I wonder if I'm getting too cavalier about the dating thing.
Once I get into this pattern of going on a lot of dates, I get incredibly blasé. I never get nervous. While I do generally try to look presentable and remember to put on makeup, I don't even necessarily bathe beforehand anymore.
I know that I used to get excited about dates. I definitely used to perform my ablutions, and fret about my outfit, and wear cute underwear. Not because I was planning to get naked, but you know, because it was kind of special.
Where am I going with this? I had a date last night. And as I was walking over to meet him, I realized I couldn't remember his name. Seriously. Steve? Dave? John? I was pretty certain it was along those lines but none of them. I was hoping it would come to me. It never did.
Laura happened to text as I was walking, and I texted back with my panic. She said, "Try Asmodious." Helpful. Thanks.
Fortunately, I could just walk up and say, "Hi! Nice to see you!" And all was fine.
But still. I felt like a boor. I was raised better than this.
We met at Russia House. He ordered pierogies because I declined a vodka cocktail, even though one of the best things I have ever had is their horseradish vodka, because I have finally learned that I can't quaff liquor pre-dinner without disastrous consequences. I even told him about drunk-dialing my mother as an example of this. I left out the butternose incident of the same evening.
I always feel slightly dangerous having cocktails at Russia House. As if I might be involved in some nefarious activity. I think this is why I like the place. Me, girl next door blonde bob first born rule-follower. When do I ever feel dangerous?
It was a gorgeous night, so we headed to Perry's roofdeck for sushi. You know August has practically emptied out DC when it's a nice evening and easy to get a seat on the roof of Perry's.
It was fun, and during dinner I forgot that I didn't know his name. He's very bright and interesting and fairly intense. All of which I like. He started a story involving him being told repeatedly that people get tired just watching him, because he moves and talks really fast and never sits still.
The point? "I've never met anyone who moves or talks faster than I do. Except you." He meant this as a compliment.
It's true. My default is fast. People always think I'm late or in a hurry, but the truth is, walking slowly bores me. It takes more physical (and emotional) effort for me to stroll than to walk quickly.
And I genuinely do talk ridiculously fast. My dad is always telling me he can't understand my phone messages. And I need to slow! down! But it takes a lot of concentration to talk slowly.
A couple years ago a friend of mine and I were out with a group of people, including a guy I was dating. He said he looked across the room at us, and we were talking and gesticulating so fast he was mesmerized.
He said, "You never once broke eye contact. And the rate of information exchange was just dizzying."
So. The eating of sushi hampers my rate of information exchange immensely. I'm certain I'm not remotely elegant as I sit there chewing a mouth over-full of rice and fish. But apparently I continue to gesticulate as rapidly as I would otherwise. Charming.
But back to my original point. I came home and looked at my last email from The Date. You know, so I could figure out his name.
Argh! What kind of churl gets treated to a nice dinner by a man whose name she cannot remember?
I do think it might be a sign.