Sunday Dreaming / Sunday Scheming

17 November 2009

I adore our conversation until they end and I can’t seem to refocus my mind on anything but her for hours.  I find myself hanging mental pictures of her watching me make Sunday breakfast.  She’s wearing the French blue shirt I had the night before in the first picture.  The silver cufflinks are still hanging from her wrists as she clutches my NPR coffee mug in the corner of the kitchen.

When that image goes back to the fantasy closet of my mind it gets replaced with another scene.  I let her sleep while I pick-up clothes scattered about the floor and allow the smell of coffee and bacon to wake her.  She comes into the kitchen and wraps her arms round my waist; I close my eyes when I feel her lips on my neck.  This time she’s wearing that Agent Provacateur Dressing Gown that cost too much but was worth every penny at that moment.

Just when I think my mind is done wandering, there she is again on a Sunday morning.  As we’re getting dressed for brunch with friends, I see her in a set of knickers and a bra that I just knew was designed to make us late.  There is no more satisfying sound than the low moan of excitement… whether you’re hearing it, making it, or both.

There is something about this woman, something about Sundays, and something I’d like to know about the two together – though I doubt they’ll ever meet.

8 Comments | Crush with a big C, dating, fiction, Sunday Funday, Uncategorized, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

I’ve Got This Dream by the Tail

2 November 2009

It’s rare that I can recall my dreams, even more rare that I understand the seemingly wackier ones.  But this morning I woke with a clear image of a tiger in my life – an actual tiger had become my pet.

He was a sweet boy – I named him Gus – and he would fetch things (sticks and rubber balls, not small animals,) and was very affectionate.  I was, of course, terrified of Gus because he was a fully grown tiger, no matter how good it felt when he would nuzzle my face, I knew the power of the teeth behind the fur.

Later in my dream I am speaking on the phone with a woman.  I was lamenting how I cannot recall who gave me the tiger, but I have to get rid of dear, sweet, Gus.  The woman on the line said that she gave me the tiger.  Of course she gave me the tiger, I thought, it’s just like her: rare, beautiful, powerful, loving, and capable of ripping my heart out with her bare hands.

____________________

By the by, I didn’t go to the costume party; I didn’t dress as Top Chef, but I did have the most interesting Halloween since third grade when I – the only black guy in a school filled with shiny white people* – went as a Klansman.  Recall how awkward I thought it was to have bickering clients at a Valentine’s Dinner?  Yeah my Saturday night clients made the V-Day couple look like Ward and June Cleaver.  That story will be told later this week.

* Phrase shamelessly lifted from my favorite Mommy Blogger, Lemon Gloria, who probably would bristle at the notion of being called a mommy blogger

7 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, Crush with a big C, dating, dreams, something else I have started that I may or may not finish | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Fill In the Blank Friday Volume – I Stopped Counting

23 October 2009

All comments in brackets [are to be interpreted as options from which you may select one choice or opt for your own choice.]

  1. If I could get all [men, women] on the planet to _______________ for just one day, I would be a happy blogtart.
  2. If I could make everyone in [my family, circle of friends, company, city, or the human race] read one blog post, it would be _______________ because it really made me _______________.
  3. It may no longer be age appropriate, but I wish I could [occasionally, frequently, always] _______________ like I did when I was a kid.
  4. I know it has some redemptive qualities; but if I could remove the _______________ technological advancement from history, I would do it in a second.
  5. According to Verve.com, the five best date movies of all time (from 5 to 1) are Barberella, To Have and to Have Not, Say Anything, Casablanca, and Some Like It Hot.  I really think that _______________ should have made the list.
  6. Speaking of Movies… if a potential suitor didn’t [like, love, cry during] the movie _______________, it would be a large red flag.
  7. If you want to ask me to do something difficult, asking with a _______________ in your hand would be a very good start*.
  8. I don’t know _______________, but I have an [intellectual, blog, purely platonic] crush on him/her that just won’t quit.
  9. Paraphrasing and with apologies to James Lipton, if I wasn’t a _______________ (feel free to omit this part if it would compromise your anonymity,) the occupation I would most like to try is _______________*.
  10. If I could direct every new reader of my blog to _______________ post, it would go a long way towards explaining [my sense of humor, why I started blogging, my sensibilities, or _______________.]
  11. If you would have told me _______________ years ago that I would be _______________ today, I would have laughed in your face; but I surely am/have.
  12. I love the space after the _______________ but before the _______________ *.
  13. We all have better angels and lesser demons whispering in our ears.  At the moment, the angels on my [left, right] shoulder are saying _______________, while the lesser demons on my [right. Left] soldier are saying _______________.

