Friday night, Chris and I stopped by my mom's for a quick visit and to get a bite to eat. (There is ALWAYS food there and I was starving.) She was having a dinner party, her guests included my aunt, Helen, and 2 other Greek ladies from the old neighborhood that grew up with my mom. One of the ladies is a Reiki Healer (she does it on the side) and the other was into those ionic footbaths that pull all the toxins out of your body from your feet. (Don't knock it until you've tried. I did. I felt like a million bucks afterwards. Seriously.) Then, of course, my stepdad, George.

 

As soon as we said our hellos and exchanged hugs and kisses, Chris and I made a plate. They had already finished and were working on dessert. Chris was sitting at the table and, all of a sudden, George started sweating and swaying. He asked for an icepack. He has been having these "attacks" since the summer. No one knows what's wrong, some doctors have suggested its vertigo. It has to be frustrating for all of them because he can't work and is more moody than normal. Chris got up as my mom tended to George. We were holding our plates and eating by the counter. Suddenly, George lunged for the sliding glass door leading out to the deck. He threw it open and landed on the deck where he proceeded to heave his guts out.

 

It was shocking. Apparently, it has become a normal part of life though because everyone continued to eat. It was so bad that Chris noted it was, "gnarly." I couldn't eat, at least, not in the kitchen. So, Chris and I made our way to the opposite side of the house (where we could still hear the puking, albeit in the distance.) Quite frankly, I'm sure the neighbors on both sides heard it, too. It was pretty gnarly.

 

Please, don't think I'm callus. George is dramatic. Moody. And, a pain in the neck. He is my mother's fifth child. I honestly don't know how she has managed to stay sane all these years (35 long ones!) without becoming an alcoholic. I would have started self-medicating years ago. I digress.

 

Truthfully, I can't imagine being sick and knowing you're sick but no one else knowing the cause or the cure.

 

Chris and I migrated back to the kitchen after we licked our plates clean. Much to Chris' delight, the conversation at the table revolved around medicinal marijuana. Chris pulled up a seat at the table, while George was still heaving on the deck, lying half on the kitchen floor and half on the deck. (With a pillow.) Chris thinks of himself as an expert with all things pot related. He gave them the name of his "guy" along with a summary of the difference between medicinal pot and recreational. My mother and my aunt listened intently as they fussed with the dishes. I could see the wheels turning in both of their heads. My aunt looking for something to ease her pain for the loss of her son and my mom thinking to herself that I'm dating a drug addict. (FYI, he is not.)

 

There were so many things happening in that room that I decided to sit quietly on the arm of an oversized chair in the adjoining living room and text my sister, Marya, the play-by-play of the conversation and actions of everyone in the house. Her text responses included a lot of "WHAT?????" and "that's embarrassing!" There were quite a few of "I know. Right?" from my end of the text chain. When I thought it couldn't get crazier, Chris came over to me and asked if there was another bathroom away from the kitchen. Uh oh, I thought. Poor guy. He had eaten something that didn't sit well and needed a private bathroom STAT. I ushered him upstairs.

 

Did I tell you about the time that I flooded that bathroom and toilet water came rushing downstairs through the globe light in the hallway? Hmm. More on that later… I was starting to have flashbacks but, I didn't panic.

 

When I came back downstairs, one of the ladies made a bee line to the bathroom near the kitchen. From the sound of things, she ate something disagreeable, too. Ugh.

 

Once again, I thought the explosion of vomit on the deck and bathroom explosions were the end of the excitement for the evening but, no, I had miscalculated the craziness that is my family. Can I just tell you? One of the ladies exclaimed, "He has the evil eye!" You may not know what that is unless you're Greek. I have a very vivid memory of it from my childhood.

 

Someone gave my mom the evil eye when I was much younger. She was very sick so, my grandmother performed an exorcism of sorts on her via cupping. Do you know what cupping is? I think Gwyneth Paltrow recommends it. You heat the rim of a shot glass and place it on the skin, typically, the back. It pulls out the evil eye/negativity in the body. I watched my grandmother do this to my mother. I can never un-see it and the memory of it, clearly, has etched itself on my brain.

 

So, anyway, it seemed obvious to the ladies that someone had given George the evil eye so, they got out a shot glass and said the evil eye prayer and anointed it with, the ever-holy, olive oil. They ganged up on him to "cure" him but he brushed them off. At that point, I grabbed Chris' arm and said, "Let’s go. We're outa here."

 

We got in the car, I felt him look at me incredulously. He got the hand and we peeled out of the driveway.

