He called just to talk. I repeat: he called JUST to TALK! After a mere two dates! I was on my way home from work last night when my phone launched into a rather unexpected epileptic fit and nearly hurled itself from the center console of my Zipcar. (Yes, I’m a Zipster. Yes, I love it. And no, I’m not really bothered by the fact that I don’t own a car because until the day comes when I’m a best-selling author and can thus afford a customized yellow Mini Cooper that runs on bio diesel and will facilitate my participation in high-action chase scenes a la The Italian Job, I don’t want one.)
Because I spend the majority of my waking hours teaching, I keep my phone on vibrate, hence all of the ricochet action when PSM1’s name appeared on my screen. (I also keep it on vibrate because I’m a bit of an old lady when it comes to my beauty rest. Yes, I was thrilled to receive an invitation to an old friend’s “Paris-themed New Years Eve Party” last night because this proves that I do actually have friends in Philadelphia and that I will put in an appearance at my parent’s News Years party only because I want to, not because I’m a loser without other options as I had previously suspected. I was less thrilled, however, to receive his invitation at 1:00am.)
Because it’s illegal to talk and drive (and talk and text) in Pennsylvania, I took a quick glance in my rear view mirror before reaching for my phone. I then scanned the intersection, the oncoming traffic, my side view mirrors and the parking lot of the convenience store to my right. By the time I finally determined that I was in a cop-free zone (and double checked my rear view just to be on the safe side), the call had dropped. But he called back.
Not wanting to push my luck (I try especially hard not to get arrested on nights when “Glee” is on), I let the phone go to voicemail and spent the rest of the drive home smiling to myself (and speeding, because even though the “Glee” Christmas special aired last two weeks ago, the part with Brittany in her little Who-ville braids just cracks me up. Also, I love Curt’s version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” and I may or may not have gotten in the habit of yelling “It’s okay Finn, I love you!” at the TV screen whenever he and Rachel are having relationship “issues.”)
At this point, I still prefer “Glee” to PSM1 so I sent him a quick text to tell him I’d give him a call back later. The result of our eventual conversation has left me absolutely dumbfounded: there are a few nice men left in this world, and some of them even live in Philadelphia.
Having grown accustomed to Date #17’s ability to prioritize everything except our ill-fated relationship, I’d gotten rather used to coming in second place (or even third or fourth) to GMATs and marathons and other “more important” things. But PSM1 is playing by The Book (by which I mean the as-of-yet-unpublished Kat’s Guide to Dating Kat book). He’s paid for all of my drinks thus far (save the chai latte I ordered while waiting for him to arrive on our first date). He also offered me his arm while escorting me to a cab Saturday night and actually replied to the text message I sent on Sunday on Sunday (as opposed to a day later, which was Date #17’s modus operandi). Of equal importance, he left me alone on Monday. Seeing as I loathe clingy guys almost as much as I loathe workaholics, I was very pleased to not hear from him until a full 24 hours later.
There’s one catch, which I’ve done an excellent job of ignoring thus far.
The catch was brought to my attention this morning by my mother. “Does he know about your blog?” she asked.
“Of course!” I replied, stirring my usual concoction of oatmeal, dried blueberries and pumpkin seeds. “It’s in my Match.com profile.”
But I’m not on Match.com anymore. I’m on eHarmony now, and I neglected to mention the blog in my profile because I got sidetracked by all of the stupid “What qualities do your value in yourself and others?” essay questions. So here I am, three days before Christmas, corresponding with several eHarmony men, quasi-dating one of them and as luck would have it, his eHarmony subscription has expired so even if I were to work the blog into my profile at this point, he wouldn’t see it.
How do I get myself into these situations? (And more importantly, how do I get myself out this time?)