* Cribbed, in whole or in part, from the following prior posts:

Superfluous Friday Edition

Since James Lipton Hasn’t Come Knocking

Been Thinking About Space Since Yesterday’s Morning Storms

3 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, Crush with a big C, crush with a little c, fill in the blank fridays, I Got Five on It Friday | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The Fall Meme – My Answers

16 September 2009

This is my third attempt at crafting my own meme – eventually, I’ll get one really right and it will go viral… right? No?  Whatever, I’m going to keep trying until one does or I get bored.  So this is the official Dirty Dozen Fall Meme, I won’t tag anyone; however, should you choose to participate, I’d appreciate the courtesy of a link back.  Feel free to tag people if you wish.

  1. It’s not fall in DC (or your city of origin) until _____________? It’s not fall until I can wear cashmere, the mosquitoes are gone, and I’ve switched to a Manhattan as my drink of choice.
  2. Kelly Preston’s character in the movie For Love of the Game expresses her need to escape NYC because “Summer’s almost over, and I feel like I missed it.”  What do you need to do in the waning days of summer for it to feel complete? I need to feel some sand between my toes, eat some crabs & drink beer, and have one more picnic.
  3. The person I know is wrong for me but about whom I frequently think after a break-up is _____________? For me it isn’t one particular woman who keeps coming into my head when I am in a romantic doldrums.  It is usually a revisiting of many failed relationships that I can’t quite understand why they failed.  This is particularly problematic for me if I encounter one of these women.
  4. The US Tennis Open, one of four Grand Slam events in that sport, is currently in the quarterfinal round.  If you could only attend one major sporting event what would it be? I needed to do some reductive thinking to answer this question.  After eliminating all contenders, the last event standing was March Madness – preferably the first two weekends.
  5. Assuming that you write an anonymous or partially anonymous blog, by what non-physically identifying characteristics might you be identified in a bar? If you notice a seemingly overdressed guy who is scribbling in a journal or pecking on a computer, that might be me.  If that guy is wearing antique cufflinks and smoking a cigar, then the odds get much better.
  6. Most blogs cover some sort of niche – personal, political, dating, culinary, etc.  What topic, if any, would you like to address on your blog but doesn’t fit into your niche? I am extremely passionate about politics and would love to write more about it.  I do know that I lack the discipline and patience to research and document all of the things necessary to write about that subject in a manner that would be satisfactory to me.
  7. If you could manipulate the time space continuum and give as many as three pieces of advice to a younger version of yourself, what advice would you give and to what age of you? To the eight year old Refugee, don’t try too hard to fit in with the kids at that school; they will never accept you and neither will their parents.  You will have more fun without them.  To the twenty year old Refugee, there really is no need to rush through undergrad.  To the twenty four year old Refugee, please take that job at AOL; you can deal with the commute and will retire in four years.
  8. Who among your friends do you really wish had a blog because their stories, or perspective on something ought to be shared? One of my favorite bartenders would be a terrific blogger.  She is insightful, funny as all hell, and works behind a bar on Georgetown Saturday Nights which I am know leaves her with plenty of stories.
  9. If you were to take an e-cation (vacation from the trappings of our electronic world,) and assuming that employment obligations would allow it, how long of a break could you take? What would you miss the most, the least? If the e-cation occurred at the same time as an actual vacation, I could last at least a month.  I would miss the late night emails from clients the least and I would probably miss my relationships to the blogs I read the most.
  10. On September 11th of this year, I will be attending a couple of parties and am somewhat conflicted by the fact that this ignoble anniversary shall pass with it being just another day in the eyes of many (and in some ways my own eyes as well.) Thoughts? I think I answered this question within the question, however, to expand a bit more… I did what I could to embrace the Day of Service concept by volunteering some time with one of my favorite charitable organizations.
  11. How high are your walls?  Who was the last person to scale them? What tools should would-be climbers have on their belt? My walls are tiered and have increasingly sharp barbed wire the higher one climbs.  They have gotten higher in the last year and that is not a source of pride for me.  The recommended tools for scaling them: patience, optimism, a well turned phrase, a love for rainy Sundays with Coltrane and Neruda, an appetite.
  12. The sexiest thing a wo/man can say to you (or has said to you) is _____________? This tastes amazing.