I went back to Betty for a follow-up reading. I can’t believe I paid 50 bucks. Ugh. I was curious to hear what she had to say this time. The reading wasn’t as good as the first. I didn’t really want to hear about love. Truth be told, I was afraid she might say I wasn’t with the right guy.

I’ve been having mixed feelings about Chris. One minute I’m in love the next, I’m not sure. I suppose that’s normal. You’re probably wondering why I could be so quick to guess it may be over after I’ve declared my volcanic explosion love. The truth is, I’m scared to death of falling in love. I’m afraid of it being one sided. I can’t even count the number of times I thought, “this could be the guy.” I’ve foolishly told friends and family, only to feel embarrassed when it didn’t pan out.

I’ve forced myself to live in the present with Chris. It’s so much easier. I thought I was over the baby making part of life so; I stopped thinking about husbands and wondering whether or not I was going to be a mom. I hope that doesn’t sound lame. If it does then, I hope I’m not alone in thinking that way, at least…

I don’t mind being physically alone (other than missing sex). I have close friends and family. What I don’t like is not fitting in. I don’t like people asking me if I have children or if I’m married. It makes me feel like they assume there is something wrong with me.  Through my 30s, every time I started dating someone new they would inevitably ask why I was still single and then ask if there was something wrong with me. Rude.

So, I don’t mind being alone (for the most part) but I do want to be with a partner. I want to be with someone whom I can understand and who gets me. I want someone who really likes being with me and feels happier when he’s with me. I want to feel the same way about him. It would be really nice to find someone who can appreciate all my quirkiness and I appreciate his peccadillos. I need the physical piece, too. Heck, I have plenty of friends that accept my slice of crazy and I love theirs. I’m not looking for another best friend. I’m looking for a full-time partner and lover. Chris seems to fit the bill. (I just hope he feels the same!)

Anyway, she said everything was good in my relationship world. She told me upfront I was with "the guy."  In fact, she said the cards promised I’d have a healthy baby, too. First, she said a little girl. As we pulled more cards, she said boy. Then, she asked if twins run in my family. They don’t. She also told me that I might need to take time off from work near the end of the pregnancy because I’d be huge. That’s not going to happen. Unless I have a whole basketball team in there, I am only gaining baby weight. (I’m down 4lbs, only 6 more to go!)

So, my personal life, according to Betty, is going to be fantastic. Phew.

The real reason I wanted to see her was about another subject entirely and if figures, we didn’t address it until my last 5 minutes. Now, that I’ve made my 300 words commitment, I wanted to know if there were published books in my future. She said, “Yes. At least, three.”

Can I just tell you? I nearly jumped up and gave her a high five. That’s what I wanted to hear!

Can I just tell you? I love that man. I got everything off my chest and we, calmly, discussed everything with a very open dialogue. He explained what he meant and stressed (again and again) that he doesn’t have any interest in the old girlfriend, he is still interested in getting to know me better and see where our relationship goes. Me too.

We had an easy dinner at the local pizza shop after an evening walk. I’m telling you, if you can find a partner who can talk openly about their feelings and needs, hang on to them. It makes it so much easier! So, nothing really exciting to talk about there. (Other than the fact that I feel like I won the lottery finding a man who can express his feelings and not be offended or put off when I tell him mine.)

In other news, I was late this morning. I’m not feeling bad about it though. It was more of an act of God. My cell phone/alarm clock died overnight. Fortunately, Chris woke up before 8am, thinking to himself that it was weird that there was so much light in my room yet he never heard my alarm go off. I jumped out of bed and almost had a heart attack when I heard him, in my dream, say, “Um, Stace, it’s 7:52.” Ugh.

I flew out of bed, splashed water on my face, dabbed on some deodorant, spritzed some perfume and got myself out the door by 8:13am. That could be a Stacey World Record on getting out the door presentable enough for work and pulling together a breakfast (for the road) and lunch.

Through my calculations, I would only be 15-20 minutes late. Not an unusual late time for me but 495 was a parking lot. In fact, it was so bad that I actually turned around to go back towards my house to take back roads to work. Bummer. I was 45 minutes late. Again, act of God and baby steps…

I talked to Chris last night. He sees a therapist monthly, I think it helps him express himself to me more easily, which I like. To a point. Anyway, I nonchalantly asked how it went. He told me he wasn’t sure if he needed to continue because he didn’t have any major issues to navigate. I assumed he needed to talk more about the stress of his home renovations. So, I suggested he find someone with a little more business experience. He explained it wasn’t that and he talks to her to get a gauge on what’s normal.

