I've kicked 2006 to the curb. And this year I've resolved to date more, and by more I mean once a week, every week. I was inspired by the 365 Days project, but not the 365 days part. A girl can't do 365 Dates. Unless she's a hooker, and that's a different project. But also a possibility.
My other inspiration was an annoying book that resurfaced when I was getting rid of piles of crap in a year-end purge. It's called Turn Your Cablight On and that's the last time I will ever mention it, except to say the that it was bouncing around the office when an Evil Friend in editorial gave it to me. The cablight metaphor means you are the taxi and you won't get a date unless you turn on the light-of-availability over your head. It's like turning on the "vacant" sign over the airplane toilet, telling everybody it's OK to come in. I like to think I always have my "vacant" sign on, but apparently some people need to be reminded. FYI, I have dibs on Turn the Vacant Sign Over the Toilet On (It's a Metaphor) Guide to Dating.
First week, first date. Due to medical/logistical difficulties, the first date was scheduled for 10pm last Friday night. I killed time with work girls beforehand, and answered their questions about him. It turned out I knew very little about Date #1.
"Who's the dude?"
"He's a graphic designer." Pause.
"Oh, he has eighteen nieces and nephews." Pause.
"That's it? Anything else?"
"He plays drums."
"What kind of drums?"
"Um...dunno. Maybe he's in a band or something like guys like to do."
"Maybe he's in a marching band. That's probably it. You're going on a date with that marching band guy."
"That would be awesome."
(continued after the jump...)
"Where are you meeting?"
"The Holiday Inn."
[Office mates honestly look shocked.]
"No, no, not that Holiday Inn. The other Holiday Inn. The scuzzy one."
Technically, it's The Holiday Cocktail Lounge, and we sat at the a cool horse-shoe shaped bar. I proceeded to fill in a few of the biographical blanks on him, which is a really lovely way to conduct a date. Nothing sets a person at ease more than intense personal questioning in a public space. He rocked back on his bar stool a lot. I had a sore throat, so I kept sucking on cough drops, which I'm sure was very sexy. It turns out we grew up basically down the road from each other in the burbs of Maryland, that he knows about the place I work now and thinks it's all right, that he's arty and industrious, and that he's not in a marching band.
We talked until we closed the place down, which made me feel both old and young. He walked with me in the misty rain to get a taxi. When we kissed goodnight in the traffic on Second Avenue, there were tons of cabs going by with their lights on, so we kissed some more.
But cablight lady, that still doesn't mean your taxi theory is any good.
Background: Why am I doing this? Because I'm a widow. Also, it's datetastic.
Next week: Round 2 with Date #1? Unless someone can get me Mr. Marching Band's number.
Also: Your advice welcome.
pretty vacant pic from windscreen fly