*****************

Other Lovely Bloggers Participated:

Just A Titch

Hannah Just Breath

Dorothy’s Not Dead

Life of Planet Dan-E

Skrinkering Hearts

Elle Dubya

Was It for This

The Kristen Chronicles

Are You Really Interested

Is There a Doctor in the House

Seeking John Galt

I There a Dr. in the House

Bikram Yoga Chick

10 Comments | blogging life, Crush with a big C, dating, Dinner Parties, Economic Theory, meme | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

You Can Give That Person My Number… or, The Longest Missed Connection Ever

17 August 2009

I like Bar X in a conceptual and cognitive sense but don’t truly feel it as my place for unquantifiable reasons.  I still get there randomly because my friend K, one of my favorite people on this planet and my favorite bartender, keeps one shift a week there.

I had just found a stool at the mostly crowded bar when K found me with a beer and a “So get this!” “A few months ago I did something I never do, answered a call from a number I didn’t recognize” she continued.  “It was around the time that I was looking for a new gig, so I thought that it might be from a job.  It wasn’t!  It was from some guy that I dated long ago and now he won’t leave me alone.  He keeps texting and calling me and just sent me one right before you came in.”

“K, have you had the blunt conversation with him yet?”

“No, I guess I have to now.”

Other people needed K’s attention, but as she set my second beer before me, I told my slightly related story.

“So… I had finally forgotten the number of a woman whose number I used to know by heart and haven’t had a reason to call in a long time.  I had deleted her from the phone, and my number changed so she didn’t have mine either. A month or so ago, I was drinking at a bar near her house.  I had just enough booze to mistake calling her for a good idea.  I got a wrong number and I was delighted to have been saved from myself.”

“Go on” K said warily.

“Two weeks later she runs into an old mutual friend who GIVES HER MY NUMBER.”

“Oh, that’s a major party foul” K said, her empathy showing.

It became a needed foul as I recently needed to ask this woman for help (for a friend) regarding an area of her professional expertise; but I still don’t need the temptation.

As my third beer arrived, I heard the familiar “Dooo, doo, do, do, dooo” that opens Stevie Wonder’s As from his legendary double album “Songs in the Key of Life.”  Bar X has a nice jukebox; and As is not a terribly obscure song.  However, I doubt that many people in the room where born when it was released, 1976, suspect even fewer knew the song, and was just shocked that someone would play it.

As around the sun the earth knows she’s revolving

And the rosebuds know to bloom in early May

Just has hate knows love’s the cure

You can rest your mind assured

That I’ll be loving you always

“K, I need to know who played this” I almost demanded.

“It wasn’t me.  Maybe it was T [the other half of one of the city’s best bartending tandems]”

“T, did you play this” I asked him with the same level of urgency.

“Nope” T answered with a hint of curiosity about the origin too.

As now can’t reveal the mystery of tomorrow
But in passing will grow older every day
Just as all is born is new
Do know what I say is true
That I’ll be loving you always

I turned to face the bar looking for someone who displayed an indication of ownership of the GOAT* of love songs.  Surely someone would be bopping a head, dancing a little but nothing.

“K, I really want to know who played this” I almost pleaded.

“I wish I could help you, Refugee, but do you really think that she’s in here?”

