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Archive for February, 2010

Tonight was an interesting night. I swung by Brooklyn’s office around 4 to drop off his iPod and winter hat which had been left in the rental car before heading home. We had some tea, chatted awhile, flirted a bit.  It was fun. We talked about my birthday on Friday night and what the plans were and I ran into a raging little queen I know whom I haven’t seen in ages. Since he knows me as a raging dyke, he was probably a little confused to find me with my legs entangled with those of a man and looking romantic. I’ll explain it to him later. I walked Brooklyn back to his office and jumped the train home.

When I was approximately 20 minutes from home, I decided I really wanted Pho for dinner.  I am fighting off a nasty head cold and Pho is usually just the thing. I texted a few friends asking who might be up for it and my old punker/surfer turned successful IT professional friend said a wholehearted yes. We met at the train station and he decides that we should go somewhere else. Suddenly my quick hour meal of steamy pho turns into 4 hours, nearly 5 hard ciders and some french fries and middle eastern food. Did I mention that it turned out the bar had a bad punk dj set up? Punk/surfer and I relived our old punk/industrial childhoods from 20 years before and laughed at the kids surrounding us. Many of these kids were in diapers, if even born, when we were out at clubs seeing these bands. I threw my shoulder out in the mosh pit of a concert before these kids were walking.

At some point I got up to use the bathroom, waited in line and some prick decides to kick his way through and cut in front of 6 of us. I called him on his shit and stuck my foot in the door so it wouldn’t shut. Fine, you wanna piss? Piss in front of everyone you fat fucking 20-year-old dirt “punk” in stretch skinny jeans, Reebok sneakers and leather studded jacket that you can’t zip around your enormous gut. Go ahead. So, he does and then he attempts to strut by, as well as any fat man in stretch skinny jeans can strut. I pee, sit back with my friend and tell him the story, pointing out the idiot prick at the bar.

Punk/Surfer Friend and I continue to finish our drinks and half reminisce and half make fun of the kids when suddenly the fattie “punk” is on the microphone next to the dj and beginning some diatribe he thinks is comedic. One of the things he says is something about the suburban girl who was like, umm, excuse me..about the bathroom. Hmm, you talking about ME fattie? UM? suburban? And he said it in this mousey voice. I’m like,”No, uh uh. No YOU didn’t”. Mostly, I was pissed because I was really aggressive about the cut at the bathroom and responded in a way to honor my industrial/goth punk and Brooklyn backgrounds by swearing at him and kicking the door open.

So, anyway, he finishes his little rant and next thing you know we happen to be leaving and he’s outside by the door. So, I’m irritated by his bullshit and so I slap him on the arm in front of all his friends and say,” so, did your little diatribe make your dick feel big?” as I walked by. He tried to talk smack to my friend and I but we are not having it at all. We looked at them, “dude, you don’t even know who John Peel is, let alone The Damned.” Let alone Throbbing Gristle!

As we walked back to the car, we laughed at their store-bought recycled era punk nonsense. 20 years ago we were doing the same shit they are, difference is, we were actually at some of the shows that they can now only listen to on their parent’s vinyl. Just because we opt to look attractive and conventional-esque now, rather than wear our freak on our sleeve like we did 20 years ago, just because we blend… don’t think you know us. I don’t feel the need to get their approval of my “street cred”, I am just more annoyed at the way the fattie tried to pass me off as some mousey suburban girl with long blonde hair saying, “umm, hi, umm, sir, excuse me. ” I have a strong inner freak flag and I can wave that bitch. I’ve been a Dom, I’ve hung with hardcore, industrial, and punk legends AND I have cleaned up well enough to have spent time with political dignitaries from other countries. I may look Anthropologie meets Brooklyn to your Hot Topic meets your Uncle Pete’s closet but I have dirty secrets and piercing scars that you can’t see. Don’t judge books. Sometimes the ordinary ones, have the richest ingredients and the strongest verbal left hooks.

