I never did like the circus...

Something about the scary clowns, trampy costumes, and the smell of elephant poop turned me off from the circus when I was just a little girl. Maybe I should have learned from that when I likened sex with G to Cirque du Soleil. Sometimes flash and flexibility are just a facade to mask people who might otherwise be considered one step up from carnival folk...
G disappeared. Full on, Houdini-style, no messages, no calls disappeared. I was perplexed for the first week--his last few texts to me still called me cookie butt and were generously sprinkled with Xs and Os. I hadn't seen him, but he'd been sick, then away for work, and... oh right, he's 25. I can't help but think that he's going to post videos of us up on IF*ckedaFatChick.com... maybe it was that I finally told him I'd like to see him more than once every two weeks. Maybe it was just about the sex. Maybe this is what 25 y-o's do. Who knows... either way, I'm better off without him.... right?

Politics and Parmigiano Reggiano

Yesterday, my sister made spaghetti with meat sauce. She used a finely ground turkey instead of our usual Italian sausage, and big juicy chunks of tomato in the jarred sauce. It was good, especially with a sprinkling of Parmigiano Reggiano, but it had quite a bit going on. I ate it, but couldn't help feeling that it wasn't quite right.

Tonight, I heated up the leftover pasta with some French butter and another dusting of imported cheese. This time, it was perfect. The spaghetti was a blank canvas for the gorgeous parmesan, and the slick butter sheen was just enough to tie it all together. The simplicity of the food was what was so satisfying. No complicated sauce, no squirting vegetables... just something warm, creamy, and good.

Dating Sucks

Date #4 with G was a laid back one. I fried up some cha gio that I made for Sue's birthday and we had it with all the fixings. He dove right in and wrapped them up in lettuce with mint, cilantro, and noodles, happily stuffing everything in his mouth before swooning. I love that we like the same kinds of food--it makes a huge difference when you don't have to explain to someone that yes, you can actually eat paper made out of rice. After dinner, we pretended to watch a movie as we once again tested my range of motion. Turns out, I'm alot more flexible than I thought.

This was a week ago. A week and a day, actually. I know I'm new to the whole dating thing, but it's kind of hard to not see someone as frequently as you'd like to. I know I need to put things in perspective, that this is supposed to be fun, but the HM side of me requires more attention than once a week dates. Is this normal? Do people really see eachother just a few times a month or has G simply gotten busy? He says he is, and I'm sure he really is working late, but how difficult is it to meet someone for a drink? Hmmm... maybe I have to re-think the whole "I'm an independent woman" persona. I don't seem to be wearing it very well.

Cirque du Soleil

Date #3 with G was the proverbial turning point. I made a delicious summer dinner of shrimp goi cuon and sliced peaches for dessert. We took turns tripping over our words as we each unloaded a work-week's worth of angst and goings on. It must have been the peaches (2 yellow, one white, all perfectly ripe and juicy) but I couldn't get my mind out of the gutter. As we sat on the couch leafing through an album full of DVDs, I leaned in and kissed him.

Next thing I knew, he was devouring me like I was the last fresh spring roll on the platter. It must have been a combination of the knowledge that we were indeed finally alone and that this was something we both wanted, but we couldn't get enough of eachother. From the couch to the floor to his spartan-inspired bed, we groped, kissed, grabbed, and nibbled whatever we could reach. The actual sex was more than I'd ever experienced in my 34 years... there is definitely something to be said for the stamina and ingenuity of a 25-year old. He was earning his wings as a fledgeling boytoy position by position.

The next day, as I debated how to fill in my entourage about the night's events, I texted them five words: Last night: Cirque du Soleil.

Mummies and Shrimp Cocktail

Date #2 was a movie picnic--I brought shrimp cocktail with homemade remoulade and G provided two different types of dessert: a soft apple pastry and a crumbly cinnamon confection. We had originally planned to see Hancock, but the abundance of 12 year olds in the back row made it impossible to eat our smuggled goodies with any semblance of privacy. We exchanged our tickets for Mama Mia, but that was a little close for our comfort as well. We ended up seeing The Mummy 3, a very noisy, convoluted movie which was perfect for our plan of illicit snacking and a heavy dose of making out. We had a couple of Kodak moments--the first when I fed him a giant shrimp with remoulade which he had to choke down before admitting that he doesn't eat mayonnaise. The second came moments later when, being the ladylike creature I am, I inadvertently flicked a shrimp tail in his eye trying to get it free from the little decorative shell. I giggled for a good ten minutes after that...