“Probably not; but I am so I can’t rule it out” I replied repeating one of my long held beliefs and turned to scan again.

Did you know that true love asks for nothing
Her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day
Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always
As today I know I’m living but tomorrow
Could make me the past but that I mustn’t fear
For I’ll know deep in my mind
The love of me I’ve left behind Cause I’ll be loving you always**

No one offered a clue. I got my tab resigned but hopeful simply because someone played a song.

“Thank you, K.  Love you lots; and if you find out who played that song you can give them my number and I won’t be any part of upset.”

___________________________

What obscure to slightly obscure song do you love so much that you would cross a room to talk to the person who played it on a jukebox?

___________________________

* Greatest Of All Time*** for those who don’t know, and yes it is the GOAT in my mind, if only my mind.

** For a full reading of the lyrics, click me.

*** Yes, I know that the acronym doesn’t hew to grammatical standards, but I dig it anyway.

___________________________

If you haven’t checked my new blog – dedicated to recipes that I make for my clients and friends – go here.

___________________________

For anyone who notices and likes the slightly changed look of the place, the pictures are courtesy of LiLu

7 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, Crush with a big C, dating, random stuff, Uncategorized, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Potential Becomes Possible in a Moment

18 June 2009

“All potential lovers encounter a moment when the harbored crush becomes possible”

Taken from the book Service Included by Phoebe Damrosch

I know that I really like a word, a sentence, a paragraph when I can’t stop myself from reading it aloud.  I read that sentence and the rest of the paragraph at least a half dozen times this most recent Sunday.  I read it twice to the woman who gave me the book and several times more on the patio of the coffee shop where I began this missive.

With that sentence, all manner of moments – simple and complex, gestures and statements, plain old moments – bounded across my brain like a romantic kaleidoscope.

An ankle crossed against mine and left there

Feeling a charge when the big of my hand reached the small of her back

An invitation for a drink

The warm, breathy “thank you” that I felt against my neck as much as I heard it while dancing a salsa to the Latin-jazz band’s Afro-Blue

The sharing of personal space for no other reason than sharing’s sake

A last look over the shoulder to see if I was still watching

A certain long lashed ingénue saying “it’s too loud in here”

Sitting next to a blind date as she talks to another man and saying “I don’t think that’s the guy you’re here to meet”

“My mother warned me about men like you”

All of those moments were cosmic winks (which are as good as a nod to a blind man) filled with enough electricity to turn a switch in my brain if not my heart.  Now divorced for more than a decade, within a five iron of age 40, I am still looking for my first last moment.

Tell me about your moments…

15 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, blogging life, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, dating, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Things I Would Tweet This Tuesday Were I to Twitter

12 May 2009

What is the appropriate etiquette when crossing paths with someone you have only met online through a dating site?

What’s the best way to respond when seeing a former lover in the lobby of her apartment building in the morning?

Why do some restaurants insist upon serving me cold bricks of butter that are more useful for building tableside forts than buttering bread?

In my closet, there are suits, great suits, and suits to wear when you’re going to run into an ex.  I wore the latter on Friday.

Screen on the Green has been cancelled and this DC summer will not be the same.

Go to Granville Moore’s now – like right now, before Chef Teddy Folkman appears on the Next Food Network Star.

Accidental Irony is 2.6 times funnier than Intentional Irony

Sunday – Funday, nuff said, wish you were there; and to the four siblings from Peoria, it was lovely drinking with you.

Any decent bartender can keep your glass filled; a great bartender keeps your secrets too.  I’ll miss you K.

Three days and counting…

Really what was so outrageous? Smart, literate, interesting, likes art, food, and drink, curious, mature, and gets me: that’s not too much to ask.

I suck at responding to comments and promise to be better.

9 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, dating, dumb things I have done, restaurants | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

My Type

8 May 2009

“I don’t think she’s your type, Refugee” were the words that slipped from the lips of one of my favorite women and in reference to MISTY.  OMFW and I were at the tail end of an evening that would have been among the best dates I’ve had in a very long time had it been a date.