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We agreed on a place and time. Talked several times during the day as I did laundry, showered, changed three times and finally picked up the rental car. He makes me smile. I save his texts for days because they are cute, honest, sincere and without pretense. He recites poetry verses or makes an ass of himself, only I don’t think of him as an ass, so it just endears him more deeply to me. He lets me know that he is thinking of me and that it made him smile and for that he is thankful. Who does that? We talk about wanting men or women, partners, lovers, etc that will bare themselves to us, but then we are turned away by it. The rawness somehow ugly. Brooklyn isn’t ugly though. It’s a calm quiet storm within him, but more about that later.

I text him that I was stuck on the wrong end of a drawbridge and will be there closer to 7.  He texts back that he is leaving his house in 5 and that he wins. I seethed in humor driven competition. Damn him! I am 5 minutes away, perhaps 7. I take a wrong turn and panic, damn, he is going to get there first. I finally find my way and then the parking lots are full. I am pleased however to see that his car is not there. Hmm, perhaps I can still win?! Just as I am trying to back out of the lot a couple approaches their car to leave. SCORE! I park, dig in my purse and pull myself together. I am almost to the entrance when I glance behind me and see him approaching. Ha Ha, I win! He gives me a quick kiss, even though we agreed that discretion in his own town is important. The impending divorce is not public knowledge and his ex just found out he is on a dating site. I don’t know how she could handle that he has met someone on the dating site. Although, women aren’t blind. I am sure that she suspects something, his behavior must be changed a bit.

The bar where we meet is packed. There are no discrete places to sit for a drink and so we decide to go elsewhere. We wander around the neighborhood a bit and end up in a friendly neighborhood pub. At the bar we stroke hands below the surface. We laugh, smirk, talk and stare at each other… still a little more obvious than not BUT hands stay below, where no one can see them. I admire a young girl who walks by, roughly 3 years old. The dad jokes with me that I can have her. I say, well, I don’t live in a little town like this, I live in a bigger city and I have a dog, how is she with dogs? The man then flirts with me a bit, funny that he does so in front of Brooklyn. Ballsy. He asks if Brooklyn is my husband, I laugh and say no. My boyfriend? Friend? Date? I just laugh. He then asks how Brooklyn is doing. As in, is he a good date? I laugh and look at Brooklyn, smile and respond to the ballsy guy,”He’s great. He’s awesome actually.”  The ballsy guy smiles, nods and says goodnight before heading back to his table. We finish up and then start walking over to the theatre for the show. I try to pull him into an alley for a kiss but he realizes he doesn’t have his ID on him and that we might need to run back to the car if they ask for it at will call. They don’t and I tell him that he missed out on a perfectly good kiss because he was over thinking.

We are the youngest people in the audience. The median age appears to be 65.We are relieved when the lights go down, allowing us the freedom to be affectionate without concern. He strokes my hands and wrists with his fingers and we lean into each other. He laughs and whispers in my ear that it is ironic how this is the longest he has seen me go without a smile, and that we are at a comedy show. Neither of us find the comedian’s routine to be that funny. However, he knows his audience and the crowd loves him. We just sit there laughing at each other and the people surrounding us. We are thankful for intermission. I rush down to the bathroom and when I get back to my seat, I cannot find him. I send him a text asking where he is, only to have him texting me back to join him for a drink at the bar on the first level. He flirts with me and keeps calling it our first date. I remind him that we have hung out 4 other times. He smiles and decides that he is going to call every date our first. He then proceeds to set me up for a fake interview for a book he is doing on Brooklyn. My face hurts from smiling.

