Busboys and Bad Dates?

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Washington, DC is filled with achievers.  For every entrepreneur, there is a corporate player.  For every socialite, there is a social blogger.  In other words, for every interest there is person that is interested.  Given this fact, locating a good networking event is simple, but finding a good date is bit more complex.  It requires more than the exchange of a business card, or the follow-up of a Facebook Friend request.

So, when good dates finally occur, it's like finding a Four Leaf Clover...the participants can't believe their luck...and they don't want the good date to end...BUT...the ending is exactly what they anticipate, for it generally determines how good that particular date actually was.

For example...

If the date concludes with the guy sweetly kissing your forehead...walking you back to your door....but he does NOT ask to come inside...you can bet that he will rush home and count down the minutes when his free minutes kick in and he can call you after 9pm...

On the other hand...

If he begins with a church hug (leaving space for Jesus), closes the gap with a bear squeeze, and slowly begins massaging his fingertips in your fresh hair weave...he'll call you...but probably 30 minutes after he dropped you off...to ask you if it's alright to "come back over and upstairs for coffee."

The elusive first date, and the even more elusive "good ending"...is hard to find, but when it's found...it's like finding the gold-filled pot at end of a rainbow...

Somewhere Near the Waterfront...

I met A Long Walk at his place. Generally, I am not a fan of the "come over my house so we can chill" date, but he had coerced me by promising an abundant supply of fruit roll-ups and bottomless bag of potato chips (both of which are my guilty junk food pleasures).  When I arrived, his smile was just as bright as I remembered and he was holding a great big bag of UTZ Salt N Vinegar...mmmmm....
Ripping the bag open and plopping down on one lone chair at his dining room table, I watched as A Long Walk eyed me, beckoning me to join him on the couch...but...A Long Walk was SOL, because  I know what happens when two, grown, hormone-affected, young people start eating potato chips on comfy couches.  I was perfectly happy with sitting alone with my potato chip bag.

Or, was I?

A Long Walk looked so dang satisfied on that couch, with his long, muscular legs spread out, leaving plenty of room to for me to fit in between....


Meanwhile....at Busboys and Poets on the other side of town....

Flower Child was applying bright ruby red lipstick to her full lips, and preparing to return to the dinner table with Baldy.  Flower Child had met Baldy several years ago while working as a receptionist. Baldy had been the youngest director at the firm, exceptionally brilliant, tirelessly ambitious, and engaged...to a woman with all the characteristics of Betty Crocker and Aunt Jemima combined.

Not one to sweat the competition, Flower Child - who hated anything remotely domestic - began making herself  "available."  If  Baldy needed someone to proof an email, Flower Child would  be "available" to read the message while lightly brushing her breasts across his knuckles on the keyboard.  If Baldy was headed to a meeting, she would be "available" to adjust his necktie - casually running her finger up and down his chest.

For her, it was only logical that she had played a tremendous role in the news that Baldy revealed two weeks before his resignation: he was breaking off his engagement.

Tonight, as she was headed back to the dinner table, in a skin tight leopard-print dress and 5 inch, black leather heels, she knew just what to do make herself "available" one last time...

Near the waterfront....

The Jackson 5 movie was blaring, and I had been coerced out of my seat to dance to "I Want You Back."  The sound was on high, and A Long Walk was doing the moonwalk around me as I giggled moving my hips to the rhythm.  He took my hand twirled me around, hip bumped me, then dipped me low before we both fell on the couch laughing hilariously at how silly we had just looked.

"You're really light on your feet, Bree."

I had to admit, I liked the way he said my name.

I smiled, trying to catch my breath. Then he got up, turned off the television and clicked on Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone."

"Can I have this dance?" he said.

At Busboys...

Flower Child was listening intently...nodding, smiling and laughing at appropriate intervals as Baldy talked about his career, meeting appointments, and networking events.  Then, the conversation moved to why his engagement had ended. While he talked about his ex-fiance's need to spend more time, total disregard for his hectic schedule, and her need for more intimacy, Flower Child softly interjected with...

