Skydiver: 3.5; Celibacy: 0
I was going to have as the subject line, "Celibacy is over." But all I know for sure right now is that celibacy was temporarily suspended. Trying not to count my chickens and all that.
So on Thursday after I finished at the gym I rode the train super far-ass away into Virginia, walked through the rain while getting splashed by cars, and finally found Sportrock to rent some rock-climbing shoes. My consolation prize was a superdeliciouslygorgeous rock climbing boy flirting with me as he rented me my shoes. He was SO cute. In fact, I highly recommend all of you within metro range go to Sportrock just to look at him. He's short, though. Which of course is no object to me. Lucky me. Yummy. I almost wanted to tell him he was welcome to call the number on my rental form. All this took about 2.5 hours. That is how far away it is. As I wasted this 2.5 hours of my life, I knew it was an exercise in futility. I figured I would rent the shoes for two days, never use them, never see the Skydiver, and pay the $20 fee it would cost me to end that particular dating possibility.
My cell phone is broken (works only when plugged in, so it's more like a portable landline) and for various reasons I have no desire to replace it so I didn't have it with me. When I got home with the shoes I had two text messages. First at 10:30 in the morning asking me if I was still up for rappelling (ok, fine, he spelled it "repeling") or rock climbing in the morning. The second was at 7:17 pm, saying he misread his ticket and wouldn't be back in DC until 8 so did I want to do indoor rock climbing or something else. Of course.
I texted him that I'd just gotten back from renting the shoes, so indoor climbing sounded great, or we could do something else. He texted to ask where I'd found shoes to rent. I said Sportrock. That was all I heard from him, even though it is three hours earlier in California so it's not like he was going to bed.
I was like, "Of course. Of course I spent hours of my life renting these shoes and I will never see him again."
I went to bed. I figured he'd probably be getting on a plane around noon Eastern time and if I hadn't heard from him by then I wouldn't hear from him. All morning the phone didn't ring. Then! Behold! It rang. And it was the Skydiver. He was flying from San Diego to LA, and then LA to Dulles. His flight from LA was to leave at 11:30, and that's where he'd gotten the idea that he would arrive in DC at 11:30. We chatted a little about his conference. He asked if I still wanted to do something. I said yes, and I'd see what I could find was going on. He said he'd call me at 7:30 when he landed at Dulles.
Friday was my off day. I was working on a sewing project, a dress that's been in progress for over three weeks and is just not getting anywhere. It's not even a hard dress. The weddings I went to the past two weekends took up most of my time so I couldn't sew, but I still don't know why it's taking so long. I half-heartedly cleaned a little, but really there was no point. I knew that by the time he landed he'd be hungry and tired and would realize he just wasn't up for going out that night, and then our schedules wouldn't work out until eventually we gave up.
Luckily, Leilani IMed me. I hate IMing. I have it turned off on my gmail, but apparently although I am a gray dot to myself and google tells me that I am signed out, I show up as a green dot to everyone else. It's quite frustrating. So I called her so that we could talk in real life, which is much more productive than IM, and we decided to show off the fact that neither of us was working on a workday (she's taking time off between jobs) by having a drink in the afternoon. We decided on Proof, which ended up being closed, and instead walked down to Ten Penh and sat outside. I had two glasses of sparkling. I love sparkling wine. I was much more mellow after this.
I got home around 6:30. At 7:30 I heard nothing. 7:45, nothing. I hate boys. 8:00 the phone rings. I'm waiting for him to say that he is too tired and hungry (they don't serve food on transcontinental flights anymore). But no. He did not flake out. In fact, he came straight to my house from the airport--no going home to drop off luggage and change, no stopping for food, no passing go and collecting $200. He gets +50 thoughtfulness points for that.
I had decided, while hanging out with Leilani, that I wanted to go dancing. Country dancing. Where did this come from? I don't know. Even when I lived in Austin for four years I went out country dancing maybe three times total. And I went once pretty soon after I moved here, at least five years ago. I recalled that the place I had gone with a friend was in Alexandria, kind of tucked away into a warehouse park. All the girls gave us dagger stares for trying to swoop in and steal the men as it was obvious we were not Real Country Girls, and we danced with all the old men as it was not deemed safe to try to dance with anyone under age 60. I think those girls all had shivs tucked into their boots. We had a great time.
