So here’s where we’re at:
The House: As many of you know, I was supposed to close on my little 1,200 square feet of paradise last Wednesday but the bank appraiser is refusing to sign off on my loan unless the seller installs a stove, fixes the holes in the kitchen floor and puts some sort of flooring in the second bedroom. The seller and listing agent are now MIA, however, my realtor is in China for two weeks and my loan officer up and left for his own summer vacation without telling me. (I learned he was out of town via an out of office reply in response to my latest email.) My main strategy at this point is to distract myself from the impending doom by sanding furniture with the hopes of someday storing elsewhere than my father’s garage, visiting The Plant Hospital in search of discounted hydrangeas and of course dating.
The Men Who Are No Longer: As most of you also know, I have been seeing a number of different men, although I used the term “seeing” loosely. Most of them have come and gone. Here is a short re-cap:
Man #1, who I went out with back in the Dark Ages when I wasn’t quite ready to date yet, has dropped off the face of the earth. He was actually quite cool and we went out a few more times just as friends after my initial sob fest at Time in Center City but somehow things just fizzled out. I’m a bit sad about this—he was a great partner for “people watching”—but it is what it is.
Man #2, who I met for coffee in Rittenhouse last month, has also reached the “fizzle” point. We had these fantastic texting marathons in which I’d find myself laughing so hard that I almost fell off of my bed on more than one occasion (especially when talking about marathon runners), but I always seemed to be the one initiating contact and even though he said he wanted to go out again, he never asked. (And yes, I’m aware that this is 2014 and that I am perfectly capable of asking a man on a date myself but where’s the fun in that?)
Man #3 who had nice arms but couldn’t tell the difference between Christopher Columbus and the Piligrims, is off of my list. I was willing to over look his lack of historical knowledge (after all, we can’t all be history majors) but when he proposed that we “watch a movie and snuggle” for our second date, I declined. This isn’t high school. And even if it was, I still wouldn’t have agreed to a second-date snog fest.
Man #4, (who doesn’t get a hyperlink because we spent THREE WEEKS texting before finally meeting up) turned out to be quite nice and well connected in the dance world but he wasn’t my cup of tea, romantically speaking. I do think there’s some hope for us in the friendship department though, plus he’s a fun person to “talk shop” with so we’ll see what happens there.
There have been a few others (a cute 26 year old even though I said I was finished with 26 year olds, then a man who spent all evening texting me from a wedding before making and subsequently cancelling three separate dates with Yours Truly) but we never managed to actually meet in the real world. Also, remember the quasi-return of The Zoo Date? Well, after I wrote that post, I received an email from a woman in New York who had dated that very same man and had been reading my blog ever since he turned her onto it when we first went out in 2011. (Insane right?) At any rate, it sounds as though I dodged a bullet on that one.
I could pause here for a brief rant against the men of Plenty of Fish and there woebegone communication habits but frankly I don’t care anymore. I have better things to do. Like watching the World Cup. And buying plants. And going drinking with my girlfriends. Plus, tomorrow I’m going on a third date with he who I now officially dubbed The European (which reminds me: if you are reading this, feel free to suggest an alternative title and yes, I’ll be cheering for Germany at noon).