"that bitch" ...
"unbelievable" ...and...
"shame on her"   

When the check came, Flower Child got up and stood behind Baldy, slowly rubbing his head, massaging the sides of his neck and squeezing his shoulders in slow, circular motions.

"You're a good man Baldy,"  her hands slid down to his chest. "You deserve to have a woman who really understands you."

Back on the Waterfront...

A Long Walk's hand moved up and down the small of my back, as we rocked slowly back and forth to the music, methodically, and in tune with the beat.  The streetlights around his place were few and far between, so his apartment was dark except for the lights on his stereo and a lone table lamp.

When the music ended, we settled on the couch as another song began to play.

I rested underneath the crease of his arm and we sat there sharing blueberry fruit roll-up and talking about our funniest memories associated with Michael Jackson songs...then the clock chimed MIDNIGHT...

Knowing my empty apartment held nothing but time and opportunity to remember the broken relationship with my ex. I turned to A Long Walk and said:

"Can I stay over here tonight?"

At Busboys....

Flower Child and Baldy strolled out the restaurant, her hand was resting softly on his forearm and his hand was boldly rubbing her backside.

She smiled up at him as they approached his car.

"I guess this is good bye," she said.

"It doesn't have to be; what are you doing tonight?" he pulled her close pressing her tightly against his body...

Flower Child suddenly felt a strong urge to sip and share a Starbucks Chai Latte...and following him back to his car, she was happy that she had done her kegels and packed a toothbrush.

Near the Watefront...

A Long Walk rose from the couch and pulled me close to him, kissing me lightly on the top of my forehead before reaching for his shoes.

 "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm about to walk you to your car, Bree. I can't trust myself around you, so I'll have to respectfully decline your offer to spend the night."

...
...


Wow!  Just Wow!....

....
....

Two different dates.
....
....
....
Two different endings.
....
....

Flower child was putting her kegel practice to good use, and I was humming "You Are Not Alone" on my drive back to my apartment complex.

Had my date with A Long Walk really been that "good?"

Or, would I be one of those single women in DC who thought she had just experienced a "good date," only to find out that her four-cleaf clover was missing a petal? 

Time could only tell...

Happy Endings

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America...land of the free, home of the brave...land of happy endings, and home of the happily ever afters. I may have spent my teens being a tomboy, but as a little girl, I was raised on the stories of Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Rapunzel.

These fictional but incredible women were always beautiful, impeccably dressed, effortlessly successful, and without a doubt always got their Price Charming at the end. Throw a few vertically challenged men with outrageous personalities, animals that speak like humans, and little people with wings and magic wands...and you have yourself a good story.

Twenty-something years later, I have put my childhood story books away, but I sometimes still wonder if fairy tales are folklore meant for children, or if as an adult you can really have a happily-ever-after ending?

I saw my ex for the first time in almost a month when he stopped by to return my things. He walked in carrying my belongings in a white, trash bag. Four years of constant sleepovers, weekend visits, and casual Sundays sharing our thoughts about politics and prose were being returned in a bag used to dispose of waste. We talked a bit about why we weren't a good fit for one another, and about the love that we still shared. We both knew it was over, but when it was time for him to leave, I had this overwhelming urge to ask him to stay.

He kissed my forehead, kissed me on the lips, and held me while I cried.

How does one say good-bye to an individual that had been a friend (and an enemy), a lover (and a fighter), a confidante (and a pain in the neck), and a fixture in my life for so long?

I couldn't find the strength to physically let him go. I wanted him to hold me forever and promise me that we, us, our love didn't have to end.

I was holding on to him, because physically, emotionally and metaphorically, I just could not let him go...

So, he let me go...and left me standing the doorway of my apartment tears gently falling on a small trash bag containing evidence of our past together.

There wouldn't be a happy ending for our story.

My phone rang...and stopped.

My phone rang again...and stopped again.

My phone rang yet again...and I saw it was a A Long Walk calling...