For example, one of the topics they covered was whether or not is was normal to stay friends with an ex. (This is something I practice and have told him about. Most of the men I have dated were really nice guys…) He specifically called out one of his exes who really liked to hike. He thought she was cool and fun and would like to go hiking with her. Immediately, my heart sunk. I asked, “Did Brooke ask you if Stacey likes to hike?” He said, “No.” Apparently, she assured him that people break up for a reason and it is not normal to be friends with an ex unless you were friends with them before and had established that foundation.

I couldn’t get past it. I told him later in the conversation that I just couldn’t get that part of our conversation out of my head and my feelings were really hurt. Why wouldn’t he think I was really fun and want to go hiking with me? I explained that while I am still friends with my exes, I would prefer to go hiking with him than someone I used to date. In fact, the thought of going out with someone else hasn’t crossed my mind.

He apologized and told me I had nothing to worry about. Can I just tell you? I hope our date tonight isn't our last.

I got to bed at a reasonable hour last night and made it to work only 8 minutes late this morning. I think I was catching up on sleep missed from two nights ago. Work in progress. Just so you don’t think I’m a crazy person and terrible for being late daily, I roll in about the same time as everyone else. Plus, I typically stay later to make up for any lost time in the morning or skip my allotted lunch hour. I just want to add a little more structure in my life and get to work at the time I am supposed to be there. For me.

Last night, I made it to the gym and went for a walk/stroll. My apartment is a disaster but I can breeze through it tonight before Chris gets there and make it look presentable. I’ll clean on Friday.

On my walk last night, I talked to Heather and exchanged updates. She is up for the 300 word challenge. We will be each other’s sponsor. During our chat, she told me about a science project she started in her home a few weeks ago. She had noticed some caterpillars in her yard and decided to adopt them. She brought them in her kitchen and fed them milkweed and whatever caterpillars eat. (She's vegan so no creepy creatures were hurt during her experiment.)

I’m not sure if they were happy or not but they did transform. She got to watch the whole thing as they emerged from their cocoons as beautiful butterflies. We talked about transformation and how life, inevitably, throws us fast balls, curve balls, change-ups and knuckle balls. Through that, we grow and build upon our character. We talked about the “goo” in the cocoon where the caterpillar transforms. She likened it to shitty experiences, like heart-ache, financial problems or feelings of failure. Most of us learn from those things and come out the other side a little better, maybe worn out with more gray hair and wrinkles but with more humility and typically stronger, two beautiful things.

Can I just tell you? I feel like I’m finally emerging from my cocoon. I was looking around the gym last night and trying to guess the general age of everyone. Do the women in their 20s and 30s realize how much opportunity they have now? I am happy but I wish I could have come out of this cocoon before all the gray hair and fine lines.

My birthday was this weekend and among the Facebook “happy birthdays” was a shared post from my very dear, David. The post was from someone he either follows or was shared by one of his friends. Regardless, it was meaningful to me. It essentially stated that life is, in fact, long, not short and we have enough time on this plain/plane to make a difference if we want to. For example, the man who created Pringles has also written 87 novels. Eighty-seven novels! Plus, he created one of the greatest chips man has ever known. Crazy. His motto was to write 300 words per day, every day.

I was out to dinner with Chris on my birthday and he asked if I felt any different. I started to tell him about the 300 word challenge but then trailed off with some bullshit about not liking to commit myself to anything. That is true, considering I just ate 2 birthday cupcakes in addition to the cake pop I had earlier. Ummm, haven’t I committed to losing 10lbs? And, getting to work on time? These last two “commitments” have been on my plate for 15 years. I’m guessing it’s about time to make those a reality. Why not commit to the 300 words, too?

So, here it is. I commit to losing 10lbs by Christmas. I commit to getting to work on time, starting tomorrow. And, I commit to writing 300 words a day, starting today. I am 42 years and 3 days old. I should have 108,000 words (180 pages) down by the time I turn 43, I should weigh between 120 and 123lbs and I should have a world’s record for being on time for work. Well, a Stacey World Record for timeliness. While I’m at it, I’m going to get my debt off my plate.

Can I just tell you? The buck stops here. Game on.

Well, I'm not pregnant. I know what you're thinking. WHAT???? I was so sure I was pregnant that I had morning sickness. In the evening. There was a minor scare, turns out, I'm just aging. It happens. I feel secure enough with my fantastic life to accept that. So, that's good.

 

Anyway, now that I’m not pregnant, it's probably a good a time as any to finally lose those pesky 10lbs. I am ready to have the best body of my life. Why? Because. That's it. Just, because. I enlisted the help of my heartbroken friend at work. Normally, I wouldn't ask anyone for help because I know what to do, essentially. I just choose not to do it. I asked her because I feel like she could use some of her energy to focus on my inability to get myself on a routine rather than the cheater's inability to man up.