G and I are doing very well in the making out department. I find myself daydreaming about his kisses constantly, much to the delight of my jaded work colleagues. They gleefully blow eachother smooches when they catch me texting him, and exchange knowing looks when I space out during the day. Date #3 is going to be dinner and a rented movie at his place on Friday... no promises about being good.

Flutters

There is something about a first date that is unlike any other date you'll ever go on... the anticipation of the day, the mad rush to fix your hair even though you gave yourself almost two hours to get ready... As I sat on a barstool waiting for G, so many things were running through my head. Would he overlook my chubbiness because of my spectacular cleavage? Would we be able to talk as easily in person as we did online and on the phone? Would he be as cute as he was in his pictures?

Luckily, the answer to all of these was yes. We had an amazing dinner, during which we shared an app that D would NEVER have tried, and ended it with a piece of red velvet cake and jasmine tea. We talked about everything from family to work and everything in between. At one point, live music started up and dubious renditions of Jimmy Buffet classics provided a soundtrack to the meal. We never stopped talking and before I knew it, it was 10:30. I had an early day, so we slowly made our way out to the parking lot. We stopped to admire the koi pond and he slipped an arm around my shoulders. I knew I was going to kiss him--I had stared at his lips for too long during dinner to not do so. As I leaned against the car and smiled up at him, I realized that I hadn't had a first kiss in a very very very long time.

His was moviestar good--he laced his hands through my hair, and very slowly, softly, kissed me. I don't know if I melted into him or if he sank down into me but the next thing I knew, we were making out like we were sixteen and our parents were away for the weekend. We only came up for air when I heard some giggling behind us and I broke away as a group of 20 somethings tee heed past us. "One last kiss." I said to myself, just barely out loud, as I put my arms around his neck and pulled him back down. Five minutes later, we were both breathless, my knees felt weak, and we both backed away because there's only so much kissing you can take before the inevitable happens.

Afterwards, I giggled in my car as I drove home, fumbling for my phone to tell everyone that yes, it had gone very well.

James is not your typical Marine. About my height, medium build, and somewhat shy, he is definitely on the reserved side. I met him at my sister’s birthday party and we’ve been emailing ever since.

Last night, he and his roommate Anis met Emily and me out for dinner. I picked the restaurant, guided only by an obscure online review of the only spot listed which wasn’t a national chain. To my dismay, the dilapidated tiki bar on the deck didn’t offer frozen drinks, and my Malibu pineapple came garnished with a tired slice of lemon and a bone-dry piece of lime. My request for a paper parasol garnered such a look of disdain from our waitress that I gave up and turned my attention to the mildewed, plastic wrapped menu. I had to laugh when James and Anis ordered calamari and shrimp. Given what I had seen already, the seafood at this particular establishment was more likely to come from a plastic bag than any local body of water. Still, I gave the grouper sandwich a try and Emily had the linguine (The waitress suggested chicken scurrs, repeatedly, and when I translated that as chicken skewers, Em decided to go the seafood route too) with mixed shellfish.

Conversation was great—Anis, Emily, and I were bantering around the funny stories like they were pingpong balls. James sat back, listened and laughed at the appropriate moments, and was just generally being hard to read. They kept asking about seeing us again though, so we’ll be going out for sushi and The Bean tonight.

Oh, and the food was AWFUL… Emily’s linguine was probably the best dish, with big scallops, shrimp, and mussels, but my group sandwich tasted like nothing… not a thing! It wasn’t bad, it just literally tasted like air! Even the bread was tasteless! Anis’s calamari, true to form, came in uniform round Os, heavily breaded and likely from Gorton’s. James’s shrimp was good enough to earn a second portion, but we will not be going back there for the food.