The art of the Choke...

Dear Guy I helped in the Shop,
You were about 30, tall, not unattractive and buying a dictionary. You were wearing the unfortunate dark glasses you get from the optometrist after an eye exam and when you removed them to ask me a question your eyes were watering. A few minutes after I’d helped you, you came back up to me, sweating profusely with this line…
“I’m not seeing good… very well… because my eyes are dilated, but I know an attractive woman when I see one…”
And I froze.
“Thanks, that’s so nice to hear…thanks, nice to hear…nice” then in a blur of movement I unfroze and I ran away. Literally ran away.
I can’t help but wonder what you might have been thinking at that point in time. It has to take a lot of stones to go up to a girl and say something- I completely lost all regard for your effort not to mention the compliment you was paying me while I was sprinting up the stairs in a panic. Ok sure this wasn’t the best delivered line ever, I was at work and not expecting anything but seriously- isn’t my resolution all about being open to the possibilities around me? A possibility arises and I freak-the-snot-out. Not just arises, falls into my lap and I choke.
My most humble apologies- I really mean it when I say it wasn’t you, it was me. I had a moment of insecurity tossed in with a good dose of shock at your timing. You should hit on girls more often and chances are other girls won’t freak out.
Maybe find another line though… that dilated eye thing probably won’t work on a regular basis.
Regards,
The streak of blonde- running in the opposite direction.

Date 8 Guy 7- let's keep this brief...

I want to go on 100 dates this year.
In case we weren’t clear, this does not mean I’m becoming the biggest slut in San Francisco. So when the first words (and frankly the least offensive) out of Guy 7’s mouth were “Can I ask you a personal question... Have you gone home with someone on the first date?” which was quickly followed by “Do you wear thongs?” I decided to drink my coffee very quickly, play up the fact that I’m not feeling well and book it out of there as fast as possible.

The Bridget Jones Dilemma

I’m home sick today but I have a date tonight. I’m keeping my fingers crossed I don’t have to cancel.
Sitting in bed under the covers with a cup of tea and some saltines gives me an opportunity to figure out what to wear. I have this ongoing date outfit dilemma though.

To Spanx or not to Spanx.

Lord knows I work to get the damn things on. Nothing like wiggling into a nylon cotton and spandex tube- writhing around the room pulling and tugging, shifting and checking for “issues” and bunching (FYI I did try this once with heals on- got a stiletto caught in the leg of the nylon tripped over the shoe box and almost knocked myself out on my bed post- I had visions of the Roommate finding me collapsed on the floor, spanx twisted to the point where it would have to be cut off to prevent the loss of circulation to my feet). Then after strapping on the right bra I check the mirror to see if I look ok (not with the dress on yet mind you). I squint a bit and I can at least get the idea of the shape but I’ve learned avoid getting a close and clear look at myself because Spanx and a bra is NOT attractive- I don’t care how fantastic the heals are. The dress goes on after and although one might think this would be the end of it, it isn’t- I start the movement test. Fast spin, bend over, sit down, reach up, smooth over all just to see if the damn thing can be seen, felt or yes even heard. Then, and only then do I step back, really look at myself and find I’m mildly disappointed. I haven’t become Kate Winslet but at least I’m lump free.
Is it cheating? Like busting out the push-up water bra or padded butt jeans? Maybe.
I choose to believe it’s more like a good make up application… mixed with a workout.

First dates are hard... second dates are something else...

Date 7, Guy 6 (my first second date- I was starting to get worried).
The bar was a fantastic mix of upscale old English pub and bordello- high backed seats in candle lit booths; velvet wall paper and strong drinks. Had it been a 3rd or 4th date I might have been tempted to lean in over the table and run my finger over the rim of my martini glass in an attempt at luring an unsuspecting gent into any number of naughty thoughts but as it was a 2nd date I decided to be modest.
Ok the truth is Mr. Burly is pretty darn funny and my martini glass seduction doesn’t go over particularly well when I’m snorting with laughter.
It was a good date. It was a second date.
It may even lead to a 3rd (knock on wood, don’t tempt the gods, praise be to Allah…)
There was one little thing though.
So in my head first kisses fall into two categories. The First is blissfully romantic- harts, flowers, city lights, violins- the kind that happen in Broadway musicals, the kind that happens with a crescendo of music and is followed quickly by the last few notes of a duet the kind that make a girl sigh and dance off stage with her skirts floating behind her. It’s a cross between Disney and the cover of a romance novel- Fabio strictly optional.
The second category of first kiss is dark and steamy- it’s a kiss so hot you can’t feel your face by the time it’s done. It’s a gasping for breath battle of teeth and tongues and clutching fingers. It’s the kind of kiss you have to jerk yourself away from only to go back for more. It leaves you raw and edgy and trembling.
Of course these are unrealistic- But I’m a romantic, I have certain expectations.
I turn to face Mr. Burly. He turns to face me…
I’m slightly tipsy, standing on the street in the middle of the Tenderloin at 2am. There is a very loud guy strung out at the corner screaming about karma to what I can only presume is a close personal friend of his on the other corner. She is a strikingly tall lady with a bit of facial hair.
There is a very awkward pause…
Not exactly Broadway but I can work with it.
He shrugs (yes he actually shrugged), leans in and kisses me.
Then we both step back and look at each other.
Huh…
“That was umm…awkward…”
“Well… yeah…”
I can tell he’s as confused as I am so we both decide to pretend it didn’t happen.
So much for second dates being less awkward than first…

Date 6 Guy 6

When you walk in and your feet peal off the floor at every step. The bar stools are so rough and cracked they would snag any material other than denim. The “lounge” furniture is a hodge-podge of miss-matched cast offs from a bad 70’s porno but you sit on it anyway while you wait for your turn at the dart board (or in my case my date to show up) and strike up a conversation with the 3 gals wearing too much makeup “slumming it” sitting at the booth next to you. The Regulars are a crew of two sitting over their beer in the darkest corner of the bar. They seem to embody both a hard life lived in the sun and one where they never saw the light of day- skin wrinkled, leathered and yet strikingly pale. The tv in the corner shows off season sports clips through the snow of a bad connection and the juke box is well stocked with rock ballads. The bartender greets you with a smile and if you stay long enough and tip well enough she will probably comp that last drink because you are now a familiar face.
There is something appealing about a dive bar and this happens to be one of my favorites.
Guy 6 is running late but because he has been calling every 5 min to make a joke about the reliability of muni or what a bad impression he’s making I’m willing to forgive his tardiness. After all, the ladies next to me are now starting to play a very entertaining game of quarters- I have agreed to serve as ref- how you referee a game of quarters is beyond me but that’s beside the point.
When he walks in he’s taller than I remember and just as cute, appropriately sheepish about being late and seems happy to see me- Guy 6 is Mr. Burly.
We belly up to the bar and order- the bartender seems relieved that I’m not here by myself- winks at me and smiles at Guy 6.
We chat and joke and I end up staying longer than I intended .
It was a good date.
And I got a few charming text messages the next day.
Maybe he had a good time too.