And though I probably shouldn't have picked up, I didn't want to be alone in that moment.

We chatted about the trivial things like "how was my day," "how was life," "how was the weather," but avoided the obvious question, "why he hadn't called after our first date."

Then, he mentioned he detected a hint of sadness in my voice.

Knowing I wouldn't risk alienating his interest since his interest was nonexistent, I told him about my ex, giving him details about my life with him.

He listened, and offered encouraging words. He was non-judgmental, patient, and sounded sincere when he said if I needed someone to talk to as I healed that he would want to be there. Then, he told me he would  take off his penis, if I needed him too...

...

...

...

...


After a moment of uncomfortable silence, and after taking a few seconds to figure out if that was biologically possible, I simply replied, "Thank You."

He chuckled and said, "do you want to know what that means?"

I didn't.  I mean, I really didn't.

Unfortunately for me, he continued. "By telling you that I would take my penis off," I held my breath, terrified to hear what was next, he continued, "I meant that you could call me and male bash your ex and all the other sorry men that did you wrong and I wouldn't say a word!"

Relief.

Sweet, sweet, sweet relief.

I was glad to know that A Long Walk didn't put his penis in a box every night before he went to sleep. At the same time, I was even more elated that he was willing to try and understand the foreign language that was girl talk.

Though still hurting from my ex's departure, I hung up with a smile on my face.

My second phone call with A Long Walk didn't involve casting him in the role of Prince Charming,  but A Long Walk had inadvertently played an integral part as a very important character, a character that I needed during the difficult process of stepping out of the past and into an uncertain future. This character was: A Potential Friend.

Maybe fairy tales do exist. Maybe this phone call was a Happy Ending in disguise.

Sorbet and the Sweet Taste of Consistency

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Sorbet – a dessert that tastes just like ice cream - is easy to experience and much harder to create.  It requires the producer to mix the ingredients in a specific order, stir them in a particular way, and chill the final product for a precise amount of time. If the instructions aren't followed or if the process isn't respected, the end always results in a runny mess or big ball of ice. 

However…

If it is made according to the recipe…every single time…the final product will – without fail – always come out creamy, smooth and will satisfy the most discriminating of taste buds.

In the dating world, consistency is important! 

If a man is interested in you, he will consistently show it and will not deviate from the patterns that he established when he first met you.

Big Chocolate was tall, well-spoken, knowledgeable….and ABOVE ALL things…he was consistent. He called me every night, he texted me every morning, and it was refreshing to experience someone who didn’t cause me to question his interest.

We agreed to meet up the following Saturday, and though I fully expected our next date to be better than the first I still had reservations.

Not because he had said something OR had done something.  But, because our situation felt just a little TOO good, I mean it felt waaaay TOO good!  Like that moment when you think that handsome stranger is smiling seductively at you from across the room... and just when you and your cleavage go over to say "hello"...he admits he was really trying to holla at your flamboyantly dressed male friend.

Embarrassing!

Big Chocolate was proving too good to be true; so, when we met for dinner I decided to add a little spice into the mix:

"So Big Chocolate," I said. "What are your feelings on monogamy?"

Silence.  

Tap, tap, tap!  Testing, Testing! 

More silence. 

Check 1, 2, 3.  Check 3, 2, 1. Is this thing on?

Giving me a delicious smile, he continued. “Well, I have to be honest with you, sweetheart, I have a dragon that I’m trying to kill right now."

He went onto explain that his dragon was women, that he had always had a weakness for a pretty face and a nice body. 

…Is that right?…

 “It’s like my daddy said.” He continued. “ Women are like locks.  Men are like keys.  I've met many, many, many women who have allowed me to open their locks and although I enjoyed it I had to ask myself..."

I sat forward on the edge of my chair....

"What do you call a lock that is just a little TOO easy to open?"  

Loose?

Maybe, broken?

Perhaps...unlocked?

He chuckled, “PRETTY, SHITTY....as in it's a pretty, shitty lock.”