We head back upstairs to the show, hoping that we have missed enough of the second act to make it bearable. Barely. On our way out we thank the comedian for a fun evening and head outside. As I try to extend my car reservation, it appears someone else booked it close enough to my reservation to give the night a wee  bit of bummer. I extend for as long as I can and decide, sometimes the late fee is worth it. We end up parked at the beach, in February. Standing in the sand, we kiss for a few minutes until my hands and ears go numb. It’s beautiful and in warmer weather, I am so there. We end up in the backseat of the car listening to Shudder to Think and making out. Nothing too dramatic. Hot, but also sweet. Yes, I do at some point maneuver a hand grab so I can have an idea of what I am dealing with. Apparently, much to my happy findings, the Catholic Polish have a thing or two in common with the nice Jewish boys I have known. Now, the backseat of a Scion isn’t all that roomy, let me tell you. But it’s nice. We don’t say much. We often don’t say much to each other. It’s as if we have the close comforting familiarity of old friends. Old friends who happen to be very hot for each other. I told him that I was planning on keeping him. That I ripped the tag off and threw away the receipt. He inquired about what I would do when he breaks, won’t I want to return him then. I laughed and explained that duct tape fixes most breaks.

We spent the remaining few minutes before I had to leave curled up together awkwardly. We just closed our eyes and enjoyed the quiet. The next 40 minutes were a whirlwind. He is roughly 49 minutes from my house , we were ten minutes from the location I map-quested originally, so add-on another 10 minutes. He drove us back in the rental to his car and led me to the highway on ramp. The car needed to be back in a half hour. I am an hour away and have 30 minutes to get there. I call to let them know I will be about 10 minutes late and speed down the highway going close to 90 for most of it. I make it there in a hair under 40 minutes, including a pit stop at my house to drop off my laptop so I am not carrying that home on the street at 2 am asking to be mugged. We text back and forth a few times as I walk home, he had asked to hear from me, to make sure I arrived safely. Knowing how fast I was driving, he was worried. He left me cute messages and then we said our good nights. We talk everyday now. Is this strange?

Our Tuesday posts are now being web syndicated by The New Gay. For more intelligent queer coverage of culture, ideas and events, check out www.thenewgay.net

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So, I finally agreed to a movie and make out night with the 25-year-old. We picked up take-out from a local Whole Foods, I grabbed a tea from a coffee shop and then we headed back to his place. We set about watching Royal Tenenbaums and then a few too many episodes of Spaced on Hulu, which 25 had never seen. he wasn’t even familiar with Simon Pegg. HELLO! Hot Fuzz! Shaun of the Dead! Spaced?!!! I loves me some Simon Pegg.

Anyway, I’m there. I’m on his couch. He’s got the green light .And… nada. It isn’t until the last two episodes of Spaced that he finally decides to try to cuddle. Granted, I am not entirely there. I am a little distracted. I was supposed to be spending a steamy evening with Brooklyn in the backseat of a car on the beach. NO, not THAT steamy. As you may recall,the ex-wife stomped on those plans as soon as we had solidified them. So, here I was, with a plan B. I hate plan B’s because they aren’t fair to the person who ended up in that slot. Yet, there I was, willing to give him the chance he kept asking for and alluding to. He didn’t try to kiss me, he didn’t even pet me in a way that was suggestive of his desire to kiss me. It’s as if he completely froze up at the bat.

On the way to the train he finally gives me a little kiss. Boys, boys, boys. What are we gonna do with these nervous boys? This one is quickly migrating into the friendship sector. Ok, honestly, he probably already is there but I have been trying to give him a couple chances since he has tried for so long to get me to treat him like a man, rather than as a 25-year-old.

The 4-year-old black boy who started flirting with me on the train over to 25-year-old’s place has a better chance of dating me at this point, he had the moves, the guts, the lines… the 4-year-old was smoooth. He sauntered over to me after we made eye contact and sat in the empty seat next to me. He then looked up at me and said, ” Hi”. Simple and direct. I like it. I returned the greeting.  “I’m Marcus”. I smiled and told him my name while shaking his hand. A few seconds later, “so, you havin’ a good night?”. I started laughing, his mother was a few seats down cracking up at him as well. “Why yes Marcus, I am. Are you?” “Yeah, I’m on the Choo-Choo”, he replied.  Can I marry this boy now? He then asks me a few more questions and finally I ask him,”Marcus, are you flirting with me?”  He then looked up with these big brown eyes through huge thick black lashes, smiled shyly and said simply,”yes”. The 4-year-old has it figured out. Perhaps men lose their skills once puberty hits? This 4-year-old has it all figured out though. I’d date him, if I was 30 years younger.