 

So, today is day one. I started well. My diet today has been excellent except for the Starbuck's cake pop and sweet ice tea/lemonade. Other than that, I had my usual breakfast, a protein smoothie. My mid-morning snack is one serving of mixed nuts, lunch was chicken with steamed asparagus and my mid-afternoon snack was watermelon with feta and mint. The Starbucks trip was early afternoon. I'm also going to try to sit on my ball more often and use my 2lb hand weights. I should also try to plank for 60 seconds. I'd like to work my way up to 5 of those a day.

 

Apparently, the trick is to create a routine. Pick your poison/snack food and eat it in moderation. I like cookies, chocolate, ice cream and pudding. Wouldn't it be nice to have one serving a day? She said she eats what she wants on the weekends. I also have to go to bed at the same time every night. I've been trying to do that for months but, according to my sleep app, I can't get to bed by 10pm to save my life. Ugh.

 

She also suggested I add a morning walk. She gets up at 5am every day and takes an hour walk. Five AM?? Are you kidding me? I can't imagine that happening but, I suppose I could do 6am. I've been paying $19 per month to Weight Watchers, I'm going to have to use that again, too. That is a great tool for monitoring what you consume and whether or not you got your suggested servings of vegetables and protein.

 

My goal is to loose 10lbs by Thanksgiving. Can I just tell you? That gives me 20 weeks to lose .5lbs/week. I weighed myself at the doctor's office. I currently weigh 130lbs. Now, is the time. If I'm not growing a little nugget than I'm going to take the opportunity to prepare my body to be the best it's been in years. My little nugget could be just waiting for me to be ready. Maybe I should get a soft serve tonight…

In other news, I'm with someone. Up until this point, I thought, "This may be THE guy." Now, we're faced with an opportunity to meet my family and it's giving me a stomachache. My anxiety levels are through the roof. Normally, a Starbucks cake pop would do the trick but, I'm feeling this may call for something stronger, Dairy Queen. It's funny how a soft serve makes everything seem better. I was cut from the Pop Warner cheerleading squad when I was in the 4th or 5th grade. My family owned an Italian restaurant, the effects of all-you-can-eat pasta and pizza had permeated my small frame. I was the only chunky one and the only one cut from the squad. Could be where some of my issues stem from… I cried, my mom took me to Frosty Boy. I felt better almost immediately. I digress.

 

We saw each other last night for dinner. One of his friends was visiting from California and joined us for dinner. More accurately, I joined them. His friend is closer to my age. When sitting at the table with both of them, it struck me almost immediately that my man is too young for me. I felt like the better match was with his friend, who has four children, is currently unemployed and has been for a year. Oh, and smokes, I've never smoked a cigarette in my life.

 

 I am my own worst enemy. Why on earth wouldn't I prefer the man with a job, a home, a car and who, without question, adores me? I do but, my mind still wandered. We started talking about the weekend. I had planned on going to the beach with my family whom he has not met yet. All of a sudden, I felt a pang in my stomach. Are they going to judge him? Will they judge me? They love me. They want me to be happy. This man is the same age as my sisters' husband and fiancé. My sisters are 10 and 11 years younger than me.

 

Originally, I thought it was fine that he meet my family. I was excited. But, after our dinner when my craziness made me think we weren't as much of a match as I originally thought, I had an anxiety attack. What if they love him and it doesn't work out? Or worse, what if I love him and it doesn't work out?

Not me. Not my friend but the guy who calls my friend every morning. This man is "perfect" according to my friend. He is  a self-made millionaire, handsome, fit and flies his own jet. He sounds pretty good to me, too, except the married part. Apparently, he's someone else's perfect. She dated him in high school and dumped him, not once, but twice. She claims he is her soul mate, yet she let him go, twice.

 

How can this be? I always thought you would know immediately, like some magic spell broken. I wonder if I kissed my soul mate good bye. Christ, I hope not!

 

He calls her almost every morning on his way into work and talks for an hour. Occasionally, he'll tell her he loves her. She loves him with her entire being. Upon hearing the whole story, I couldn't help but think he may love her but it doesn't seem to be the love we're all looking for. Is it?

 

I always believed this notion of a soul mate but now, I'm not so sure. What is it? I do believe we have many opportunities for re-birth whether it's in the body you have or the one in the next life. So, I guess, if I believe that, then there should be some opportunity to re-connect with souls you have loved before. If that's the case, are some of our friends soul mates? I certainly love many of mine like family…

 

Okay, so maybe he is a soul mate. A married one, though. You know those situations always end badly. Occasionally, the woman gets the man. He leaves his wife and marries the one with whom he had the affair and they live happily ever after. I'm pretty sure that's how fairy tales started.

