I was sitting in Café Fulya yesterday debating whether or not I should schedule two dates for one day, which (because I’d have to change outfits, run across town and reassign their numbers) would be a bit of a logistical nightmare. But then it suddenly hit me: I do want a boyfriend. I want to be in love.
Coming from one who dates more often than she does laundry, this may seem a bit odd. I mean, isn’t that the whole point of this experiment? To date thirty guys, find one I like and live happily ever after? Well no. To be perfectly frank, I like being single. I like having the freedom to date thirty different men. I like being at liberty to care or to not care about their day, their favorite sports team and how they’re feeling. I like to make decisions based entirely upon what I need and what I want (which is why, for better or worse, I’ve always backpacked Europe on my own). But the novelty of flying solo is starting to wear off.
Maybe it was just the music— Café Fulya was broadcasting swanky, sultry jazz at the time—or maybe it was the weather. In just 24 hours, it’s gone from “Too f*cking hot!” to “Too cold for the sleeveless dress I was planning to wear tonight and now I’ll have to plan a new outfit.”
I’m not supposed to fall in love. I’m supposed to just meet some new people, check out some new restaurants and attempt to enjoy myself while not-in-London. And if that four letter “L” word must rear its ugly head, I shall confine it to my newfound affection to the city of Philadelphia. Nothing—and certainly no one— else.
But fall has finally come to the City of Brotherly Love and as I stared at the saffron-colored leaves blowing across the sidewalk, I found myself thinking, “Well now, wouldn’t it be nice to be in love?” And not in the brotherly sense.
Having just returned from my first drink with Date #9, I’m starting to think that it wasn’t just the music after all (although the Bing Crosby certainly didn’t hurt). Maybe it’s the change of seasons and my own… oh jeez… change of heart?
So I suppose I should say something about Date #9. I’ll start with the basics: he was late. Twenty minutes late, and I wasn’t even sure if I was in the right place so I had to ask the bartender, “Is this Tank?” The website had said that the bar was illuminated by a huge fish tank but as I glanced around, all I could see were Christmas lights and a few businessmen in suits. No sign of Date #9 and no tank.
“Sure is,” the bartender replied. “Are you waiting for someone?”
I nodded and took at seat. Sure enough, there was the fish tank. I decided I could either sit there sulking and sipping my glass of water, or I could order a Raspberry Chocolate Truffle Martini and live it up. But the bartender was wearing a wedding band and the businessmen were too old so I pulled out my phone and texted my friend in L.A. (Being that September 4th has come and gone, my new text messaging plan has finally kicked in.)
“My date is late because he can’t find parking,” I complained, “but at least he called. And I am currently drinking the best martini of my life!”
And my God, was that martini good. Frothy, sweet, and probably 8,000 calories but who cares? If you ever find yourself in the Rittenhouse area of Philadelphia, please go to Tank and order their Raspberry Chocolate Truffle Martini.
In fact, I was so into my drink that I kind of forgot Date #9 was still driving around looking for a parking spot. My dad does that sort of thing all the time (because it’s way better to leave a girl alone in a bar for 20 minutes than to just pay for parking, right?) so at least I’m used to it. Given the sheer brilliance of my Raspberry Chocolate Truffle Martini, however, I didn’t think the evening could get any better (even if my date did show up) but then a handsome man in a gray sweater entered the bar and flashed me a smile. It was Date #9 and from there the evening became a sort of Bing Crosby blur.
We talk music, literature, film and, of all things, historic preservation (which I minored in at Goucher) and we laugh for two and a half hours straight. He apologizes again for his tardiness (and the fact that he has to be up early in the morning) and offers to drive me home. I accept. We drive, we arrive and well, let’s just say, I like Date #9 even more than I liked my Raspberry Chocolate Truffle Martini. (And that is truly saying something, folks, because the martini matched my nail polish.)
Now stop salivating and go vote in my way cool poll!
19 Responses to “Date #9”
Yes, it’s cool being single and all…sometimes I even miss it, I suppose everyone does at some point. But in the end of the day, when the lights turn off, I wish it never ends.
I used match.com as a guy with a killer profile and found out just how competitive that world is and likely a very dishonest world as well, where people don’t look like their photos often among other things. I also understand that women get bombarded with men who want to date them. I would like to ask you what really catches your eye, besides the photo of course. I would like to have a girlfriend at least for the winter when it is cold. I live far away from you and would just want some suggestions, but I am not interested in dating you because of the distance.
Hmm… good question, Morgangreenster. I would have to say that I’m a sucker for well written profiles. I always find myself drawn to guys who can convey the fact that they are sincere whilst simultaneously demonstrating that they don’t take themselves too seriously. Profiles that start off “Hey, I have a great sense of humor, lol” don’t really do it for me, and I’d probably run the other direction if I read that someone was looking for a girlfriend at least for the cold winter season. Of course everyone likes a cuddle buddy when its cold but I wouldn’t go around advertising the fact, if you know what I mean. Good luck and thanks for your comment!
I love your dress!
Thanks! Got it in Oxford during a visit this past summer for the equivalent of like $20!
Living in Philly also, I have heard the of the parking legend that is your father. I am quite certain he has never spent anywhere near 20 mins. looking for parking on the street. He is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out the spots that are so elusive to mere vehicular mortals. When actually navigating his vehicle into a parking spot, he is like a ninja…. the phantom spot appears and then in the blink of an eye, his car is in that spot, just inches from the curb. Sonnets have been written describing his superior parking skills and his obvious good “parking” karma. Date No. 9 could use some good parking Karma or he would need to use a lot, but glad you had a good time.
It’s funny… there are time I think back to when I was single (I’ve been married 9 years this November) and remember them as good times for the most part, but I also remember the moment when I got tired of it and longed to “settle down”. Are their times I wish I was single again… I’d be lying if I said no…. but there is something comforting about knowing who will be next to you each night and there again the next morning.
Date #11 already?!?
Man, I need a spreadsheet to keep track of your dates…. :-p
I’m about to cave, Dennis, because it’s just occurred to me that I could DATA SORT according to height, thereby sparing myself any further mistakes in selecting my footwear 🙂
He sounds good so far. Is this going to be your last date? You looked great btw.
I don’t know! I mean I do know– I’ve gone out with #10 and #11 since then– but I am starting to think I’d like to call it quits now 😦
If you call it quits, what serious & interesting (rare combination) topic would you write about?
Have you ever considered plunging into the world of yoga? Dancing would be a perfect background for becoming an instructor and you could do great ethnographic fieldwork. If you manage to import Harry Potter (UK!) to the American world of yoga, that could be a bestseller! Everybody is just waiting for that, at least all the yoga practitioners who believe in cosmic energies, occult mental powers, self-transformation, union with the divine etc.
And if you feel like dating again, you can bring something like http://www.nakedyoganyc.com/ to the City of Brotherly Love. Guys would even pay for attending your “dates” (unknowingly or not), you get and give full body shots without much ado… A little bit medieval/primeval perhaps, but there has not been much change since.
Thanks for your nice posts!
Wow- naked yoga? What will they think of next? I do actually practice yoga (always in a sports bra though) and I love it. I used to take sunrise classes twice a week but now I try to do it on my own every day, which doesn’t always happen thanks to all of the dating! Haven’t thought seriously about getting certified to teach but thanks for the tip!
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Ok, that outfit is adorable.