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Brooklyn Boy commented tonight,” You really are infatuated with me, aren’t you?” . I was taken aback. I don’t really like the term infatuation, to me it stinks of reckless teenage crushes. I was also mildly offended for a moment. He then said,”well, cause I am too, so that’s good.” I laughed and asked if he was infatuated with himself and he smirked.  When I got home I found an email from him with a self-portrait. I loved it. A closeup of his jaw, lips and scarf wrapped neck. Very much the style of photo taking that I gravitate towards.  I commented back, lamenting that his handsomeness is killing me. I also voiced issue with the use of the term infatuated, stating that for me, it is more of a deep admiration and appreciation for him, and that I like him more than the average bear. His reply was that for him, he did believe infatuation was what he was feeling, perhaps without the extravagant foolishness and that he likes my intensity and finds me very “hot”. The boy makes me laugh.

We met for a pot of tea and a chocolate chip cookie after he got off work. I was supposed to meet my Foreigner friend for an early dinner in the area of Brooklyn’s office, since I was in an area close to the Foreigner’s home, but I received a text canceling 5 minutes before we were to meet. Grrrr, Foreigner boy… grrr.

Brooklyn told his soon to be ex-wife that he joined a dating site. She was none too pleased. She believed he was moving on too rapidly it seems. The issue with divorces is, one person is always done far sooner than another. He is ready to move on because the relationship has been dead to him for longer than she is admitting to herself. He did not tell her about me in particular, at least she has not yet asked if he has been seeing anyone yet. This isn’t need to know info. Specifics do no one any good. There was someone who she had been interested, or at least it now seems that perhaps she SAID she was interested in, just to receive a reaction. His reaction was ,”wooh! Go for it!”, not exactly what she thought. He wants her to be happy. He knows that they will never be truly happy together, they haven’t been for a very long time, regardless of previous separations and therapy. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do for someone is let them go. Allow them the opportunity, and yourself, to be loved as you both deserve to be.

With that said, I promised the 25-year-old a make out session this weekend cause I keep blowing him off for dates all week and a really cool photographer winked at me on one of the dating sites. He used a quote from one of my favorite films. It was a film that my ex-fiance found to be “trite and pedestrian”. Fuck her, the pretentious douche bag. I happen to LOVE the movie.This of course earned the winking photographer some points in my book, and a reply.

I need some action soon. I could get it from Brooklyn but I want to wait until his mess is a bit more compartmentalized. Currently, it is a little too cluttered. I adore him and would like the opportunity to truly see what it could be about BUT, until he is 85% free and living on his own, I am going to continue to casually date other people and potentially get laid by someone.I need to avoid getting too wrapped up in Brooklyn’s saga… a distraction would be good. There is too much potential to become a rebound relationship for Brooklyn if I go blindly down this road. I want both eyes open for this journey, not only to avoid any unnecessary negative ramifications, but also, because he is so gosh darn pretty to look at.

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There is a lot written about the magic surrounding the number three. Good things, bad things, sacred and evil things. What I know is this: I have had three dates with Brooklyn Boy in 4 days. I don’t normally have two dates with anyone in one week, let alone, three in 4 days.  Let alone, canceling dates with one individual to go out with another. Let alone, Let alone, Let alone.

Google turns up many things regarding the significance of the number 3. One of my favorites was the Three Gifts of Grace. I feel that these are symbolic of the cards we hold in our back pocket whenever we go on a date. We have Faith, Hope and eventually, perhaps, if we are lucky, we have Love.

The first gift is that of Faith. A belief that is not based upon proof. A trust in an individual. Faith in a process, in a cup of tea, in the honest truthfulness of words that each of you say and in the way your body confirms or denies your words with its actions.

