would try to send her a picture of him. You know, just in case he ended up murdering me or something. He laughed and said, “You could have at least let me smile.” So he smiled, I took another picture, and I tweeted it out because I really had told Samantha I would do it.)
At some point during dinner he told me that he was amazed at how pretty I was. He told me that my photos online just didn’t do me justice. I had a really beautiful smile.
Silly cynical me. He’s just trying to get in my pants, right?
Still. He seemed sincere. So I was flattered. And may have blushed.
So after dinner, we went for a walk. Just…to walk. It was really nice out and walking downtown by the Truckee River is very peaceful to me.
The rest of the date consisted of us just randomly walking around downtown, talking and laughing and me making him do silly things and him accusing me of smoking crack in the bathroom at the Cal Neva and him pushing my boundaries in a way that is probably good.
Example: We wandered into Wingfield Park, where there is a stage. At 9:30 in the evening, I convinced him to stand on stage and perform for me. Except he couldn’t remember the words to any songs at that moment and he was too self conscious to dance. So he did a cartwheel. No, I don’t understand how you can be too self conscious to dance but are perfectly find doing a cartwheel.
Example: I really had to pee. I was going to go before we left the restaurant, but I really just didn’t want to because the place was so shady. So we went into the Cal Neva and I … relieved myself. Afterwards, I had this sudden burst of energy. That, or I just got comfortable with him. It had nothing to do with the bathroom visit, but I went from being quiet-awkward girl to bursting-with-energy-can’t-stop-talking girl. So he accused me of doing crack in the bathroom. Good times.
Example: We hadn’t been walking long when I felt his knuckles brush against my hand. Silly me. I figured we were just walking too close and our hands had just bumped. A moment later, he laced his fingers through mine. We were holding hands. Which seemed really awkward, given this was a first date and I don’t really know him and is this moving too fast for me and wait this feels nice and I must be about thirteen because I’m getting excited about holding a boy’s hand. Wait. Thirteen-year-olds are having sex and babies and getting reality shows on MTV. Thirteen-year-olds are getting more action than me. I’m so lame. Except this is the first physical contact I’ve had with a person of the opposite gender besides hugs from friends and I am enjoying myself in his company so just relax you psycho and enjoy this simple thing that is making you smile because you need to smile.
Throughout the night, I ducked out on about twelve thousand of his attempts to kiss me.
Yep. That’s how I roll.
What? I was nervous! I just met the guy. I haven’t been with a guy in over two years and this is my second first date since I sort of half-ass decided to try dating and the first guy didn’t try any sort of move at all.
Besides, if I’m being completely honest, there’s still a part of me that feels like I shouldn’t even be dating at all. There’s a part of me that feels I should be spending all of my time either at work or with T. And, you know, I was married. I didn’t really see myself ever dating again, or ever kissing another man. So there’s this voice in the way back of my mind telling me that what I’m doing is wrong and evil and it’s a form of cheating.
Even though it’s not. At all.
And, if you must know, I totally let him kiss me at the end of the night.
I’m a little surprised I still remember how.