The almighty google told me the place is Nick's Night Club, and was still in existence. After his long drive from Dulles to my place, the Skydiver called me from downstairs and I got in the car and told him where we were going after a greeting kiss and noting that he is still cute (I keep expecting him not to be as cute as I remember). He was game and we headed to the dark recesses of Alexandria. One of his pictures on his OK Cupid profile is him engaged in what appears to be a flamenco competition, so I assumed he was a dancer. When I got him onto the dance floor for a pretty simple two-step I realized not so much. But that didn't stop him from dancing anyway. He even did some line dances, though as they are not partner dances he could easily have sat them out while I joined in (they were mostly women anyway). +15. He told me stories about his nerdly past, and getting beat up in junior high by fellow nerds because his online character had killed one of their online characters and using his saxophone case to protect himself (this action took place in the Band Hall). I told him to talk dirty to me in physics, and he said something funny about some kind of equation. We each had a drink, danced some, watched some karaoke, made out some, and finally at midnight I felt he had sufficiently proved his mettle and I suggested we head out. I had really enjoyed our evening; he is very affectionate and I was like, "That's right, everyone eat your heart out. I have a date who, to the naked eye, appears to be my boyfriend."
On our first date he had told me that he makes wine. I was impressed, asking questions about which grapes to choose, etc. etc. until he said he didn't make grape wine, but other fruits. Then I realized that by wine he meant "fermented fruit juice." Can you tell how cute he must be that this tidbit did not result in me heaping scorn and excoriation upon him? I sort of pretended to be interested, but made it clear that I really enjoy wine and have a palate that, while not likely to be hired by Wine Spectator anytime soon, has moved beyond fermented fruit juice. In the car he told me that he had some mango "wine," and we should go to one of our places and try it. It was in a Nalgene bottle. In his car. That had been parked at the airport all week. Lordy. I said he could come over, but I would like it to stay PG-13. He made a disappointed but half-agreeing noise.
I had dispiritedly done a half-hearted clean of my place; my biggest effort went to clearing all the junk off the bed and I even changed the sheets. I warned him it was messy. He had the decency to say it wasn't bad. Ha! I could only imagine that he was starving so I took pity and heated up some pizza and fed him. I took an obligatory sip of the mango "wine," which I told him was not the worst thing I'd ever drunk. He was satisfied.
About halfway through eating I had a sudden strong feeling of, "Get out of my house. Ugh." I don't even know where it came from. I was tired and had been stressed out all day (all week, let's be honest) that I wouldn't see him and I think I had a little bit of residual bad attitude left from that, even though he had in fact totally brought it and proved my pessimism wrong. We moved to the couch and were kissing and I was still not feeling it at all. I had enjoyed our time at the country bar so much and I think I didn't want to spoil that. i don't know.
But then he touched my left nipple and the only thought my brain could form--presumably way down in the most primitive, lizard cortex of it--was "You.In.Me.Now." It was crazy. It was a complete switch. I think I need to create a special shield for my left nipple to protect against this in the future. Janet Jackson might be able to make some recommendations.
I completely forgot what arguments there might have been against sleeping with him and led him to my bed. He brought his backpack, which I assumed had like a toothbrush and stuff. We were kissing and touching (but no oral--I refuse to be the first due to my "no unrequited blow jobs" rule). He's very good at the touching. I came very close to having an orgasm from his manual stimulation (and maybe even did have a mangled, abortive one, but I can't be sure)--and let us recall that I have never had an orgasm with another person. Eventually he asked if he could get a condom. He gets -45 for not respecting my request for PG13, but admittedly I wasn't doing anything to reinforce it. I said yes and he reached into the backpack. It hurt for the first few seconds but then my body seemed to recall some vague memory about how it worked. He is tall-ish (5'10" maybe?) and skinny and has a really delectable body for someone like me who is into tall and skinny. Also, he's not hairy at all. It was good, although I would have preferred him to finish faster. I think he was holding back on my account so eventually I suggested the doggie style, every woman's secret weapon.
