Clearly my date last night went well.
I know that I had a good time because I ordered Dominos this afternoon. I haven't been Day-after Dominos Drunk in a while. Granted I tried to get that drunk last Thursday, but there wasn't enough vodka on the island of Manhattan to give me sweet release from that situation. This date could only be described as the exact opposite of that evening in every conceivable way.
Mr. Saturday Night was a man. It was weird to go out with a Man. He was dressed well. He had interesting things to talk about. He took me to nice places. He had a plan based on things he knew I liked and had heard me mention in previous conversations. He had a schedule that we followed. He paid for everything and held doors and let me go first. He commented on neither my age nor religion nor secondary sex characteristics, but just complimented me without an agenda. He was accomplished, confident, and relaxed.
It was weird to be out with someone so much older than myself, so settled in life. (He's got about 10 or 11 years on me.) The first time I met this guy was at a beach house where he practically had a bottle of Patron duct taped to his hand all weekend and showed off moves on a stripper pole in the upstairs. Last night we sipped sangria and sat at a cozy table in a jazz club where he tapped along with the music. I couldn't reconcile these two different versions of him, and didn't know with which I was more comfortable. I do like jazz and tequila shots, but my moves on the pole are total shit and sometimes sangria gives me a wicked hangover. Which world do I belong in?
While we sat at the club and soaked in the culture, all I could think about was my vodka-soaked liver drying up if we didn't get a round of drinks ASAP. Where was the waitress already?? But just when I was starting to panic that I wasn't prepared for such a mature, thoughtful evening, he turned to me and said, "oh my God, is there a server around? How hard is it to get a drink here?", and then ordered us each two so we wouldn't be left empty-handed when she disappeared again. I was almost in love.
He, I'm sure, was much less impressed with me. He told me about the new hardwood floors he had put in his condo, the dining room furniture he'd just purchased, and his hunt for lighting fixtures. I brought him home to a messy room and an unmade bed. (I just tooooold you that it was almost laundry day!) He explained his very influential and well-paying job. I talked about fascinating topics like having no idea what to do with my life and the hijinks that ensue from drinking too much. I mean, this Man has a website THAT SOMEONE ELSE MADE ABOUT HIM, highlighting his career as a professional athlete aaaaaafter he graduated from one of the top schools in the country and befoooooore he got his MBA and began his impressive career. My website is a blog about my lovelife (or lack thereof) that I have deluded myself into thinking anyone actually wants to read. To say we're at different points in our lives is an understatement. However, I looked hot and made him laugh. I'd say that's upholding my end of the May-December romance bargain right? I mean when you date that much younger than yourself, you're not counting on having everything in common.
(We could talk...or not talk for hours.)
I would give almost anything to have at least moooost things in common though. I mean LE and I broke up because the 31 year old man needed more "wild time". I go out with a 37 year old instead and feel like I'M the one that isn't ready to be tied down. Where is the guy who's on my level at my pace with my time-frame? Is it there even such a thing as "settling down" or is there only the right person and excuses we give to the wrong ones?
I have no idea where this journey for answers is taking me, but hopefully I get some good stories out of it along the way. And a few nights of peaceful sleep a week on just-washed sheets.
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