I REALLY LIKE HIM! On second thought...

I was all out of inspiration to come up with anything interesting to wear on my first date with Steve. I feel like I've been on soooo many freakin' failed dates, that by now I've gone through nearly every outfit that I own and you know how superstitious I am about that shit, I simply cannot bring myself to don clothes that I previously wore on a first date that ended up - well...a last date. I settled on an assemblage of virgin (never before worn on a date, k?) pieces which I finally managed to throw together; a close-fitting, apple green sweater and low-slung, skinny jeans tucked into tall, tan boots. I think the boots were the only part that I've already worn out on an online date, so I left my house believing that this untainted outfit would certainly bring me much-needed bon chance!

I was just a tad late meeting Steve, which turned out to be fine because he was even later than I was. I wasn't the least bit bothered by his tardiness though, since I am rarely prompt, myself...pot calling the kettle and all that...What did bother me, as I was waiting in the lobby of the restaurant where we were to meet, was how terribly nervous I realized that I was becoming. Maybe "bothered" isn't exactly accurate, I think I was actually encouraged that I was still capable of experiencing a feeling, period...since lately, I profess to be so totally blah about all guys, in general. Maybe this sensation meant that I did in fact still have a real, live beating heart! (Ya' think?) In any case, I awkwardly held my post just around the corner from the front door, the steady flow of human traffic causing me to continually have to slyly lean a bit forward in my chair, careful to not look over at the entrance too eagerly, deliberately trying to mask my overanxiousness with bogus disinterest. But the hostess had my number, she knew I was waiting for someone and she appeared quietly amused by my feeble attempts to conceal my antsiness. Each time it wasn't Steve who walked through the doorway, I reflexively slumped back down in my chair but quickly corrected my posture so as not to come across as the least bit concerned that he still hadn't arrived. It wasn't 'til like the fifth time that the derned door opened, that he f i n a l l y crossed the threshold and rounded the corner. And there he was, tall and casual in his jeans and handsome with eyes that smiled at me despite a sort of downward tilt on their outside corners, I was pleasantly surprised. I was even more nervous now and fumbled over the first few phrases out of my mouth, it was painfully obvious how much I was struggling, in a good way though...I think...

We sat down at the bar on our individual barstools, I was facing mostly forward, but he was facing me and almost immediately my leg was unintentionally at a right angle with his big, strong leg. Uh oh, there it was, that ever-elusive sizzle through my middle (shizzle my nizzle!) the hair on the back of my neck affirming that, Yep - we could have a winner here, folks! I was freezing 'cuz the derned place had the a.c. way too cranked, and displaying a refreshing dose of chivalry he offered to cocoon me in his thick, black sweatshirt which not only helped thaw out my freezing ass but also delighted my olfactories by NOT smelling any particular way. I can't stand it when a guy douses himself in sickeningly sweet-smelling cologne or aftershave. I love a clean soapy smell or a complete lack of smell, but oppressively perfumey and shit - uh, uh. Even worse (though thankfully rare) is when I'm invited into a guy's personal space and some indecipherable, mystery aroma makes me recoil. I went on a date, once, with an attractive, billionaire (for real) friend of a friend. And once we'd gotten fairly well-acquainted over dinner but also after an inordinate number of trips, by him, to the bathroom (seriously like 3 or 4 times during dinner) he gave me a friendly "Well, this has been fun!" hug and instantly I was astonished to catch a whiff of a dull funk frighteningly reminiscent of a dirty baby diaper. "OH! Wow, you smell...good?" I lied, strategically demolishing a near foot-in-mouth faux pas. What the heck was this guy's deal? I mean - he had more money than God, couldn't he afford to fix whatever problem was causing him to smell so frickin' rancid? Good, ole Jimmy was dirt poor but he always managed to smell absolutely deeelicious to me, even after working all day. I used to bury my nose in his arm pits and voraciously savor his personal balm. He patiently tolerated me regularly putting him through this unusual addiction, even though he found it terribly strange. I flat out loved how he smelled, all over, always! "What is the point of all of this drivel?" you may be asking. I 'spose it's just that - equally important to me that I dig a guy's nose and hands (have I mentioned that I don't do girly-man hands?) is that it is critical that I also delight in his scent. Steve, thankfully - was good in all of these areas.