I laughed so hard I almost choked on my dinner roll.  Almost....

“Just think about it, if it’s easy to open, that means one man's key ain't the first and probably won't be the last to get inside."  He reached over and grabbed my hand. “But I like you and I do not think you have a shitty lock.  You got that type of lock that requires a special type of key.”  Then he winked at me.

Wait a minute.

Wait....just...one...gosh...darn...minute.  

When he said "key," was he referring to his….

Underneath the table, I crossed my legs.  I mean, Big Chocolate was cute and I appreciated the compliment... but if his key had opened a whole bunch of pretty, shitty locks….didn’t that make his key...

...a pretty, shitty key?

As we shared dessert…I wondered if being consistent was a Catch 22…

Sure, Big Chocolate was predictable…insomuch as I knew he would call me every night around 9pm and text me every morning around 6:30am.  But did his tendency to perform the same actions in a uniform manner also filter into other areas of his life as well?  

In other words, I wondered if he was being just as consistent with other women.   If I was the 9pm girl...was it possible there could also be an 8pm, 7pm and 6pm girl eagerly anticipating phone calls at the exact same time? 

There was no way for me to know...


...but I decided in that moment that even though I liked Big Chocolate, I like the idea of keeping my lock unopened a whole lot more....

................................................................................................

Dating in DC continues with the next posting entitled, Happy Endings, make sure to leave your mark and post a comment!

And...watch for a new post every Monday and Wednesday (and sometimes Friday)....

Dating vs. Drowning

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 "Head under water and you told me to breathe easy for a while. The breathing gets harder even I know that." It is absolutely amazing how one can capture the essence of heartbreak without explicitly stating it.  I listened to the lyrics of this  love song on replay the first few days after my break-up, totally feeling the dilemma of attempting to breathe in an environment that lacks oxygen.  To inhale in the absence of air.  It's a fete I have been attempting to accomplish....with "air" being the representation of embracing the single life.  I was failing miserably and though the artist's song ends with a dismissal of her past love, "I'm not going write you a love song," she says.  It wasn't so easy for me because I was feverishly writing a few songs of my own like: "Heart in A Million Little Pieces," "Can't Sleep at Night,"  and "You Dirty, Rotten, Heartbreaking Mothfu***"   

You get the point!

Each night, I crawled into bed hugging a box of Kleenex and welcoming the escape that slumber provides. Every morning...I rose with a big, purple elephant twiddling its toes on the top of my chest.

The pity party ended every morning promptly at 6:28am, however, because that's when Chris - the wannabe accountant - called, and I knew if he heard tears in my voice, he would start bombarding me with statistics...

"99.86% of women will go through heartbreak in their lifetime."
"90% of them will move on and find something better."
"1 in 20 women are going through what you're experiencing right now."

Blah, blah, blah, blah! Heartbreak, like panties, is personal. It's specific to each individual, and "should" have only one owner.  I needed Chris to take my panties off! (well, not in that way -- but you know what i mean)

This particular morning, like clockwork, Chris called at 6:28am.  I put on a happy sounding voice and started asking him about long division and multiplication tables.  You know, all the things that get aspiring accountants all excited and feeling warm and fuzzy inside!

He surprised me, because instead of replying with an answer like 35%, he told me to be downstairs by 5:00pm.  To dress nice, put on some heels, fix my hair and put some colorful lipgloss on.

Interesting.

Interesting indeed.

I had to admit that I spent the work day intrigued to the point of being unable to concentrate.  What was going to happen at 5:00pm?   Were we going back to the bar to play Hitch?  Was he going to beat down my ex, while I watched with my extra shiny lips?  Maybe he was going to instruct me on the importance of calculus.  I couldn't figure out the answer, but when the clock turned to 4:30pm, I had to admit the purple elephant from earlier had been replaced with a crowd of butterflies.

I raced home. Got dressed, and nervously headed downstairs for my 5:00pm.....

Date?

