Date #2: #120 and I parted ways the morning after date #1 as I went to collect Zoe and her things and move her into my apartment. "Good luck with crazy," he said, kissing me.
Zoe and I were enjoying a post-move, deconstruct-the-crazy-roommate/talk-about-the-new-love-interest late lunch at Spring Street Natural when #120 texted me.
“Wanna make out.”
At the same time as that text made me feel elated, I was feeling spent and kind of didn’t want to be quite so available so soon, so I said, “Definitely. Let’s do something special on Saturday.” I’d told Zoe that he’d mentioned Nobu the night before, saying, “We’ll go sometime,” and she was encouraging me to grease the dating wheels in that direction. I didn’t care about Nobu, but I did care about him keeping to his word. I got no reply until the next day.
“I’m bored,” his text said.
I quickly consulted with Zoe via text over what to do. Some amount of game needed to be played, I knew, but I also really wanted to see him.
“Well, how shall we remedy that?” I replied to his text.
“Cake!”
“That was exactly what I was just thinking.”
Zoe and I had plans to do speed dating that night so I told him to meet me at The Bean. I figured I’d get dressed for speed dating and meet Zoe after #120 and I had cake. I put on my little black dress cut down to there and met him on the corner. He grabbed me and picked me up, telling me I’d just missed a veritable SNL reunion. 30 Rock had been filming on my street all week and he’d just witnessed the wrap up. I’d been under the impression that his life was charmed and his casual run-in with celebrity only enhanced it, even if it was just seeing them on the street.
“Where are we going?” he said.
“We have unfinished business at Veneiro’s,” I said, taking his arm and steering him up 1st Avenue.
Naturally, I didn’t mention speed dating. I only said I was going to an event that Zoe had—something with movie people and producers, a way for her to make more connections in the city.
At Veneiro’s, we held hands across the table, kissing and intentionally neglecting the menus. I didn't mind if we dragged time out. He didn't seem to, either. Eventually, over chocolate cake and fruit tart, he told me about the job he’d interviewed for at Dean & Deluca. They loved him, he said. Every department wanted him, he said. Optimally, he’d work there as a floater, he said.
When the bill came, I offered to help.
“Let me be the man in this thing we’re doing, whatever it is,” he said. “Let me wear the pants.”
Zoe and I were enjoying a post-move, deconstruct-the-crazy-roommate/talk-about-the-new-love-interest late lunch at Spring Street Natural when #120 texted me.
“Wanna make out.”
At the same time as that text made me feel elated, I was feeling spent and kind of didn’t want to be quite so available so soon, so I said, “Definitely. Let’s do something special on Saturday.” I’d told Zoe that he’d mentioned Nobu the night before, saying, “We’ll go sometime,” and she was encouraging me to grease the dating wheels in that direction. I didn’t care about Nobu, but I did care about him keeping to his word. I got no reply until the next day.
“I’m bored,” his text said.
I quickly consulted with Zoe via text over what to do. Some amount of game needed to be played, I knew, but I also really wanted to see him.
“Well, how shall we remedy that?” I replied to his text.
“Cake!”
“That was exactly what I was just thinking.”
Zoe and I had plans to do speed dating that night so I told him to meet me at The Bean. I figured I’d get dressed for speed dating and meet Zoe after #120 and I had cake. I put on my little black dress cut down to there and met him on the corner. He grabbed me and picked me up, telling me I’d just missed a veritable SNL reunion. 30 Rock had been filming on my street all week and he’d just witnessed the wrap up. I’d been under the impression that his life was charmed and his casual run-in with celebrity only enhanced it, even if it was just seeing them on the street.
“Where are we going?” he said.
“We have unfinished business at Veneiro’s,” I said, taking his arm and steering him up 1st Avenue.
Naturally, I didn’t mention speed dating. I only said I was going to an event that Zoe had—something with movie people and producers, a way for her to make more connections in the city.