There was that post-glow period of kissing and touching and snuggling. We dozed for a little bit and then he was wanting to go again. He finished a little faster this time. Good. But then he was IMMEDIATELY ready again. I have never experienced that. I thought I learned in health class about the refractory period (I still remember the name of it) and that they are really sensitive right after and can't even handle to be touched but apparently the man experiences no refractory period. By this time I was really sore and was angling myself so that he couldn't get too deep. He actually noticed, exhibiting what I find impressive insight and sensitivity, and asked if I was too sore. I said yes so we finished manually. At this point I was beginning to suspect that the backpack contained nothing but condoms, and that he planned to use them all. I was concerned.
We slept after that. Normally I cannot sleep with anyone else in the bed, and definitely not with someone touching me, and decidedly not with someone snuggling me. And yet--I did. Not the best or the most sleep ever, but sleep. We fit together really well, like the tangram game/puzzle my parents had when I was a kid. We slept in all kinds of different configurations, and all of them were really comfortable and nice. Unfortunately, he starts snoring the instant he is on his back (he warned me), and my favorite is him on his back and me on my stomach half lying on him with my head on his chest. But then I can't sleep because of the snoring so it's back to some variation of spoons.
In the morning there was one more time (all I could handle). Though I'd had my dimmer on in the bedroom the night before, it was better with full sunlight. It is definitely a pleasure to look at him. After, we lay there for a while and his stomach was growling like crazy! It was hilarious. I finally took pity on him and fed him eggs and a muffin.
The sex gets high marks for first time sex. It seemed like the kind that will only get better. It was not noticeably porn-influenced (my new pet peeve). In the morning I remembered why it is it's better to wait, because once you have The Sex the going on dates stops. Mission accomplished. From now on you just sit (or lay) around having sex and watching TV, sometimes simultaneously. I will try not to let that happen.
When we were talking about what to do when we realized he was wrong about when he'd be getting to DC, I suggested we could rock climb on Saturday instead (thus implying he'd be spending the night with me). He, of course, had plans to jump, but wasn't sure if his backup parachute was re-packed. If it wasn't then he couldn't jump. I was displeased that he wouldn't cancel the jump anyway, just on the strength of seeing me. In the morning I asked him what time he needed to be to the drop zone and he said he'd canceled his jump. The parachute was not re-packed. I am kind of irked that I'll never know if he would have canceled it anyway, but I was glad we could spend some time together.
We got dressed and headed out to Carderock. In the car I asked him whether the Geneva superconductor black hole creator thingy was going to obliterate the earth and made him explain dark matter and black holes to me. Just making sure he's smart. He is. We hold hands in the car. It's disgustingly cute.
When we got to the park, it turned out to be park cleanup day and the rock climbing trail was closed. Thwarted again! Those damn shoes. We hiked along the C&O Canal. It was a beautiful day and the greenery was lush and nature locked in nature's stillness. I said it was a beautiful day. He said it was more humid than San Diego.
I said, "Oh, I forgot that you just came from the most beautiful spot in the country."
He said, "You're beautiful. You make it beautiful here."
It sounds cheesy, but really y'alls it was so sweet. I thought I might melt a little.
We tottered out onto some rocks at the Potomac's edge and lay there, me with my head on his chest, for a while relaxing and talking. I decided to do everything wrong and pretend that he is my boyfriend. It was nice to have a boyfriend and he is just so damn sweet.
Back in the parking lot he showed me rock climbing knots and how to belay should a day actually arise when we go rock climbing. We drove back to the city. His GPS tells him to take the most inefficient routes possible but I didn't see a point in fighting with her. We drove by the White House, and then the Renwick Gallery, which I remembered had been having a decorative arts exhibit that I hadn't been to see. I mentioned it, and he said, "You want to go now?" Seriously, he's so sweet. I said sure, we drove around and finally found parking and headed to the Renwick. Unfortunately, the exhibit was over and they're putting a glass exhibit but it doesn't open until next week, so we just walked through the small permanent collection. Then we sat in Lafayette Park and ate apples dipped in peanut butter I had packed as a snack and gave our cores to squirrels and sat on the benches with his arm around me.
