Forgive, dear readers, forgive. Sometimes I feel as though there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to put a dent in the list of things I need to accomplish. But I’ve learned not to be so hard on myself. It does, however, mean that sometimes my blog falls by the wayside. But enough about that. I had a date last week and I want to discuss!
If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll remember the 26-year-old I met while dancing on the lawn in Hartford at a Phish concert. We’ve had a text relationship for the past few months and we’ve really only spoken on the phone about two times since we met that cool evening in June. I’m not sure if this is the norm, as I clearly have no idea how to get my swerve on in the 21st century, but I kind of hate it. Why can’t guys pick up the damn phone to call anymore? I realize that texting is easier, but when we’re getting into conversations, I just feel like a phone call would do the trick much more effectively. Does that make me sound like a dinosaur?
We made a date to meet for drinks at the Frying Pan, a great boat bar docked on the West Side Highway. We lucked out with the weather and I was happy to dig out one of my hippie dresses from my closet earlier that morning (though it probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing to wear in the office). He was running a few minutes late so I enjoyed the sunshine, tried to relax my heart rate, and reapplied my Burt’s Bees lip balm about 20 times.
I straightened when I saw him approach and we gave each other a long hug. I thanked the lord I was wearing flats as we walked to the boat and took our seats overlooking the Hudson River. I happen to think this is a wonderful “first date” kind of place, provided you don’t go on a Friday or Saturday night when the line to get drinks or go to the bathroom is exponentially longer.
It was a perfect evening. I was able to engage in a normal conversation with someone I am attracted to, we opened up to each other slowly as the drinks went down smoothly, and we made each other laugh. I wouldn’t say I’m head-over-heels but I feel this is good practice for when I meet someone I have a better connection with. I’ve learned to move beyond the age difference, but it still feels like there’s something missing. On the other hand, I think there’s definitely a mutual attraction there, and if nothing romantic comes from it, I hope to have gained a friend in the process.
We have yet to set up a second date but there have been talks of a possible sleepover. And by “sleepover” I mean “good-old-fashioned-romp-in-the-sack.” Hey, a woman’s got needs, too, ya know.
Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my split from Jackson, and it was a day that came and went without much fanfare. I am happy. A year ago I struggled to fight back tears and now I can’t remember the last time I shed any. This past week I spent a lot of time thinking about the many friends who have vanished and reappeared in my life over the years. I am grateful for the friendships that were salvaged and saddened by those that didn’t make the cut. But the friends I have surrounding me remind me of how blessed I truly am. With or without a boyfriend, my soul is satisfied.