At Veneiro’s, we held hands across the table, kissing and intentionally neglecting the menus. I didn't mind if we dragged time out. He didn't seem to, either. Eventually, over chocolate cake and fruit tart, he told me about the job he’d interviewed for at Dean & Deluca. They loved him, he said. Every department wanted him, he said. Optimally, he’d work there as a floater, he said.
When the bill came, I offered to help.
“Let me be the man in this thing we’re doing, whatever it is,” he said. “Let me wear the pants.”
The clarity was refreshing. My role was to thank him for the cake, which I did gladly.
We walked around, stopping in a second-hand store, where he told me about his predilection for dressing inappropriately for formal functions—crushed velvet dinner jackets, leather pants and ensembles of that nature. “Excellent,” I said, telling him of the Chicago days when I ran around with a gaggle of gay boys who insisted on appearing somewhat inappropriate and almost every occasion.
We walked to Thompkins Square Park, but, cold, retreated to Café Pick Me Up, where we sat at a corner table. I leaned toward him, alternately holding his hand or resting my elbow on his crossed leg. “Well, you’re all sexed up, aren’t you? That’s incredibly sexy,” he said, nodding to the cleavage created by the way I was sitting. “And now you’re going to a fancy event and I’m heading home with my tail between my legs.”
After 20 minutes, I had to meet Zoe, so he paid and, as we left the café, he grabbed and swung me around, dancing with me on the sidewalk. “I also only dance where it’s inappropriate,” he said, kissing me.
Wrapped in each other, we walked to The Bean and went inside to warm up and wait for Jo. A minute later, she swooped in and took the arm he didn’t have, saying to him with a sly little smile, “She’s mine now.” We went outside and he and I kissed good-bye while Zoe hailed a cab and sing-songed, “Love is in the air.” As soon as we got in the cab, I confessed how far gone I was. “I’m crazy about him,” I said.
“He definitely didn’t want you to go,” she said. “Definitely. Do you think he's the one?"
We walked around, stopping in a second-hand store, where he told me about his predilection for dressing inappropriately for formal functions—crushed velvet dinner jackets, leather pants and ensembles of that nature. “Excellent,” I said, telling him of the Chicago days when I ran around with a gaggle of gay boys who insisted on appearing somewhat inappropriate and almost every occasion.
We walked to Thompkins Square Park, but, cold, retreated to Café Pick Me Up, where we sat at a corner table. I leaned toward him, alternately holding his hand or resting my elbow on his crossed leg. “Well, you’re all sexed up, aren’t you? That’s incredibly sexy,” he said, nodding to the cleavage created by the way I was sitting. “And now you’re going to a fancy event and I’m heading home with my tail between my legs.”
After 20 minutes, I had to meet Zoe, so he paid and, as we left the café, he grabbed and swung me around, dancing with me on the sidewalk. “I also only dance where it’s inappropriate,” he said, kissing me.
Wrapped in each other, we walked to The Bean and went inside to warm up and wait for Jo. A minute later, she swooped in and took the arm he didn’t have, saying to him with a sly little smile, “She’s mine now.” We went outside and he and I kissed good-bye while Zoe hailed a cab and sing-songed, “Love is in the air.” As soon as we got in the cab, I confessed how far gone I was. “I’m crazy about him,” I said.
“He definitely didn’t want you to go,” she said. “Definitely. Do you think he's the one?"
"I always think they're the one," I said. "And then they never are."
Signs of Hope: He wants to see me all the time.
Red Flags: He has what looks to be a deeply ingrained inability to make plans. But I hoped from his “tail between my legs” comment, he was feeling the consequences. I hoped.
Diagnosis: For him: Too soon to tell, but he seems pretty available.
For me: I’m way too far gone, which worries me because, as they say, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
Signs of Hope: He wants to see me all the time.
Red Flags: He has what looks to be a deeply ingrained inability to make plans. But I hoped from his “tail between my legs” comment, he was feeling the consequences. I hoped.
Diagnosis: For him: Too soon to tell, but he seems pretty available.
For me: I’m way too far gone, which worries me because, as they say, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
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