 

I'm taken with the story. I love my friend, she is terrific. When I first met her, I knew right away we'd be fast friends. Maybe she was a sister or best friend in a past life. I'm just concerned this man is going to ruin her already fragile life. She's a cancer survivor. She tells me her perspective on life changed when faced with a life or death situation, namely, the cancer. When her doctors told her she was out of the woods, she reached out to aforementioned married man. She wanted to tell him her feelings for him so, she wrote him a letter to which he responded, he wanted to see her and tell her in person how he felt.

 

Turns out, he was unhappily married and when their eyes met, passion got the best of them. That part, I get. When you're not happy with some aspect of your life sometimes, you need a little spark to make you feel alive again. Also, when did you enjoy drinking more, before or after it was legal? As I recall, drinking was a whole lot more exciting before I turned 21. After 21, it was just an expensive escape that left me feeling lousy for a few days. Adultery, like teenage drinking, is frowned upon. Rightly so, the first thing you lose is your ability to think rationally. Maybe that's the fun of it?

 

She seems to think that after the cheater tells his wife, eventually, the wife is going to be able to forgive him and be respectful of the mistress, my friend. I almost choked when she told me that. I've never been married nor cheated on but, I can tell you right now, I would never be friendly with the mistress. For the children's sake, I would go to the weddings and promise not to make a scene but, that's it.

 

My biggest concern is my friend's well-being. That's first and foremost. I'm also interested in this soul mate business. Is it a fairy tale?

 

So, the inevitable has happened. The cheater crossed paths with my friend seemingly by an act of God. That's the way my friend took it, anyway. Truth be told, when she told me, I felt the same way. After he devastated her once again by reminding her that he was married and planned to try to work it out with his wife, on his expensive speed boat, he found her on a little sailboat in the middle of a lake. They rekindled the romance and parted ways. My friend felt over the moon once again only to be ignored by the man for three days. On day three, she called and was met by Mr. Hyde. He was cold and told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to make it work with his wife and he, indeed, loved her.

 

I'm not sure I can manage this rollercoaster anymore. I can feel her pain. Heck, I cried for a solid 6 weeks after Elvis broke my heart. This man, to her and confirmed by Betty, my psychic, is her soul mate. Elvis was not my soul mate nor was he in my life for a significant amount of time. The cheater is a high school sweetheart whose heart was broken many years ago by my friend. Twice.

 

I have compassion for both women involved. I do not have any for the cheater. He is weak on every level. His reasoning is he made a vow to God and does not want to hurt his wife or children. Then why give in to the temptation in the first place, guy? 

My date with the young guy started off a little shaky on my end. Normally, I'll wear a cute dress on a first date but during our last call, I thought he said, "...casual, jeans maybe..." (Full disclosure: I'm going deaf. According to the doctor, I'm not and I hear just fine but, I need to shove the iPhone inside my ear occasionally to hear what the hell the other person is saying. Forget about it if they have an accent or are a quiet talker.)

 

I love the fact that all the staff at Cuchi Cuchi wear fun outfits so, I could really get dolled up but, I looked at the website and dress code was casual but designer duds. I don't have any designer clothes so, I opted for jeans and vintage Ann Taylor pumps. (They were brand new in 2009.)

 

I called him 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there and told him I was going to be 10 minutes late. Shocking, I know. I really tried though. Traffic was bad. He was cool on the phone and assured me it was no problem. He had a cocktail and would be waiting for me at the bar in a blue shirt. Two thoughts raced to my mind, one, he has blue eyes (guys with blue eyes always wear blue shirts, shows off their eyes) second, I was under-dressed. I knew it in my gut.

 

Sure enough, I walked in and he was dressed in slacks and a pressed blue button-up. What-ah-yah-gonna-do? I was embarrassed but just let it pass, I knew I looked good. He wasn't quite what I expected. I knew I was going to like him regardless, before I got there. He was awesome on the phone and I liked his energy. I wasn't sure if I liked the thick beard. He told me he had a beard but I expected the young guy 5 o'clock shadow crap. Nope, he was sporting a full Grizzly Adams beard, albeit trimmed and professional. He didn't look 8 years younger. I liked that.

 

We bee-lined to our table, a little two-top in the corner by the window. Romantic. The couple next to us was pretty lovey-dovey. I didn't mind. Within a few minutes, I was completely at ease with him. I didn't give my jeans a second thought. He reminded me of my friend, Jamie, who I love dearly. He was really quick to laugh. I liked that, too. Especially when the topic of my silly blog came up and he told me he loved it and would like to be a character in a story. Hmm, I thought, maybe you'll be more than just a few short chapters of my story...