Eventually I said that I should let him get home. He didn't even know if his house was still standing after a week away. I asked him where he lives. He said Woodbridge. He owns a house there, bought it when he was 24 or 25. And I thought I was doing well to own my home a few months before my 30th birthday.
While we were sitting there in front of the White House I had said some things--not harsh, just things--that made it clear that I am not a Bush supporter. He was silent. I'm pretty sure he's a Republican.
So let's review: he lives in the far suburbs outside metro range, is most likely a Republican, and is probably religious. He was wearing really terrible early 90s jeans (think the Z Cavaricci silhouette). He ferments fruit juice in Nalgene bottles and calls it wine. And yet...I really like him. I am not freaking out about these things. The last time I accidentally dated a Republican I cried so hard when I found out his political orientation that it was actually the last straw that sent me into two years of intensive therapy.
I haven't heard from him since Saturday afternoon when he dropped me off. But I am sticking with my pledge of doing everything wrong. If I haven't heard from him by Thursday I will contact him first. I'm not sure how much hope I have, and I will be so annoyed (putting it mildly) if it turns out to be a one night stand. But even having a boyfriend just for a weekend was really nice.
==================================
I have hedged against The Crazy by arranging a date for Tuesday with another guy from OK Cupid. He is 40 and sounded like a total pothead on the phone. He doesn't seem to have an aggressive instinct for dating, which would partly explain why he's still single at 40. I don't think I'll be interested, but he seems harmless enough and will take my mind off the Skydiver for a few hours. Look at me being all sensible. Even though I actually feel totally mushy and full of lurrrrrve. When I returned the (unused) rock climbing shoes, spending yet another 2.5 hours of my life on the metro, I didn't even have the heart to flirt with the gorgeous Sportrock guy. Much. I did wear booty jeans and a flirty little tank that showed off my toned arms and shoulders, though. I am not *that* far gone.
So on Thursday after I finished at the gym I rode the train super far-ass away into Virginia, walked through the rain while getting splashed by cars, and finally found Sportrock to rent some rock-climbing shoes. My consolation prize was a superdeliciouslygorgeous rock climbing boy flirting with me as he rented me my shoes. He was SO cute. In fact, I highly recommend all of you within metro range go to Sportrock just to look at him. He's short, though. Which of course is no object to me. Lucky me. Yummy. I almost wanted to tell him he was welcome to call the number on my rental form. All this took about 2.5 hours. That is how far away it is. As I wasted this 2.5 hours of my life, I knew it was an exercise in futility. I figured I would rent the shoes for two days, never use them, never see the Skydiver, and pay the $20 fee it would cost me to end that particular dating possibility.
My cell phone is broken (works only when plugged in, so it's more like a portable landline) and for various reasons I have no desire to replace it so I didn't have it with me. When I got home with the shoes I had two text messages. First at 10:30 in the morning asking me if I was still up for rappelling (ok, fine, he spelled it "repeling") or rock climbing in the morning. The second was at 7:17 pm, saying he misread his ticket and wouldn't be back in DC until 8 so did I want to do indoor rock climbing or something else. Of course.
I texted him that I'd just gotten back from renting the shoes, so indoor climbing sounded great, or we could do something else. He texted to ask where I'd found shoes to rent. I said Sportrock. That was all I heard from him, even though it is three hours earlier in California so it's not like he was going to bed.
I was like, "Of course. Of course I spent hours of my life renting these shoes and I will never see him again."
I went to bed. I figured he'd probably be getting on a plane around noon Eastern time and if I hadn't heard from him by then I wouldn't hear from him. All morning the phone didn't ring. Then! Behold! It rang. And it was the Skydiver. He was flying from San Diego to LA, and then LA to Dulles. His flight from LA was to leave at 11:30, and that's where he'd gotten the idea that he would arrive in DC at 11:30. We chatted a little about his conference. He asked if I still wanted to do something. I said yes, and I'd see what I could find was going on. He said he'd call me at 7:30 when he landed at Dulles.