Steve and I sipped our drinks and ate good food but hardly stopped talking. I dug how he was not the least bit a "thinks he is", modestly enlightening me about himself and his life in his sexy, deep voice. Then, 3 1/2 hours into our first face to face, just like that - conversation halted as our eyes insisted on doing the rest of the talking. We were both powerless to or possibly just disinterested in breaking our deep stare, all my mouth could say was, "Hmmm" Then he put his hands on either side of my face and, his eyes still fixed on mine, he guided my mouth to his and punctuated this fascinating conversation with one hell of an incredible kiss.

Adding to his mounting pile of brownie points was the fact that Steve would not allow me to contribute any money towards the check and I am here to tell you that that literally NEVER happens! Of all the men with whom I've been out on dates, Steve is one of the only ones who has refused to accept cash from me to help pay the bill. There! That's all you get. I will not reveal one more thing about my date with Steve. If I give too glowing a report, invariably I will find that once again, I spoke too soon...

Steve and I spoke briefly the next night, it was just enough to affirm that we'd both enjoyed each other's company and that more good times were soon to follow, but when Frances asked me, three nights later, how things were going with him, I had to confess that we had not exchanged e-mail, nor spoken on the phone since the night after our first date. It also occurred to me that the lack of follow-up wasn't really that big of a deal to me. In the not so distant past, I would've been absolutely beside myself, riddled with stomach aches, panic and general debilitating discomfort, if I wouldn't have heard from him or any guy, by that point. But now, I barely realized that I was missing anything. So what the heck was up with that? I had been so stoked about him just a few days before, and already I had lost all my oomph? Immediately following the date I had made a concerted effort to stay off of the dating site on which we had met, so he wouldn't think that I was already sniffing around for new leads (as I actually was doing on all the other sites where I post profiles) but two days later I was like, "Awww, fuck it!" and I was up to all of my old tricks in no time. Don't worry, I'm not going to go off on the "no emotion anymore" tangent, feel free to insert previous rantings, here...

I feel like I've scared off a bunch of guys this week, post Steve (and possibly, including Steve) Don't know why I've been so cantankerous. Maybe I'm bored or altogether sick of young guys looking for a milf, and fatigued from fielding contact from fat, disgusting losers barking up the wrong damn tree. Nowadays I get seriously pissed off when, momentarily hopeful that the new message I am about to read may be from someone worthwhile, it turns out to be from some friggin' disappointing disaster piece! So many of the responses I've been sending to curious gentleman, recently have been snippy or ornery or just plain rude. It's like, "Fuck all of you, I just don't give a shit anymore." Maybe if one of the recipients was brave enough to contact me after my first sneering response, that would be some indication that he had moxie and I should give him a chance. But the best example I can give of anyone demonstrating such brass was when this 26 year old fat fucker, (and I am not exaggerating for the sake of effect- I could barely see his facial features they were so completely swallowed up by his general largeness) sent me this note...and I quote, "hey, whats up? i just wanted to send u a message and tell u that u do not look ur age..ur fine...i want to hang a root up n ur ass..." Hang a root up in my ass...What the hell does he even mean by that? I mean I think I know, but it is a most original way to phrase it. Frances and I mulled it over for a long time trying to figure out how one can "hang" anything "up" someone's ass and still we remained stumped...We were already rolling with laughter when I told her that I had responded to his unusual declaration with, "WOW! That sounds really neat..." and then he said, "yup, it does sound real neat...u ought to try it..." I sent one more smartass e-mail, the sarcasm in which he clearly did not "get" since in his response he forwarded his cell # and encouraged me to call him, uhh...No?...After making much merriment, mocking this ignoramous, I bestowed upon him the unheralded honor of being my first "blockee" (Steve had, on our date, suggested that I implement this handy tool to eliminate irritating, unwanted cling-ons) thus officially severing ties with the obese country bumpkin from WVa.. After the deed was done, I couldn't help but wonder how many potentially GOOD ties I had irrationally severed on account of my harsh indifference and cool aloofness...