 

We had martini cocktails and he asked me if I wanted him to order a few things or if I'd prefer to pick my own things. He had been there many times, it was one of his favorite restaurants so he knew the menu well. I gave him some suggestions on things I liked and we ordered together. The longer we sat there and talked, the more I liked him and the less I noticed the beard. The beard wasn't terrible to begin with but, I've never dated a man with that much facial hair. I wasn't sure if I'd like kissing him with all that stuff going on.

 

We were done dinner by 8pm. It was early for a Friday night and we both got stuck in too much traffic to end the night so early. Besides, I was really enjoying talking to him and he seemed to be enjoying my company, too. He suggested we continue the evening elsewhere. I said, "absolutely!" We made a plan to go to the Foundation Room which is a very cool bar attached to the House of Blues. Side note: I met Peter Wolf there. I was definitely down with that.

 

There was a cool band playing, we got a couple more cocktails (very strong vodka drink) and made our way to a quiet spot to talk. No subject was off limits. He smiled and told me I had tried to ask him three times about his age. (I knew he was avoiding the question!) He confessed he was 32. Not eight, but nine years my junior! At that point, I didn't care. I liked him no matter what age difference. I had a fleeting thought about my aging eggs but let that thought fall by the wayside. I have always landed right where I needed to be at every point in my life. Some of the paths I took to get to those points were harder than others but, I have never been at an impasse. This guy was someone I wanted to know regardless of where we ended up romantically.

 

We ended up closing that place and still had more to say. So, he asked if I wanted to go bowling across the street or listen to jazz at Wally's. I told him if we go bowling, he'd need to ask them if they could put up the safety bumpers for me. He laughed and asked if I was serious. I said, "yes." We went to Wally's.

 

If you're not familiar with Wally's, it's a little hole in the wall near Berklee College of Music. I think it's the best jazz club in the area. It dark and cozy. It was crowded when we got there and the band was just getting off break. We grabbed a table next to the band. He asked if he could sit next to me (as opposed to across from me.) Not only was I feeling very relaxed from all that vodka but, by that point, I was really attracted to him. I said, "of course." He sat in close and put his arm around my chair, occasionally rubbing my back.

 

The music was smooth and really good. He was looking at me, I turned my head toward him and he leaned in to kiss me. I think I surprised him because after he kissed me, I grabbed his shirt and kissed him again. The beard wasn't even noticeable during our make-out session. This continued for a solid 10 minutes, at which point, he asked me if I wanted to get out of there so he could put his hands on me a little more inappropriately. I nearly sprinted out holding his hand. We walked out arm in arm towards his car. He held the door open for me. When he got in, the kissing continued. He was a perfect gentleman. Everything was perfect, actually. By 2AM, we both knew it was time to go home.

 

I teared up a little on the way back to my car. I couldn't remember a better date. To think I had considered cancelling! Shame on me.

 

He texted me within 40 minutes to make sure I made it home safely then, again, in the morning. His morning text was, "I'm looking forward to seeing you again. I just did the math and can't recall ever being on a 7hr date. :)"

 

Can I just tell you? That was my best first date ever.

My new blind date knew so much about me through my blog and Google, I thought I'd do a little digging too. After he called, I called Heather to let her know. She was thrilled but tried to stay low-key about it. (My closest friends have all gone through the roller coaster that is my love life. They want me to find "someone" as much as my family. (I guess that would make them extended family. Right?) Anyway, she explained she didn't know much about him. She said he kind of kept to himself, traveled a lot and worked on his home. She told me David talked to him more because they've shared some beers.

 

Before we hung up, I casually inquired about his age. Not for any reason in particular, I assumed he was our age. Can I just tell you? She answered, "I don't know. Twenty-eight? Thirty? Maybe he's 35 or 45, I don't know." I gasped, "Twenty-eight????? That is way too young!" What on earth am I going to talk about with a 28 year old? I thought. She back pedaled a little and said maybe he's 45. She explained, as a married woman, she doesn't pay any attention to other men and had no idea how old he was. I half believed her. At least about the not-paying-attention-to-the-other-men part. I knew I needed to Google him. I really didn't want to waste my time with a 28 year old. I'd rather take my chances with the 50-something Middle Eastern guy.

 

I Googled him and found his LinkedIn page. He started college the year I started teaching high school, 1998. That could mean he was either 8 years younger OR he could have started college late. Of course, I was hoping for the latter. Then, I did a search for images. As soon as I saw the picture, I knew. He was eight years younger. Ugh. I immediately felt like canceling. Why on Earth would a guy that age want to go out with me? It couldn't be more than a brief fling. My eggs aren't getting any younger, I'm not sure I feel like wasting my time on something fleeting. Plus, I'm pretty sure that would put me in cougar territory. I am in my 40s you know?