“Why is she here; is she stalking you” was her next query.

“It’s kinda my fault she’s here.  I introduced her to this place and I never should have.  I never should have brought her down here because this is my bat-cave and she ain’t Vikki Vale…  But back to your prior question, why do you think she’s not my type?  I mean what do you think my type is?”

“I can say more about what I think it isn’t than what it is.”

OMFW and I continued our conversation for a bit.  She excluded a few women in the room, never acknowledged that the best example of my type looks her in the mirror, but never quite described it.  Thus, I feel the need to provide more clarity to the question of my type.  For the record, my type is:

Blisteringly bright

A brilliant conversationalist

A toe curling kisser

Appreciative of the movies Thomas Crown Affair, Gross Point Blank, Imagine Me & You, and the Lion King

Eats for pure joy rather than sustenance

Bends her elbow, if not on the regular, at least she doesn’t oppose its bending

A lover of some genre of art

Appreciative of all genres as a generalization

An explorer of the world even if the stamps in her passport don’t testify to this fact

Likes holding my hand

Thinks that slow is better than fast, and words hotter than pictures

Takes care with words

Knows how to fight fairly, because the fights will surely come

Tells me why she’s angry or at least admits her anger and tells me that she isn’t ready to discuss it at the moment

Kisses me goodnight even when she’s mad

Takes great care with the people she chooses to be in her life

Has empathy for all people who cross her path

Reads more than the Style section of the newspaper

Is engaged with our world

Dances like no one is watching and loves like she’s never been hurt

At the very least, tolerates my cigar smoking without sanctimony

Makes metaphors and men turn their heads in equal measure

Likes Sundays in bed with Neruda, Coltrane and the Sunday papers

May not understand my particular brand of troubles (which are not particular to me) but understands when they make me tilt at windmills

Did not think that Sarah Palin was remotely qualified to be a heartbeat away from the presidency

Cleans up well

Is not my ex-wife

A library card is a nice bonus

So is an appreciation for the genius of John Coltrane

Breathes a throaty “Oh my” when she reads this or the things in which I believe just like Annie Savoy

And if all or most of the aforementioned comes wrapped in a package that is easy on the eyes then that is the sundae’s cherry and the needlestack needle.

13 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, dating, dreams, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

I Can’t Think of an Appropriate Title

23 February 2009

There was a stretch in my life where I attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on a regular basis.  I am not an alcoholic and have never been but a very close friend is.  One night we left the restaurant/bar I was running and where he slung drinks and he told me that he was going to a meeting in the morning.  I went with him.  It just seemed the right thing to do, to support him in this struggle.  For the first month, I went with him every day – 30 in 30 AA members like to say.  I wouldn’t say the pledge, but honored it – what I heard [there,] saw [there,] stayed [there.] 

The stories were more heart wrenching than you think they would be from your television observations.  The weight of the new comer’s gaze in broken but still guarded faces was heavier than any emotional weight I lifted before.  As most addicts supplant one addiction for another, the coffee room was always thick with fresh plumes from too many cigarettes.  I was in that room one Saturday morning smoking a JFK cigar (H. Upmann Petite Corona, if you’re curious) and scratching at the crossword puzzle when Tonya walked-in and took the seat next to mine.  She had a bit of dervishness to her movement as she whirled her gym bag, purse, and book to a sudden stop on the floor.

“You’re new” she said with a hint of the derision we all reserve for the FNG.

“I’ve been coming here about month now” I replied without offense; I had grown accustomed to the friendly surliness that I learned was the standard method of greeting new AA members. 

“Sober for a month, huh.  I wish I could tell you it gets easier but at least you get used to it.  30 in 30 right?”

“30 in 30, sure, but I’ve been sober for about five hours now.  I’m not an alcoholic; I come here to support my good friend – he’s been sober for about a month.”

“You were drinking at 3am and now you’re at a meeting just to support your friend?  You sure that’s the only reason?”

