Date 14

Last night was lovely.  Heathrow lives in my old neighborhood.  It's an adorable neighborhood, and I miss it a bit, so I suggested we hit up a classic pub I used to frequent.  Same bartenders.  Same crowd.  Felt like old times.

Heathrow is a laid back English chap.  He was sucking on a Jameson and a beer, when I wandered in.  He has a smashing English accent, and the conversation was as smooth as silk.  Heathrow's facial structure is likened to an ex boyfriend of mine, so every time I caught his profile, it made me giggle a bit.

Since Heathrow is a regular at this pub, many friends came by to say hello.  They were all foreign, so a plethora of interesting accents were thrown my way.  I absolutely loved it.  It was Disneyland for Europhiles.

I somehow got my girlfriends to agree to meet me at said establishment, so they were able to meet Heathrow.  He held his own with 3 female comics, and they approved of him.  He also paid for my drinks, which is half the battle, really.

I will probably see Heathrow again, especially since he told me I was sexy.  The ladies like a good sexy compliment, gentlemen.  Keep that one in your back pocket and don't overuse it, or we'll think you to be insincere.

In other news, my favorite ex is coming to visit me next month, so that's exciting.  A whole weekend together.  How many dates should that count for?

Modern Day Mishaps

I have good news and I have bad news.  The bad news is that Heathrow and I have to postpone our date tonight.  We're going to grab early evening drinks tomorrow, and then I have to run to previous plans.  It's actually quite nice to have an exit strategy.  I know me, and if he speaks Cockney, I'll only understand a 1/3 of what he's saying.

The good news is, I get to  go out with my girlfriends to a local pub down the street.  NO DRIVING NOR CABS NEEDED.

Heathrow had some work thing he needed to attend and wanted to push drinks to 9:15.  Nope.  By then I've either already started the evening, or I've washed and moisturized my face.  This sudden change of plans made me start thinking.

It's difficult to get together unless 2 or more people REALLY commit to one another. There's so much going on in our lives, both business and social.  This is why it's taking me so damn long to hit 30 dates.

I bet dates were rarely rescheduled in the 1800s.  Besides trying to live through harsh winters and looking for gold, what else was there to do?  I wonder how long it would take me to get through this blog if I lived back then.  I mean, if I could get past date 3 without being stoned to death by the town.

Date 13 1/2

My roommates have been singing the praises of this thing called Chinese Foot Spa. When they ask me to go with them, I always decline, but last night I was feeling weak and relented.

Going to Chinese Foot Spa is like going on a blind date. It's weird, you don't know how to act, and at times, it's quite painful.

While my suitor concentrated on my upper body, I felt like we were in a fight, and I was the one losing. I really thought that he was beating me up. He'd run his forearm along my shoulder to rub out the kinks, and his lack of arm hair was all I could think about.

The lower body portion (everybody's favorite) was much better but uncomfortable at times. There's a lot of continual rubbing in one concentrated place for a significant amount of time. I don't care what you're rubbing, if it's for too long, it begins to hurt.

Surprisingly, I did come out relaxed, with the feeling of accomplishment. I've also learned that I am more of a facial person.

The Mystery of the Locally Sent Postcard

We have a full on Nancy Drew situation up in here. Today I received this postcard:

The reason this is a mystery is because a) I don't recall meeting an Andrew in Paris, b) Paris BF#1 was Quentin and Paris BF#2 was Sammy and if you want to count his friend who tried to rub up on me, his name is Z, and c) When would I ever give someone my address and not my number or email? Yeah stranger, here's how to knock on my door.

There are 2 very rational explanations for this.

1) This is a joke. One of you jokesters out there thought that this would be funny. Well you know what? It is. And quite frankly, I'm flattered. This took time and energy, and we all like to cross someone's mind every once in awhile.

OR

2) I may have a slight drinking problem.

I will say this: It's an American stamp and a Croatian postcard. What does this prove? I have no clue, but I have been thinking of going to Croatia for a couple of years now, so it's probably a sign.

Update

I've been avoiding dating, and I've been avoiding this blog. But like any co-dependent relationship, time to sweep things under the rug, push down hostile feelings, and get back to it.

Heathrow and I have a confirmed date for Friday, and I'm actually excited about it. Even if he sucks, I can focus on his forehead and meditate to the timbre of his English accent.

Max2 is pushing a coffee date which just proves we're not a match. I keep suggesting alcohol, he is persistent with the coffee thing. Young and Sober. Think I have the title for my next comedy album!

Le Lycee doesn't want to shake quite yet. We'll see what happens.

Copy Cat is such a dad and sends dad-like emails. I wonder if he knows how to fix my wireless printer connection? (Which reminds me, I need to call my dad.)

And last but not least, I may have dropped the ball with MoMA. I should have called him back, and I didn't. I'm just destined to be alone forever, I guess.

Confession

Le Lycee and I have pretty much stopped communicating, and I believe it to be my fault. Oh, BTW, Tall and I are no longer an item, as well. This is because I am not reciprocating the way one recriprocates when one is interested. At the onset of this blog, I had the energy to pursue those that I wasn't that into pursuing. Because it was FOR THE BLOG. Well, I'm sick of it. So that means I need more inventory.

Two new inductees! Introducing MoMA. He's a painter and works at the Museum of Modern Art. HOT. We have gone so far as to exchange numbers and leave messages on each others' cell phones. He sounds uptight, but it must be nerves. Artists can't be uptight. It seems counterproductive to creativity.

I think we're all going to love Copy Cat. He looks like a dad. On my dating profile, I state that I sleep with an eye mask. Copy Cat inquired about that, and then ran out and got a mask that day. He wrote me the next morning, praising me for my eye mask recommendation and then asked about this awesome face cream that I also talk about on my profile. I forward him the information, and he friggin' runs out to buy it. Within an hour! Unbelievable. I'm meeting him for a drink next week, so I'm going to see what else I can talk him into buying.

Juggling Again

The stars must be aligned in a certain way, because I am on fire right now. A second surge, my friends. Half way mark comin' right at us.

Le Lycee may not be my husband, but there was easy conversation, he was sick, I was tired, so perhaps we should maybe see each other again. At least that's what I'm telling myself since he's inquiring about it. We're trying to coordinate a lunch date (lame but safe) for the weekend. I know you're excited.

I have a new frontrunner. Introducing Heathrow. Obviously, he's from London Town. He's my age, has a job, lives nearby, and has an accent. I love foreign men. Not the creepy older kind. The sexy, educated, can-teach-me-a-thing-or-two kind. I get to learn new vocabulary words from their native lands, and it just doesn't get much hotter than that, ladies and gentlemen.

OMG Regulars. You're going to love this. Remember Max2? He's the one who ends all of his sentences with 1/2 a parenthetical) Well, this persistent snit contacted me to see if I had met anyone yet. I think this is ballsy and bold. He's way too young, but I have to meet him. If the guys you want to run back to you never do, you have to reward the ones that try. It's positive reinforcement.

So, that's that y'all.