Here’s a little tidbit from 2010, back when I was young and crazy and able to date multiple men at the same time. Enjoy!
I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, eyes closed, holding the index finger of my left hand against my left nostril and breathing through my right. Why? Because the flap on my box of Yogi Chai Rooibos tea bags told me to, that’s why. These twenty six breaths through my right nostril are supposed to bring me “sunny energy” and with five first dates in five days, I need all the energy I can get. (Sorry if you were hoping for a steamy account of tantric sex; it’s just cardboard box yoga).
Prior to the advent of this blog, I don’t think I’ve ever been called “energetic.” Actually, there was one time. It was in Ehmkendorf, a tiny town in northern Germany. I was seventeen and just completing my first international service project with Volunteers For Peace. On the last day of the workcamp, one of my fellow volunteers presented me with a badge that declared me to be “Most Energetic.” I did do a good job of um, well… liberating potatoes from a nearby farm, and leading the getaway (which comprised a bike gang of Finnish, Russian and French teenagers), but I still think I was voted “Most Energetic” just because the good titles like “Best Singer” and “Best Cook” were already taken.
I feel a bit sorry for Date #12. Evidently I was his first Match.com date, whereas he was my forth in 48 hours. Thank God for coffee, and thank God my younger brother was in town for Philadelphia’s annual Green Fest; he drove me over to Old City to meet Date #12 and even took this post’s photograph for me.
We agreed to meet in Eulogy, but upon finding it too crowded for proper first date conversation, headed across to Triumph Brewery instead. There, I sampled a shot-glass of pumpkin ale (seems I’m into pumpkin these days) but settled for a glass of the house red.
Date #12 was a perfectly lovely guy (gainfully employed, well groomed, educated, in possession of more than a few stamps in his passport) but I just wasn’t feeling it for him. This is especially unfortunate because he had a good sense of humor and, even better, a Great Dane. I love Great Danes. I would have considered dating #12 just so I could hang out with his dog.
Okay, actually I did consider dating #12 just I could hang out with his dog. (My last serious boyfriend had a boxer. I initiated our break up, as I tend to do, just before Christmas several years ago and even though I didn’t get him a Christmas present, I got one for his dog.)
After my second glass of house red, I found myself thinking, “Well now, he’s actually kind of cute. We could just disappear into a dark corner somewhere and…” Fortunately I wasn’t that far gone. I realized it was the wine talking, or rather the wine talking in conjunction, perhaps, with some base biological impulses, but I managed to pull myself together. A Great Dane and a sense of humor isn’t a good enough reason to make out with someone, especially when you’ve got eighteen dates to go and you’ve already comprised the experiment by falling for someone.
Oh well, I thought. Better to compromise my experiment than to compromise my integrity. Stay tuned for lucky #13; this one’s going to be a shocker because believe or or not, #13 and I did not meet on Match.com.