“Not only was I drinking at 3am, I was still working until 5am to close the place, and yeah the only reason I am here on ninety minutes of sleep is because he is a dear friend and I know he would be here for me.  I’ve done my inventory – I’m fine with my drinking.”

“Hmmmh” was all she said.

My friend finally arrived at that moment just before the meeting was about to start.  I made brief introductions as we made our way across and down the hall to the meeting room.  The meeting was only memorable because my friend got his thirty day pin towards the end of the meeting.

My friend and I parted on the street outside, him making a path to the gym (another way he was dealing with his alcoholism) and I a path to a cab. 

“Don’t bother getting a cab” Tonya said from just behind my right shoulder.  “I’m going to let you buy me a cup of coffee because I want to talk to you for a minute.”

“Will my ‘sobriety’ be among the topics, because if it is, the least you can do is buy the coffee.”

“Fine, I’m buying the coffee then… my car is this way.”

I started walking like any man who is told he is going to have coffee with a very attractive woman does. 

“How long have you been sober?” I ask.

“At this point, about one year for every hour, you’ve been.”

“Not for nothing, I am glad that you invited me for coffee – mostly because I like a challenge and I think you’re cute – but I am not really interested in getting a lecture about my drinking.  I examined this before I started coming to meetings with my friend, and especially carefully since.  I am comfortable with my drinking.”

Tonya opened the passenger door to her car and gave me a look that said “I heard you, but we are going to talk about what I want to talk about.”  I got in her car anyway.

We had been underway for a couple of blocks when Tonya asked “You do understand that it is just about impossible to believe that anyone comes to an AA meeting without a reason.”

“I have a reason, one I consider extremely valid, you just aren’t buying it or just wanted to get me alone for disreputable reasons.  Not that I am opposed to the latter.”

Tonya and I shared coffee, stories, and many other things that day and over the next couple of years.  Despite our flirtation and mutual attraction, things never became romantic.  Her 9-5 life was as incompatible with my restaurant life as my drinking was with her alcoholism.  We rarely discussed it. 

New jobs for each of us accelerated our decline from regular to occasional to sporadic to “wow, I really should call her” friends.

She was one of my favorite crushes, and the last time I saw her she was drunk in a downtown cocktail bar.  She was on a date and was dressed impeccably but her eyes were vacant.  I said hello to her and her date but went back to my seat. 

I’d really like to buy her a cup of coffee sometime but she won’t ask me and hasn’t let me ask her.

10 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, Crush with a big C, smoke in your eyes, women | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Happy Crush Day

20 February 2009

What do I mean Happy Crush Day?  

Now that we have that settled I am writing an open letter to my crushes.

Reann Allen, congratulations on winning the George Mason University Homecoming Queen Crown and for giving it new and double entendred meaning.  I have a huge crush on you and all of the students who voted to make a Queen the Queen.

Rachel Maddow, I know you didn’t mean it when you took out the Restraining Order.  I know that you were just trying to show me some affection, and I still have a wicked crush on you.

Cassandra Wilson, whenever you want to sing to me just let me know.  My musical crush on you will never fade.

Pink – you are an odd Crush choice, but I have one on you nonetheless – mostly because you wrote a beautiful letter to our last president.  Perhaps you will be able to write another to our new Commander in Chief.

Speaking of President Obama…

Dear Mr. President, I totally have an intellectual crush on you.  In the perfectly acceptable way a heterosexual man would  express admiration for another heterosexual man and all.

To everyone who takes the occasional moment to read my slice of the interweb, I have crushes on all of you.  Well not you, Janice from California, but definitely the rest of you.

10 Comments | Crush with a big C | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

An Endorsement and a Proposal

19 February 2009

I endorse, embrace, and enthusiastically support the crush.

In the same way that some would argue that the single cell organism is the purest form of life, I argue that the crush is the purest form of affection.  It is perfect, wholly contained, and needs no augment.  It can exist in a personal vacuum absent acknowledgment or reciprocity.  The Crush can be romantic, professional, artistic, vocational, social, bloggerational, and can even exist within the confines of a healthy relationship.  The crush is perfect.