Friday was my off day. I was working on a sewing project, a dress that's been in progress for over three weeks and is just not getting anywhere. It's not even a hard dress. The weddings I went to the past two weekends took up most of my time so I couldn't sew, but I still don't know why it's taking so long. I half-heartedly cleaned a little, but really there was no point. I knew that by the time he landed he'd be hungry and tired and would realize he just wasn't up for going out that night, and then our schedules wouldn't work out until eventually we gave up.
Luckily, Leilani IMed me. I hate IMing. I have it turned off on my gmail, but apparently although I am a gray dot to myself and google tells me that I am signed out, I show up as a green dot to everyone else. It's quite frustrating. So I called her so that we could talk in real life, which is much more productive than IM, and we decided to show off the fact that neither of us was working on a workday (she's taking time off between jobs) by having a drink in the afternoon. We decided on Proof, which ended up being closed, and instead walked down to Ten Penh and sat outside. I had two glasses of sparkling. I love sparkling wine. I was much more mellow after this.
I got home around 6:30. At 7:30 I heard nothing. 7:45, nothing. I hate boys. 8:00 the phone rings. I'm waiting for him to say that he is too tired and hungry (they don't serve food on transcontinental flights anymore). But no. He did not flake out. In fact, he came straight to my house from the airport--no going home to drop off luggage and change, no stopping for food, no passing go and collecting $200. He gets +50 thoughtfulness points for that.
I had decided, while hanging out with Leilani, that I wanted to go dancing. Country dancing. Where did this come from? I don't know. Even when I lived in Austin for four years I went out country dancing maybe three times total. And I went once pretty soon after I moved here, at least five years ago. I recalled that the place I had gone with a friend was in Alexandria, kind of tucked away into a warehouse park. All the girls gave us dagger stares for trying to swoop in and steal the men as it was obvious we were not Real Country Girls, and we danced with all the old men as it was not deemed safe to try to dance with anyone under age 60. I think those girls all had shivs tucked into their boots. We had a great time.
The almighty google told me the place is Nick's Night Club, and was still in existence. After his long drive from Dulles to my place, the Skydiver called me from downstairs and I got in the car and told him where we were going after a greeting kiss and noting that he is still cute (I keep expecting him not to be as cute as I remember). He was game and we headed to the dark recesses of Alexandria. One of his pictures on his OK Cupid profile is him engaged in what appears to be a flamenco competition, so I assumed he was a dancer. When I got him onto the dance floor for a pretty simple two-step I realized not so much. But that didn't stop him from dancing anyway. He even did some line dances, though as they are not partner dances he could easily have sat them out while I joined in (they were mostly women anyway). +15. He told me stories about his nerdly past, and getting beat up in junior high by fellow nerds because his online character had killed one of their online characters and using his saxophone case to protect himself (this action took place in the Band Hall). I told him to talk dirty to me in physics, and he said something funny about some kind of equation. We each had a drink, danced some, watched some karaoke, made out some, and finally at midnight I felt he had sufficiently proved his mettle and I suggested we head out. I had really enjoyed our evening; he is very affectionate and I was like, "That's right, everyone eat your heart out. I have a date who, to the naked eye, appears to be my boyfriend."
On our first date he had told me that he makes wine. I was impressed, asking questions about which grapes to choose, etc. etc. until he said he didn't make grape wine, but other fruits. Then I realized that by wine he meant "fermented fruit juice." Can you tell how cute he must be that this tidbit did not result in me heaping scorn and excoriation upon him? I sort of pretended to be interested, but made it clear that I really enjoy wine and have a palate that, while not likely to be hired by Wine Spectator anytime soon, has moved beyond fermented fruit juice. In the car he told me that he had some mango "wine," and we should go to one of our places and try it. It was in a Nalgene bottle. In his car. That had been parked at the airport all week. Lordy. I said he could come over, but I would like it to stay PG-13. He made a disappointed but half-agreeing noise.