As I rounded the corner and I saw this chocolate, well-built, tall man standing on the outside of his four-wheel drive.  When he saw me, he perked up and started advancing.

Chris had - in fact - hooked me up on a blind date,

OR

I was about to get mugged!

I smiled, but slowly slid my hand in my bag and put a finger on the tip of my mase.  He was cute, but momma ain't raise no fool!

He introduced himself, and told me Chris had informed him that I needed a reason to smile.  He said, he was there to meet that need.

Oh really!  I thought.

Peering at him curiously, I noted that he was dressed nicely, had a genuine smile, and I could see his government credentials hanging from his rearview mirror. He seemed legit!

So, with a finger massaging the trigger point on my mase bottle, I decided to let my guard down...slightly... 

Besides....and, let me keep it real for a minute...

Homeboy was fine (pronounced: fwhine!).  I mean this guy was handsome with a capital "H!"  In fact, he looked like a big piece of Godiva chocolate, and though chocolate gives me the runs, I was willing to take the risk.

Hey, you only live once!

Big Chocolate was the perfect gentleman.  We chatted about crazy women, how the military shaped his life, our international travels, his love for music, and our new business ventures.  The content of the conversation was not not only extraordinary, but the flow was absolutely outstanding.

Over the course of more than 3 hours, the conversation never hesitated, and together he and I coasted from topic to topic taking brief detours along the way...

And just when he was about to pull up to my place...

....it happened....

That elusive comfortable silence that generally only happens when two people are genuinely at ease with one another!  It was as though we hit that wavelength where there is an understanding that doesn't need the assistance of words to define the energy surrounding the moment.  And for the first time since the breakup and since saying good-bye to A Long Walk...I felt I could breathe easy.

I even realized that I hadn't once discussed exchanging numbers, or if there would be a second date.  In the absence of this expectation, I felt I truly liberated.

Big Chocolate hugged me good-bye three times...tight...strong...close...and, for the first time in weeks, I fell asleep without molesting my Kleenex box throughout the night.

6:28am that next morning, my phone chirped....it wasn't Chris, though...instead it was a text from Big Chocolate....

It had two words: 16 Bars

I'm no music whiz kid, but I knew his text had to do with a song.  I was curious! 

"90% of them will move on and find something better,"  I could hear Chris say!

I was determined to be in that percentage.

Basketball and Bald Headed Men

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People always guess incorrectly when attempting to identify the sport I loved most as a little girl. Inevitably, they say something girly like: "combing my barbie doll's hair," "playing dress-up" or "skipping."  All of which are cute, but none of which are the sport I loved most: basketball.  As a girl, I loved to put on a dirty pair of sneakers, long nylon shorts, a Chicago Bulls jersey and play street ball with the neighborhood boys.  The guys would never take it easy on me, often throwing their weight at me while going up for a rebound, passing the ball with extra force, or shoving me out of the way to dive for a stray ball.  I learned a lot during these games, the most important of which was, basketball is generally a team sport.  Though I could perform at the highest level, my greatest plays could only be achieved with the help of the other four players on the court.

Some of the basic fundamentals one learns in team sports, can totally be applied to the dating world!  

You can play the game one-on-one, BUT it's best to have a team of people who understand exactly what - in this case, "the who" -  you're trying to win.

So when I decided to leave A Long Walk alone,  I called up some of the players on my home team:

My Girls - Melinda (a.k.a - Ms. Diva); Anne (a.k.a - Southern Charm); and Tiffany (a.k.a - Flower Child)

My Boys - Bob and Chris

More specifically, I texted my boys and told them I was back on the market and asked if they had any single friends.  Ten minutes later they replied: Happy Hour at DC Bar - 7pm - Let's Play Hitch.

Bet!

I suited up (but this time in stilettos and a tight black dress) and arrived ready for:


The Game Plan - which involved Bob and Chris picking a guy at the bar, lingering in the background as I introduced myself, and then providing pointers on how to improve my game (if i needed to improve my game).

