NEW YORK CITY BLONDE

I'M IN LOVE, I'M IN LOVE AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT!


Okay, maybe just a little? Or not at all? Should I text him? Do you think he likes me back? Whatever I'm over it.

It's 9:10 pm in the West Village and I'm walking briskly to make my date that started at 9:00 pm. I guess showing up a little late isn't the end of the world, gives him a taste of what life with me would be like. Enter, Diablo Royale. There he is, more adorable than I remember and way cuter than I could have hoped. Cue the polite one-armed hugs and air kisses. We fight our way to the bar and he orders me a Diablo Ricky, which is a beer and margarita mix and if you know me, you know I don't "do" beer. But it's Friday night and I haven't eaten dinner so maybe tequila on the rocks is a little too aggressive for a first date.
The bar is packed and we're standing under a loud speaker as I pretend I can hear the story about his younger brother while I actually wonder if I could picture myself in a relationship with this guy. That's normal, right? He's adorable and I mean that in the best way possible. He's a middle child. ivy league grad, college football star, financial analyst and he doesn't even have a Mark Wahlberg a la "Ted" Boston accent, CHA-CHING. We move next door to Windsor and fight more hoards of twenty something villagers on the prowl for someone to do tonight and make our way to the bar. Conversation flows, mostly from my mouth, as we exchange more personal stories. And then it happened. I slipped up. I actually used the f-word on a first date. IT'S LIKE I WAS RAISED BY ANIMALS OR SOMETHING (Just kidding Mom, I love you).
I heard it as soon as it happened and immediately regretted it but I'm not known for admitting my mistakes or apologizing so I continued with my story about my snowboarding trip and crossed my fingers that it wouldn't phase him. It must not have because about twenty minutes later as we're on our third drink, he grabbed my hand and it felt WEIRD and it was a really good weird. Maybe it's just been a while since I had been on an agreeably successful first date or since I had felt a connection with someone who wasn't just pretending to be interested in me (or maybe he was pretending but he did a very good job at hiding it).
Anyways, we decided to call it a night and he hailed me a cab as I wondered if I'd hear from him soon and hoped that I would. I crawled into the back seat while greeting the cabie with my signature "Hey cutie!" followed by my girlfriend's address. I gushed to her about how he was a little shy but a total gentleman and how he's not my usual guy but "he could be good for me" as she filled my glass with sauvignon blanc and pulled a bottle of fireball from the freezer, we were celebrating after all.

God damn that cinnamon whiskey. Next thing I know, her and I are back at the apartment of the guy I used to hook up with. Apparently his radar went off, you know that thing that guys have where they can sense that you might actually be moving on with your life? I finally snap out of it as the sun comes up and everyone's saying their goodbyes and I'm reaching for my too-high high heels. I'm kissing my girlfriend farewell and bear-hugging guy friends as he makes eye contact with me and asks me to stay. GOD DAMN THAT CINNAMON WHISKEY.


The next day was spent in bed nursing a hangover and kicking myself for falling into old habits when I had just had a seemingly normal dating experience. Leave it to me to ruin something before it had even started. Fortunately for me, he wasn't aware of the bad decisions I made later in the night and actually texted me this week. That means he's like, in love with me, right? Maybe not since he followed up his weekend plans inquiry by throwing in that he's not feeling well and is going to take it easy. So now I'm left wondering if this is part of the game. All the race is in the chase, sort of thing. Little does he know that I always win and I majored in mind games in college.







TO BE CONTINUED...