I had dispiritedly done a half-hearted clean of my place; my biggest effort went to clearing all the junk off the bed and I even changed the sheets. I warned him it was messy. He had the decency to say it wasn't bad. Ha! I could only imagine that he was starving so I took pity and heated up some pizza and fed him. I took an obligatory sip of the mango "wine," which I told him was not the worst thing I'd ever drunk. He was satisfied.
About halfway through eating I had a sudden strong feeling of, "Get out of my house. Ugh." I don't even know where it came from. I was tired and had been stressed out all day (all week, let's be honest) that I wouldn't see him and I think I had a little bit of residual bad attitude left from that, even though he had in fact totally brought it and proved my pessimism wrong. We moved to the couch and were kissing and I was still not feeling it at all. I had enjoyed our time at the country bar so much and I think I didn't want to spoil that. i don't know.
But then he touched my left nipple and the only thought my brain could form--presumably way down in the most primitive, lizard cortex of it--was "You.In.Me.Now." It was crazy. It was a complete switch. I think I need to create a special shield for my left nipple to protect against this in the future. Janet Jackson might be able to make some recommendations.
I completely forgot what arguments there might have been against sleeping with him and led him to my bed. He brought his backpack, which I assumed had like a toothbrush and stuff. We were kissing and touching (but no oral--I refuse to be the first due to my "no unrequited blow jobs" rule). He's very good at the touching. I came very close to having an orgasm from his manual stimulation (and maybe even did have a mangled, abortive one, but I can't be sure)--and let us recall that I have never had an orgasm with another person. Eventually he asked if he could get a condom. He gets -45 for not respecting my request for PG13, but admittedly I wasn't doing anything to reinforce it. I said yes and he reached into the backpack. It hurt for the first few seconds but then my body seemed to recall some vague memory about how it worked. He is tall-ish (5'10" maybe?) and skinny and has a really delectable body for someone like me who is into tall and skinny. Also, he's not hairy at all. It was good, although I would have preferred him to finish faster. I think he was holding back on my account so eventually I suggested the doggie style, every woman's secret weapon.
There was that post-glow period of kissing and touching and snuggling. We dozed for a little bit and then he was wanting to go again. He finished a little faster this time. Good. But then he was IMMEDIATELY ready again. I have never experienced that. I thought I learned in health class about the refractory period (I still remember the name of it) and that they are really sensitive right after and can't even handle to be touched but apparently the man experiences no refractory period. By this time I was really sore and was angling myself so that he couldn't get too deep. He actually noticed, exhibiting what I find impressive insight and sensitivity, and asked if I was too sore. I said yes so we finished manually. At this point I was beginning to suspect that the backpack contained nothing but condoms, and that he planned to use them all. I was concerned.
We slept after that. Normally I cannot sleep with anyone else in the bed, and definitely not with someone touching me, and decidedly not with someone snuggling me. And yet--I did. Not the best or the most sleep ever, but sleep. We fit together really well, like the tangram game/puzzle my parents had when I was a kid. We slept in all kinds of different configurations, and all of them were really comfortable and nice. Unfortunately, he starts snoring the instant he is on his back (he warned me), and my favorite is him on his back and me on my stomach half lying on him with my head on his chest. But then I can't sleep because of the snoring so it's back to some variation of spoons.
In the morning there was one more time (all I could handle). Though I'd had my dimmer on in the bedroom the night before, it was better with full sunlight. It is definitely a pleasure to look at him. After, we lay there for a while and his stomach was growling like crazy! It was hilarious. I finally took pity on him and fed him eggs and a muffin.
The sex gets high marks for first time sex. It seemed like the kind that will only get better. It was not noticeably porn-influenced (my new pet peeve). In the morning I remembered why it is it's better to wait, because once you have The Sex the going on dates stops. Mission accomplished. From now on you just sit (or lay) around having sex and watching TV, sometimes simultaneously. I will try not to let that happen.