 

Then, of course, I started thinking about what was inevitable. I'd start wearing bedazzled leopard prints and tight pants. My cleavage would finally see the light and I'd probably starting wearing more makeup. "Oh geez," I thought, "someone please shake some sense into me if I start dressing the part!"

 

Honestly, I don't know why I think like that. My Middle Eastern octopus man is 9 years my senior. I didn't bat an eye about that. He and I had plenty to talk about. Besides, this guy was A-OK on the phone and seems pretty put together. Maybe he's a really young looking 42 year old...

I spent this Mother's Day (and every Mother's Day) at my mom's playing with my darling godchild and my other nieces and nephew. I love all of them but, by the end of the day, I was exhausted. I had been in the car for approximately 2 minutes when I got a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. Normally, I would have let it go to voicemail but I think I was half delirious from running around with the kids all day and eating enough food to keep me full for a week so, I picked up.

 

I was really surprised when the caller identified himself as my friend Heather's neighbor. She had actually texted me that morning to ask how it was going with Kristina's friend because her neighbor asked if he could call me. "Of course," I texted back, "give him my number." (I'm afraid Kristina's friend may not be the tall soul mate with dark hair Betty was talking about, unfortunately. I'm just not feeling it.)

 

Well, this guy was definitely not wasting any time. I didn't expect to hear from him for at least a week. That's how everyone else operates. No, this guy was sharp. I could tell he knew exactly what he wanted. He started the conversation by telling me he was afraid he had an advantage over me because Heather also gave him my email. Now, that sounds innocent enough but he took it a step further. He told me from that small bit of information, he found my blog. I immediately felt my face go scarlet. The lead story was how I clogged a toilet at some random guy's house! He quickly added, "you're really funny and a very good writer." That put me at ease. Slightly.

 

I told him he knew enough about me and asked him to tell me more about him. He's a sales director of a high end audio company. (Hmm, I thought, how do you feel about karaoke?) He also said he likes live music. (Me too.) We chit-chatted for another 10 minutes and he asked if I'd like to go out with him for coffee, drinks, lunch or dinner. I opted for a dinner date, making dinner is my most dreaded time of the day. He offered to drive up here and go someplace close to me but, he confessed he wasn't that familiar with the area so, I would need to give him some direction. I told him I would try to find something fun that's good. I'd imagine he got a sense of my poor judgment in food from my blog because there was a brief silence. I quickly told him I normally go out in the Boston area which is why there weren't any restaurants jumping out at me. Truth be told, I rarely go out. That's why I wasn't coming up with a great local spot.

 

Immediately, he suggested Cambridge. Then, he said, "How about Cuchi Cuchi?" Can I just tell you? I love Cuchi Cuchi! I haven't been in years but I loved it the second I walked in with Heather and Kristina years ago. I've been dying to go. "Yes, please!" He asked me what time would be best and let me know he would call for reservations. I told him, "7 on Friday works best for me." He said he would call me within 24 hours to finalize everything.

 

So far, so good. He liked my blog, thought I was both funny and a good writer, called me well in advance for a date and then promised to follow up regarding plans. I like this guy.

 

We said goodbye. My phone rang again 10 minutes later. He was calling to confirm earlier reservations because the restaurant's latest reservation is 6pm. He asked if that was okay, of course, I said, "yes." It was okay. He then asked me if I wanted him to pick me up or if I wanted to meet him at Heather's house. He wanted me to be comfortable. (More bonus points.)

 

I didn't want him to go out of his way so, I told him I'd meet him at the restaurant. He said, "Great. I'll be sitting at the bar." (The other good thing about reading my blog, he knows I'm perpetually late.) My blind date was efficient too, before we hung up he said, "You don't know what I look like." I thought about it for a minute. I assumed I'd be able to pick out the solo guy at the bar when I arrived but, why waste any time? Especially if I'm late. He said, "I'm 6' tall with dark hair."

 

I immediately gave a fist pump to the big guy in the sky. I'm counting on you, Betty.

I couldn't wait for date #2. I had to wait 10 loooooong days but, at least, it was scheduled in advance. I hate the wondering-if-there-will-be-another-date part. I think it's always a common-sense business plan to schedule a follow up meeting and just plain old good manners, especially when the heart is on the line.

