A Date Night

I can't believe I'm blogging. This is so 2011 of me!

I write a lot of emails to my family and friends so it only makes sense that I just point the appropriate people to the appropriate blog post. I also like the idea of having a voice. I've been told that I write the way I talk - hopefully that will come through here and you'll enjoy what you read. If not, take a hike. I won't know the difference. So, if I'm going to write the way I speak, which is often in the voice of a very sarcastic New Yorker, it may sting. If you don't know me well you won't like me. If you know me, you'll know I have a twinkle in my eye as I type this jibber jabber.

This blog will be about dating, life, food, sex, friends, love and whatever else I want to blog about, I guess. Isn't that the point; self indulgent public journaling? Hey, why not. Mostly I'm writing this blog so I can share some horrific, funny, sad and/or just plain messed up dating experiences and adventures. My friend Emily and I keep saying we'll write a book about it one day. Blogging, as it turns out, is free. I like free. Maybe this blog will become famous and I'll get a book deal like Julie Powell did when she blogged about cooking every recipe from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Cuisine? whatever). Or maybe Emily will be my only follower. Who knows.

So where do I start? Not from the beginning because Emily - and my other close friends - know that story and I don't want to bore anyone. So, I'll start with last night's date.

Let's call him Bob. Bob and I were set up on a blind date by my boss and his wife who happen to be close family friends of mine. Bob works w/ my boss's wife on a non-profit board. He's a conductor at Lincoln Center, an accomplished singer too. He went to a prep school in NYC like I did, then on to Dartmouth (not like I did). He is short, but when I manage to get over that disappointment I see that he's handsome with pretty hazel eyes, wavy brown hair, a beard, which I like. Oh, and a pimple on the side of his nose the size of a pencil's eraser head. At first I thought it was a mole... the restaurant lighting was dim. When I got a better look I saw that it was red around the edge and yellow in the middle. It was so big that I thought it was his undeveloped twin - just hanging out right there on the side of nose, waiting to say "heyyy!" Bob even went to the bathroom at one point, and when he came back, the twin was still there. Had it been me with the eraser sized twin on my face I would have birthed it in the bathroom and invited it out for another glass of wine.

So Bob and I made all the usual chit chat, but there were no sparks. No thoughts of "damn, I wish he'd throw me up against a wall tonight and make out with me for awhile". Dinner was OK, we talked about school, growing up in NYC, and legalizing drugs. He sort of agreed with most of what I said which bored me, then the convo turned to music. Considering his whole world revolves around classical music I was curious to know which other genres he enjoys. He said hip-hop. I was impressed. I blabbered on about how in the early 90's when hip-hop was starting to become mainstream I didn't really think about it at the time, but I loved the music. I told him I thought it was the tapestry of our teenage NY'er lives. Blank stare from across the table. OK, I thought - you're veering to far off course. Ask again. I mentioned Lady Gaga. A NY'er like us! Surely he knows who she is. She's a pianist too, I offered. He had never heard her music!! Didn't know who she was.

Does he live under a rock?! Unacceptable. That is when I should have gotten up and stomped out like a PMS'ing drag queen. But, alas, I'm too nice.

Out came the iPods and there we were, listening to Gaga together. Bob promised me he didn't have ear fungus as he handed me his ear bud to use. I mean, really people?! REALLY?! Ear fungus?
I tell Bob, 'Gaga went to my high school' (this is true, although she attended 8 or 9 years after I graduated.) Nothing. We listen to Bad Romance and her new single Born This Way - both hot Gaga classics. He said, "she's alright, good beats."

UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! WHERE. ARE. MY. GAYS!?!??!?!?!  Gay, gay all the way!!

I don't know why I agreed, but we decide to go to another place to have one more glass of wine. I'm always game for another glass of wine. We go to a place where I once saw Woody Hearaldson with his girlfriend (wife?) and shooed him away from a table I was holding for my girlfriends. I tell Bob the story, which I think is terrible funny... I SHOOED a movie star away! Nothing. He yawns. And then yawns again. Wow. Now I'm finished with this bozo and his white puffer coat (what dude has a white puffer coat with a fur lined hood??? Gay. And not in a good way!) At this point I'm carrying the conversation, asking him any question I can think of to keep him talking through this last glass of wine. Finally we finish. I pay the bill (he paid for dinner) and we walk a few blocks uptown. At 72nd street he says he's going to crab a cab, I tell him I'll walk home. He offers that we should do this again sometime. I think, not unless I'm comatose.

Maybe he's really from NJ. Food for thought. ;)