Sipping the last of my strawberry mojito, I spotted a 6'4, copper-colored, bald-headed, young professional man in a black business suit and cautiously approached him, carefully surveying the court for other female players....And as I got closer, I realized Baldy and I had previously met.

Score!

But wait....time out....upon further revaluation...I realized that homeboy looked a little too familiar.   Matter of fact, I had met him at a cookout a few months ago when my girl, Flower Child, mentioned that they had connected.


He was still cute, though, and I figured if I could determine the type of "connection" he shared with my friend than he and I could proceed.

So, I was back in the game....

I decided to mention her name in the middle of asking about his day and watch for signs of recognition (i.e. "So how's your day been (dramatic pause)...seen a Flower, lately?)...nothing.

Then, I dropped her name a second time, while talking about the weather (i.e. Gee, it's really nice outside (extra dramatic pause, just for effect)....perfect weather to...perhaps...see a Flower?)...nothing.

As a last resort, I just got direct with him.  "Hey Baldy, do...you...know...Flower?"

He gazed at me with a blank stare and with zero recognition.  Slightly annoyed with him, I  began spewing out her hair color, defining her skin tone, and describing her physical build.

He looked down for a second, and vaguely acknowledged they "may" have met.

SCORE!

But then there was silence...awkward, uncomfortable, "grab your cosmetic mirror check from your purse and check for lipstick stains on your teeth" silence.


I heard myself say:  "She's my friend." (Silence) "I work with her on a project." (Silence) "She still lives in the area." (Silence)


Pulling out my business card, I told him I might need a man like him to assist with the project involving Flower Child and myself...then slowly walked away...and...NOT because I was trying to show him my "get 'em" girl walk but because Bob and Chris were glaring at me from the sidelines with the stank eye.

You mentioned Flower's name entirely too much, Bob, who's a teacher, lectured!


"But!" 

More than 90% of the conversation involved describing another woman, said Chris, the wannabe accountant (hence the percentage). 

"But I was trying to..."

If the conversation is about business, make it about business, I could almost swear a lectern materialized out of nowhere as Bob continued.  If the conversation is personal, keep it personal.  Who the heck cares about a work project, if ya'll are just talking weather?

"Damn."

I called a time out. Ordered another strawberry mojito.  He might email, I thought.  Maybe. Especially since it was obvious he hadn't "connected" to Flower in an intimate manner. 

Either way, there are no tears in contact sports!  I picked myself up, reviewed the failed play in my head, suggested to Bob and Chris that we try again at another bar, and shouted to the waiter....

CHECK PLEASE!

You can't win, if you don't play.

I was determined to get back in the game.

Dating in DC continues with Dating vs. Drowning...make sure to leave your mark and post a comment!


And...watch for a new post every Wednesday....

Fireworks and Freedom

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The first connection with an individual after a prolonged disconnect is like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July.  It brightens a dark place, in a wonderfully spectacular way.  It captures your attention and beckons you to concentrate, because you just might miss that next big burst of fabulousness...

I recently ended a long term relationship with someone I care about deeply. He was my best friend, my confidante, my lover, and my hang buddy!  The sudden disconnect that occurred shortly after the break, was comparable to being handed a million dollars after living on minimum wage for years.  What does one do with it?  How does one spend it?  How can one become responsible with this newly established financial freedom.

Freedom. 

FREEdom!

FREEDOM!!

Freedom sounds extremely sexy in a bad relationship, enticingly grand in a horrible marriage, and tantalizing simple to the single woman or man looking to have "fun."

Towards the end of my relationship, I thought having freedom would be a seductive force that drove me to experience that which I had been missing.  I conjured up images of going to nightclubs in my freakum dress, sipping apple martinis at the hottest lounge, testing my Washington Post IQ at DC networking events, and enjoying peace and quiet at home on my couch with pint of pineapple sorbet.

After the break-up, however, I found myself with a heightened awareness of self.  I had all this time, all this silence, all these thoughts, and every thing, every instance, every circumstance reminded me of the ex. 