I thought of him often and agonized over an outfit. Every chance I got; I looked for a new dress. Unfortunately, I didn't find one that was fun, flirty and fitting for the "BEST 2ND DATE EVER" which, I assumed, we'd have…

In the middle of our 10-day hiatus, he called. That's so much better than texting. You just can't always rely on the vibe of the text. I liked talking to him and he continued to be funny and charming. Good signs. We had to change our date night to a day earlier. Worked for me. Maybe I would see him both nights, I thought.

On the day of our date, I left work early because I knew how long it would take me to get ready and I wasn't entirely convinced of my outfit. It looked great last summer but this year, with a few extra pounds, I just wasn't sure. Besides, it was the best option I had. Plus, I had a pair of Spanx with my name written all over them. 

He texted me when I got home to ask me to meet him earlier. I panicked. There was no way I could shower, dress for "BEST 2ND DATE EVER" and get there significantly early. I told him I'd try and I did, but my outfit, shoes and jewelry did not want to cooperate. I ended up being 10 minutes late. I'm sure he was annoyed.

The parking lot was full except for a non-spot in the furthest corner of the lot. I took it. It was either that or valet. I have spent enough money on parking tickets, tows and every other parking related hassle over the last 10 years to last a lifetime. I do not valet. (Of course, I get irritated when a guy refuses to valet and would rather drive around looking for a spot, like me. I’m full of double standards. C’est la vie.)

He was standing in the back of the restaurant talking on the phone. He looked annoyed. I rushed in. My towering heels weren't as comfortable as they were the first night. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he continued his conversation and walked directly to the bar.

When he finally came in, the conversation started a little slower. He asked if I minded sitting at the bar, I did mind but, not terribly, and I was late, so I said it was fine. Things picked up by the time I gulped my martini. He was having a little trouble at work. There were back-to-back meetings that weren't going as well as he planned. I could tell he was under some stress. He asked me if I trusted him. To which I replied, "of course." He ordered us dinner and wine. I liked that. I have a tendency to choose the worst thing on the menu.

The food was amazing. We were having a little more fun in the conversation but I think the drinks may have hit him faster than they hit me. Or, it could have been that he was 3 cocktails ahead of me. (He got to the restaurant 40 minutes before me. My bad.) All of a sudden, he seemed to have arms everywhere, including a hand up my dress. (Thank God, I chose to forego the Spanx! Could you imagine? If you know me well, of course you could.) 

Now, I am no prude but I am very particular about making a scene in public. A man's arm up a woman's skirt at a semi-busy bar is a scene in public. And, I was part of it. My eyes lit up, round like saucers. It really took me by surprise and I didn't like it.

I have to regress for a minute to explain the extent of my discomfort of public scenes. I was at a friend's wedding years ago. She married an Asian guy and had sushi with the most beautiful green butter on the side. I had never eaten sushi before and I wanted to give it a try. I loaded on the green stuff because everything tastes better with more toppings. (I was heavier then…) Well, as you have already guessed, it was wasabi. The second it all went in my mouth, my eyes started watering and my throat felt like it was slowly closing. I had two choices, either put my arms up and let someone know I was choking or die quietly. I choose the latter. Clearly, I didn't die (Had I been caught with the Spanx, I would have wanted to die!) but I did remain calm, flushed water down my throat via straw, and tried to eat a little bread. I. Do. Not. Make. A. Scene. In. Public.

Ever. 

Heavy PDA at a bar is public. The only time that is okay is if I'm drunk. Then, I throw caution to the wind and play kissy face until the cows come home. Been there, done that, not ashamed to say it. However, I wasn't drunk. I was mortified.

I pushed away his advances, playfully, of course, because A) I liked him and B) I'm eternally polite. I asked him about our first date and reminded him how romantic he was with what he wrote on the wine cork. He grabbed our wine cork and wrote, "CONSERVATIVE PRUDE." Not nice. He was kidding, but it still wasn't nice. 

Can I just tell you? I think I was so excited that he might be my soul mate that I lost myself. He walked me out to my car and the kissing proceeded. It was a little easier to kiss him there but, it was late and I had to work in the morning. We were the last 2 cars in the parking lot. We said our good byes. I don't think he held the car door that time. I got in and slowly inched out of my pretend parking spot. Well, he was waiting for me at the front of the building. He got in and kissed me some more. Truth be told, he wasn't a bad kisser and I do like him but, it was a little overkill.

Date #3 was scheduled for the next night. I didn't want to go, not because I didn't want to see him but, I still had to pack and I knew I wasn't going to get much sleep. (I was scheduled to travel for work the next day.) Luck was on my side, his meetings ran late and he had to cancel. Phew. I expected him to text me that weekend or call. Nothing.

I may need to re-visit Betty, after all.