When we were talking about what to do when we realized he was wrong about when he'd be getting to DC, I suggested we could rock climb on Saturday instead (thus implying he'd be spending the night with me). He, of course, had plans to jump, but wasn't sure if his backup parachute was re-packed. If it wasn't then he couldn't jump. I was displeased that he wouldn't cancel the jump anyway, just on the strength of seeing me. In the morning I asked him what time he needed to be to the drop zone and he said he'd canceled his jump. The parachute was not re-packed. I am kind of irked that I'll never know if he would have canceled it anyway, but I was glad we could spend some time together.
We got dressed and headed out to Carderock. In the car I asked him whether the Geneva superconductor black hole creator thingy was going to obliterate the earth and made him explain dark matter and black holes to me. Just making sure he's smart. He is. We hold hands in the car. It's disgustingly cute.
When we got to the park, it turned out to be park cleanup day and the rock climbing trail was closed. Thwarted again! Those damn shoes. We hiked along the C&O Canal. It was a beautiful day and the greenery was lush and nature locked in nature's stillness. I said it was a beautiful day. He said it was more humid than San Diego.
I said, "Oh, I forgot that you just came from the most beautiful spot in the country."
He said, "You're beautiful. You make it beautiful here."
It sounds cheesy, but really y'alls it was so sweet. I thought I might melt a little.
We tottered out onto some rocks at the Potomac's edge and lay there, me with my head on his chest, for a while relaxing and talking. I decided to do everything wrong and pretend that he is my boyfriend. It was nice to have a boyfriend and he is just so damn sweet.
Back in the parking lot he showed me rock climbing knots and how to belay should a day actually arise when we go rock climbing. We drove back to the city. His GPS tells him to take the most inefficient routes possible but I didn't see a point in fighting with her. We drove by the White House, and then the Renwick Gallery, which I remembered had been having a decorative arts exhibit that I hadn't been to see. I mentioned it, and he said, "You want to go now?" Seriously, he's so sweet. I said sure, we drove around and finally found parking and headed to the Renwick. Unfortunately, the exhibit was over and they're putting a glass exhibit but it doesn't open until next week, so we just walked through the small permanent collection. Then we sat in Lafayette Park and ate apples dipped in peanut butter I had packed as a snack and gave our cores to squirrels and sat on the benches with his arm around me.
Eventually I said that I should let him get home. He didn't even know if his house was still standing after a week away. I asked him where he lives. He said Woodbridge. He owns a house there, bought it when he was 24 or 25. And I thought I was doing well to own my home a few months before my 30th birthday.
While we were sitting there in front of the White House I had said some things--not harsh, just things--that made it clear that I am not a Bush supporter. He was silent. I'm pretty sure he's a Republican.
So let's review: he lives in the far suburbs outside metro range, is most likely a Republican, and is probably religious. He was wearing really terrible early 90s jeans (think the Z Cavaricci silhouette). He ferments fruit juice in Nalgene bottles and calls it wine. And yet...I really like him. I am not freaking out about these things. The last time I accidentally dated a Republican I cried so hard when I found out his political orientation that it was actually the last straw that sent me into two years of intensive therapy.
I haven't heard from him since Saturday afternoon when he dropped me off. But I am sticking with my pledge of doing everything wrong. If I haven't heard from him by Thursday I will contact him first. I'm not sure how much hope I have, and I will be so annoyed (putting it mildly) if it turns out to be a one night stand. But even having a boyfriend just for a weekend was really nice.
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I have hedged against The Crazy by arranging a date for Tuesday with another guy from OK Cupid. He is 40 and sounded like a total pothead on the phone. He doesn't seem to have an aggressive instinct for dating, which would partly explain why he's still single at 40. I don't think I'll be interested, but he seems harmless enough and will take my mind off the Skydiver for a few hours. Look at me being all sensible. Even though I actually feel totally mushy and full of lurrrrrve. When I returned the (unused) rock climbing shoes, spending yet another 2.5 hours of my life on the metro, I didn't even have the heart to flirt with the gorgeous Sportrock guy. Much. I did wear booty jeans and a flirty little tank that showed off my toned arms and shoulders, though. I am not *that* far gone.