I had loved him for four years, but he was ready to walk away.

So, I had to let him go....or take the Jasmine Sullivan approach and bust some windows out his car!!!

Lucky for my ex I have a reputation to protect....


My experience with A Long Walk - for me - was like a Fourth of July fireworks display.   Our outing at Lauriol Plaza was a peep into what could be; it was a beautiful connection that eliminated the depressing thoughts of being disconnected from my ex.

So as I watched A Long Walk's number flash on my caller ID, afraid to look eager by answering, but anxious to hear why he had not called,  I realized I had high expectations for a man that I had just met but didn't really know.

I had allowed A Long Walk to enter into a space of intimacy that should have been reserved for someone that made it beyond just a first date.

He should have called if he had an interest....

...BUT his not calling should not have made a difference in the daily function of my life.

Like a fireworks show, he was a beautiful and transient experience.  Fabulous for a space in time, but not meant to last forever. 

I let the phone ring to voicemail.

Dating in DC continues with Basketball and Baldheaded Men...make sure to leave your mark and post a comment!


And...watch for a new post every Wednesday....

How to Date in Tennis Shoes and Stiletto Pumps

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There are many ways to have a first date after being in a long term relationship: nervously, apprehensively, fabulously, and in such a way that it makes your toes curl, heart flutter, breath stop and eyes close slowly…in simple…and…undeniable bliss! I had that type of first date with a gentleman I met at “networking” happy hour in the District.

Our meeting was nothing special. We exchanged names, cities of birth, why we moved to DC, our current occupations and volunteer projects.

Then, he made a joke and though I can’t remember it, I remember the way his laugh made his whole face brighten. When at first I saw a potential Facebook Friend…after seeing his smile….I imagined a probable dinner buddy with the perfect row of bright white teeth.

We conversed a bit more and exchanged business cards, the equivalent of getting a “phone number” written on a torn piece of paper back in the early 90’s.

He emailed. We coordinated Google calendars. We met on the roof deck of Lauriol Plaza!

Sharing chips, guacamole, soft tacos and pica de gallo, we enjoyed the warm but muggy breeze! I didn’t even think about the ruining my fresh press and curl!

It was like those lyrics in a Jill Scott’s song, A Long Walk….where she swoons about conversation, verbal elation, stimulation, relaxation, and elevation….

Over a glass of swirl we connected, and left our representatives behind as we delved deep into each other backgrounds and interests. And after he paid the check, we strolled to the nearest metro arm in arm, slightly tipsy from our marguerites.

Then…

We took it step further and exchanged cell phone numbers ….

I was elated!

No, I was ecstatic....until....

Seven days passed without a phone call! I tried not to sweat it. Tried to play it cool, tried to act like it didn’t matter. Tried to pretend like maybe we didn’t have THAT much of a good time. Tried a few superstitious stunts to “make the phone ring” like…put the phone on silent and focus on “other things”…delete his phone number so as not to be tempted to call him…and hide the cell phone under my bed at night...out of sight, out of mind!

The phone still didn’t ring!

I had spent less than four consecutive hours with the guy in question, but yet he had dominated over 168 hours of my head space – more or less.  

Had I thought I could pick up with A Long Walk, where I had left off with my ex?

Was I expecting to fill the the space of time spent with my ex over the course of years, with an individual I had only just met.

I didn't even know dude's middle name, who his kinfolk were, if  he preferred paper or plastic, if he scratched his balls in order to relax, or if he secretly wore superman pajamas to bed at night....which might be a deal breaker since I am a self-proclaimed Batman fan.

During our hypothetical long walk, we had yet to start the race to coupledom and as a result were no where near the finish line.  In fact, our date was similar to a warm-up.  We had gone through the stretches, calisthenics, and deep breathing exercises in order to decide if the race was worth running.

I had showed up to participate, he hadn't.

So, I took my cute little Nine West encased foot off the starting line and left the track….and just when I had resolved to find a new running buddy...

A Long Walk Called….

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