The second gift is that of Hope. To believe, desire, or trust. Hope exists as you let go and give in to faith. As you look at the individual before you and hope that all will be, as it should, as it is meant to be.

The third gift is that of Love. A profoundly tender affection. What is there to say of this gift? Most of us believe that we have felt it, experienced it, and shared it. Sometimes, as we mature, often in fact, we realize that what we once thought was love, truly wasn’t. This occurs when a richer, more truthful and accepting love comes into our lives, providing us the ability to reflect and to grow.

I’m not sure where any of this is going. This journey of mine, your journey, or of our mutual journeys… all bound up together. I spent two hours curled up in a bookstore with Brooklyn Boy yesterday. We whispered, laughed, talked and kissed, our modus operandi; beverages and then a bookstore floor. A stuffed green dinosaur, a kids toy, abandoned in the stacks of self-help books, stared down at us and watched as we became familiar with one another.  A bookstore feels like the right place to explore each other, discuss lofty ideas, philosophical  quandaries, romantic overtures.  Surrounded by musty scented tomes of poetry, sociopolitical discord, crafting and humour. Books older than our grandparents, in languages we rarely hear spoken, written in voices that will sadly be lost due to the modern dilemma of convenience via digital lifestyles. The next generations may never hold a real book in their hand, smell it, and peruse book stores in dreamy fogs thinking of all of the hands that a particular Walt Whitman 1st addition might have gone through, or the well-worn hardcover by Kingsley Amis that smells like the stories of a hundred people. The younger generation will lose the romance of the bookstore with their eBooks and iPads. While these places do still exist, Brooklyn Boy and I will hide away in them and swim in their stories as we make our own.

Our Tuesday posts are now being web syndicated by The New Gay. For more intelligent queer coverage of culture, ideas and events, check out www.thenewgay.net

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I woke up yesterday morning with some errands planned and a tentative date scheduled for the evening. He is someone whom I talked to a bit in December and then lost touch for a few weeks until the end of January. We agreed earlier in the week to have a loosely scheduled date in the 6:30 ish realm for Saturday night. No hard defined plans. Honestly, I was not feeling like it though and was hoping that I didn’t hear from him. He had suddenly become a Plan B.

After my meet-up turned date on Friday afternoon I found myself thinking a lot about Brooklyn Boy. I hadn’t met anyone whom I immediately felt an ease and comfort with like I did in his company. It seemed as if we had known each other for years as our rapport was so natural and unforced. He Google IM’d me around 9 pm and we spent several hours chatting online before I told him MY big “secret”. His response to my news, that I was just coming out of over a decade of lesbian exclusivity, was one of  surprise but not offense.  Most people aren’t offended per se, but there are preconceived beliefs that can interfere with someone’s attempts at getting to know me for who I am, which isn’t only as someone with a queer slant to my sexuality. Maybe it’s the New York in him, he isn’t fazed by much. He wants to see me on Saturday, if I am available. This is WHY my original date became my Plan B, as Brooklyn Boy suddenly took over top billing. I decided that if I didn’t hear from Plan B by 2 pm on Saturday, Brooklyn would win the spot.

So, I woke up as my 25-year-old texted me, hung over from a party the night before. I’m in need of distraction and ask him if he wants to tag along with me on my errands. We met an hour later, watched enough of the DVR’d Olympics to see the luger die and I dragged him out of his apartment. I couldn’t watch the news coverage, it was just too dreadfully sad. Meanwhile, I kept hoping I didn’t hear from Plan B.

We wandered around the city, grabbed some sesame balls from Chinatown, picked up my duvet cover, bought some dog food and then wrapped up our early afternoon adventure at a café with some latte’s, cinnamon tortilla chips and sea-salted caramels. 2 pm had come and gone and Brooklyn Boy had texted me and agreed to pick me up at my place at 4:30. A new hair conditioner I used in the morning had turned my hair into a bad science experiment show and tell exhibit so I had an hour to rush back to my place to rewash my hair and be ready.

