And We Have A Winner

by

Finally.

Thanks Tinder.

That took a hot minute.

But fuck me.

Ha.

It was worth the wait.

Oh my.

Was it ever worth the wait.

And.

Whelp.

I’m for sure ready for the school weekend now.

I  printed off my last paper this morning and did my references and took a hot shower, cleaned up the house, did some laundry, ate a nice breakfast and had a lot of coffee.

Not much sleep you know.

Mwahahahaha.

“I told you, you got to go younger, that’s the way,” my friend, a bit smug, even via text, I could tell he was being a bit smug, having been the younger one to my older once upon a time in a land far, far away, the Mission District, before I moved to Paris and all that jazz.

It was fun.

I’ll just leave it at that and delicious and completely made up for the other three bad Tinder dates and the one that cancelled–who still once in a while sends me some weirdo message.

Time to block that shit.

I see it and just delete, but really, why even accept any incoming message?

(Side bar, he just messaged and I just blocked)

That is where I am beginning to see how this app works a little bit.

Oh.

And my paramour gave me the best new word.

“Techtard.”

I am a total techtard!

I was trying to put my address into his phone as we stood next to my scooter after having just had a really, really, really good kiss, and well I couldn’t figure it out.  Could have been the kiss, could have been I’m a “techtard.”

I may go with it was the kiss.

Whew.

That was the best make out.

We had met a cafe I felt comfortable with.

I held firm to meeting where I wanted to meet.

No bars.

I’m not dating anyone, at least not yet, just out there having fun.

Though, truth be told, said gentleman from last night wants to hang out again I am on it.

Seriously.

SERIOUSLY.

Um yeah.

Any way.

I had suggested a cafe close to where I work, but it had closed early and he suggested a bar and I said no, I’m sober, I’m not interested in meeting in a bar, even if I have a good reason to be there.

Somehow a Tinder date does not seem like a good idea for me to go to a bar.

Um, yeah, not so much.

First rule.

Go where I want to go.

Second.

The ball is always in my court.

Always.

I’m not feeling it.

Leave.

There’s no chemistry.

Get the fuck out.

Schedule only on my time frame.

Remember.

I’m not dating.

I don’t have to be flexible, I mean, really, though, I was totally.

I couldn’t do a thing this weekend, school and all, and we seemed to hit it off, via text anyway, so it was worth the investment in time.

Plus.

I had finished the bulk of the paper yesterday morning before I went to work, I didn’t feel any kind of bad about taking the evening off to meet and connect with someone.

Whatever happens it’s an experience.

I am living.

I am not crying my tea cup alone wondering why I’m not out there grooving and shaking.

And.

Hey.

Lest you think this is easy, I had to talk myself into the date.

The man was hot.

HOT.

Ten years younger than me and by the end of my nanny shift, hello, what is that on my shirt?  Don’t think, just brush it off.  I was pretty wiped out.

You know, I only wrote a five page paper before work, then worked a long shift, then yeah, I’m going to go out on a date with someone I have never met before and the last three in person Tinder dates I had were ass, so yeah, you’re tired.

Go home.

Except.

Well.

I knew that resistance feeling.

I recognized it.

There’s a big difference between I need to practice some self care and go home and chill and read and write.

It’s another to self-isolate.

And this, the nagging thought, to cancel the date, was self-isolation.

I could feel it.

So.

I showed up.

Holy shit when he walked in the cafe.

I almost left anyhow.

This guy is not going to see anything in me.

And he’s tall?

Jesus God, thank you, I have been a very good girl, I promise.

Heh.

While he was getting a cup of tea I snagged the two front leather chairs in the front of the cafe and snuggled in.

I was tempted to text a girl friend.

But.

I kept my phone in my purse and promised myself I would stay present.

It was a little awkward at first.

First dates always are.

Then something shifted.

He shifted, I shifted, the conversation deepened.

We talked a lot.

Shoes and ships and sealing wax.

Cabbages and kings.

Family, work, school, Albert Einstein, intelligence, travel, life, experiences, Burning Man.

He shared some music with me.

I pulled out headphones from my bag and plugged into the song, watching the video on the screen, Listener–Wooden Heart.

Holy shit.

I was mesmerized.

I got the tears standing in my eyes.

Then one slipped down my face.

I think I was pretty hidden in my hair, it had fallen across my eyes as I listened to the music and I was just spellbound, heart open and beating and kaboom, kaboom, kaboom.

I remember thinking, well if nothing else, I learned about this incredible new music and I am happy girl for new music to put into my heart.

“I cried too, the first time I heard it,” he said and smiled when I handed back his phone.

“I sort of wear my heart on my sleeve,” I said and wiped my eyes.

Sort of.

Understatement of the fucking year.

The conversation continued.

I don’t even recall what we were talking about but suddenly there was this completely goofy conversation about Muppets and I am laughing so hard in my chair I am snorting and tearing up.

Complete belly laugh.

Now that’s been a while for a first date.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said.

We got up, used the loo, and walked around the Mission taking photographs and talking this and that until we got back to my scooter.

And how we got the topic of the last Pee Wee Herman movie and bicycles I have no idea.

But suddenly.

He was there, leaning into me.

“Shhh,” he said, taking my face into his hands.

He kissed me.

And um.

Yeah.

The rest is my history to relish privately.

Suffice to say.

I’m a happy lady.

And I have new music to listen to.

#Winning.

 

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