The train was delayed. Tick Tock Tick Tock. Argh. I texted him begging that he please not be early. As I was hitting send, he texted me letting me know he would be roughly 20 minutes late. Score! I finally made it home, fed the dog, washed my hair and changed three times before taking the dog out for a quick last walk before he arrived.

A few minutes later he arrives in his family van, a sign of a parent with two young kids, and we decide to go into the city and figure out our plan from there. He’s still cute and I’m still intrigued. Sometimes the initial interest wanes after you go home after a date but it didn’t with him. I want his story. We are both obsessed with stories about people, we have similar projects we are planning on working on that are built around the stories of people you pass by every day and never think much about. Everyone has a story worth telling and being heard.We find a parking spot with a 2 hour limit but 2.5 hours until it switches over to free. We make note to stop back by later. Since his soon to be declared ex-wife doesn’t drink, he doesn’t get the opportunity to go out for cocktails much so we decide to start there. We each had a Dark and Stormy, chatted, laughed, people watched and then another round and some kisses and some more laughing and then a final 3rd round. Starting so early with the cocktails and having had so little to eat earlier in the day had us both a little pie eyed. We left and realized the time. Surely he had a ticket. We hesitantly walked by the family van and SCORE again, no ticket. That NEVER happens on this particular street. We look at each other quizzically and decide that to go to a little book store café down the street, maybe grab a bite and a cup of tea, sober up some.

Somehow we ended up sitting on the floor in the far aisle of the bookstore against a stack of unpopular books. I say they are unpopular because we sat there for 4 hours and only 3 people walked by the entire time. 3 people whom we chatted up and exchanged info with. Over the span of time we were sprawled on the floor we varied in position, at times I had my head in his lap as we looked through books, other times he leaned into me, or we faced each other, legs entwined and backs against opposing shelves.  The people who we met, one of them asked how long we had been together, how we had met. We laughed. When we confessed they looked shocked. They said that we appeared to have known eachother for years. We looked at eachother and smiled, it felt like that.We sat there on that floor for 4 hours like an old couple, punctuating moments with kisses, absent-minded caresses and laughter. He showed me illustrators he liked, I showed him a book of poems by Neruda, whom he had never read. He reads out loud. It’s nice, comforting, inclusive. I can not remember the last time I had felt such an ease with another person.

Eventually the bookstore threw us out because they were closing. he had a long drive back home so we decided to get back to the car and get me home. Only, we sat and talked, and talked, and stared at each other and laughed and kissed for 2 more hours. When we finally looked at the clock and saw that it was past 2, we untangled ourselves from our embrace and got serious about getting me home. Parked in front of my condo, I suggested I grab the dog for her last pee, and so he could meet her. In addition to kids, he also has a big cumbersome male dog. My pooch barely let me out the door before she had dragged me across the sidewalk and practically tackled him. She spent 15 minutes engrossed in him and the delicious scents of his family van. It’s a treasure trove of dropped kid snacks and dog cookie crumbles. We laughed at her and said our good nights. I made him promise to text me when he has arrived home safely.

I spent the next 2 hours chatting via IM with varying friends who happened to be online. We talk about him, I send over pics to them. Everyone approves, some worry about the complications of his current status. I counter that we all have baggage, some hide it better. His however, is completely in view. No apologies, it is, what it is. He has kids, he is in the process of getting divorced and for some reason something in my profile resonated with him and made him sign up to meet me. I consider that a gift. A fabulously unexpected gift.

Today is Valentine’s Day. Brooklyn Boy just texted me that he misses me. Is it okay that I find this sweet and not unnerving? I guess I like him too, so it’s okay. I have an Anti-Valentine’s Day date scheduled with my 25-year-old tonight but I am tired and really want to clean my house. I am also feeling a little run down. I am going to see if he minds a rain check. I would rather get some laundry done, take some Motrin (thank you period for arriving this morning), and watch I Love You, New York with my pup and some take out pho. I hope he understands.

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Two words … AWE  SOME !! So, we are gonna call this boy, Brooklyn Boy. Only started speaking to him on Thursday. He winked at me on one of those sites and I didn’t respond. He didn’t have a profile pic. I do NOT respond to contact from faceless boy wonders. A day later, I get an email. I read it, wtf, why not?! Ok, so, he’s clever but still NO picture. His mini bio talks about Brooklyn though, I love Brooklyn. I miss Brooklyn dearly. So, against my usual better wishes, I click into his full profile to see more. He has a secondary photo that is slightly arty and a little too distant, BUT it shows that he is at least not obese or bald. Fine, I email him back. I do let him know that I am ONLY emailing because he mentioned Brooklyn, because I do NOT normally respond to profiles without pics. Of course he has an explanation for this. He’s only been on the site 36 hours and the other photos haven’t posted yet.

We spend Thursday evening passing back and forth many emails filled with witty banter. Friday morning he asks me to meet him for coffee or tea later in the afternoon. His eagerness isn’t off-putting, it doesn’t smell of desperation. He tells me that the profile photos have finally been approved and posted to the site. I check them out and sigh a happy sigh of relief and get a little giddy because he is quite attractive. Huge warm and happy, yet slightly goofy smile with bright joyful eyes and yay, lots of hair. I have realized I love hair. On the heads of men I find attractive I mean, cause we all know, I don’t like hair. Hello, next waxing appointment!? Anyway, head hair is a major tactile part of the making out experience for me. Anyway, I digress. He’s super attractive and since he emailed me his personal email in the body of the dating site email, I was able to Google him and be wonderfully impressed that he has made it his career to make the world a place that is safe and “right”  for everyone. Ok, he is handsome, he is interested in me, he is someone who is admirable and respectable, and he is from Brooklyn. Of course I agree to meet him for coffee / tea.

We meet outside of a train station and greet each other with warm smiles and a kind friendly hug. We decide to walk to a coffee-house a few blocks away and sit and talk. We get his “complication” out in the open quickly. He is seperated. Not yet divorced but working towards the finalizing of said marriage and he has two young children. He shows me a photo and they are two of the most beautiful children I have seen. (My nieces, who rock, are, by far, the MOST beautiful EVER. No offense to anyone.) Ok, minor complication but not a huge thing. We all have had prior relationships and hell, this is just tea.

Only, is it just tea? We sat for a couple of hours at the café and chatted, about Brooklyn, photography, his ex, my exes (I had not yet told him about the gender of said exes), our dogs, his career, my business, how much we are both a bit Meh about this city and life. We just talked about life. He started to get heavy talking about the dissolution of his marriage when I made an executive decision that we needed something to lighten the mood. We needed cupcakes. So, I stuck him back on the train and drug him to my favorite place for a couple of rum soaked, vanilla and lime infused, butter cream topped nomnomnommy cupcakes. And life was good again.

I walked him back to his office, on the way back to the train, so he could pick up his things. He is fascinating. He invited me on a trip to NYC next week. I would, but I can’t because of prior commitments. The trip itself, the event he is attending, is a once in a lifetime event. I could try to juggle things but my going on an overnight trip with him now, it would lessen this somehow. Do I want the event or am I curious about this crazy connection we seem to be feeling? Did I mention the strange fact that we lived between 4-6 blocks from each other in Brooklyn in 1999 and worked 2 blocks from each other in Manhattan? We rode the same train everyday and never met. I find that fascinating.

We parted ways at the train station with a hug that was warmer and more date like than it began. I walked away with a smirk. I sent him a text on the train, thanking him for being such a pleasant surprise. At the exact time I hit send, I received a text from him, thanking me for being so spontaneous and meeting him today. We shared a few more texts, then some emails and before you knew it, we had chatted on Google chat for 4 hours.

I like him, without a well, but, meh, eh or hmm. Yes, there is the divorce thing. But really, that is what it is. This is an interesting development. Oh, and I asked him how the online dating has been for him so far. He blushed and admitted that he only signed up to meet me and by his reaction, I knew it was sincere. This IS going to be an interesting adventure, I already can tell.

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