To have a Crush is to engage whimsy, to embrace possibility, and in the extreme case to wrap oneself in the courage of romance.

With my friend Lemmonex co-hosting a Blogger Crush Happy Hour this Friday, I have been thinking generally about the Crush and specifically about my crushes over the years.  My crushes are more frequently inspired by words and wit than physicality these days.  However, I am not blind; I readily acknowledge that my head is turned by a pretty face but intellect sustains my crush and interest more reliably than rosy lips which are times fool.

This Friday’s blogger boozefest has the explicit theme of inviting your blog crush for a drink.  I posit that we should extrapolate the concept beyond the DC venue, beyond the date too.  Let Friday be the day that you send at least one of your crushes a message that you dig the way they think, write, move, act, play a sax, manage a meeting or whatever else inspires that tingle.  Whether that Crush is across the country or in the cube next door acknowledge it – embrace the crush wherever you are.

Let February 20th be National Crush Day.

20 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, blogging life, booze & boozing, Crush with a big C, dating | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

The Way It Should Happen – Part I Inverted

17 November 2008

The best part of a first date is right now – hours before.  Feeling the anticipation, pulling the clothes, selecting the shoes.  The worst part of a first date is knowing that this is the best part, yet we dress… for ourselves, for our date, for the place holding balm we may meet after the date.  We pretend that we aren’t jaded and shave our legs, wear panties from the sexy side of the drawer and try not to think of the comparison of carrying an umbrella as a guaranteed talisman against the rain falling.

In my time-limited optimism, I slide into the cashmere sweater dress that feels so good against my skin and lays so nicely on my hips. I pair it with the new Biala boots I probably shouldn’t have bought, but they’re so. damn. hot. I get as close to the “made-up without trying look” as I can and set a course for Cigar Masters intending to quench two thirsts with one drink.  I should have just enough time to finish Nigel Nicolson’s Portrait of a Marriage for book club tomorrow and have the requisite couple of glasses of wine before meeting any internet date.

As Gloucester meets Newbury Street I am paying a bit too much attention to my boots when I find myself forehead to chin with a human I recognize as male only from feeling him against me.

“I’m so sorry” says a low tenor/high baritone voice.  “I wasn’t paying attention – my apologies” he continued.

I straighten my dress, brush imaginary curls from my face, say “no worries” and go on my way. My glimpse was enough for me to determine that he was handsome, well dressed, and smells good – though I could describe neither his looks, clothes, or scent if you paid me.  I am angry for not having anything more clever to say, but he turned the corner too and I don’t chase boys.

Two blocks, half a stairwell, an ornate foyer, and six feet later I am comfortable in my favorite chair in Cigar Masters’ bay window.  I’ve just creased the spine of the book when an annoyingly thin and chipper waitress appears to take my order.

“A glass of cabernet, please”

“Absolutely – would you care for a light?”

For half a second I wonder if this hooker thinks there is such a thing as light wine and then I realize that she is referring to the cigarette in my left hand. “Thank you” I say hoping she didn’t register my brief condescension.

Only five pages later, a shadow darkens my personal space and that same contra-baritone voice says “Nice to bump into you without the contact this time.”

“Should I be worried that you’re stalking me” I ask only half joking.

“Just a happy coincidence; but I do have a question for you.”

I wave my hand as if to say ask away but he takes this gesture as an invitation to sit next to me.  Shit – please don’t be boring.

“This marks the fourth time in my life that I have asked this question, but I have to know – what are you wearing…perfume wise?”

“It’s a 1920 Chanel” I say not hiding my pride in its effect.

“I didn’t know there was a market for antique perfume.”

“My mom got me into it when I was in high school.”

“Needless to say, I noticed it.”

“Why do people do that? If something need not be said, why are you saying it?” I ask hoping that he has an actual answer.

“I suppose I could suggest it is a linguistic lever for the inarticulate or I that I simply sought to cement the obvious opinion that I was enamored by the experience.”

“Or you could acknowledge your affinity for alliteration as a linguistic lever for the over-thinker.”

I close my book and get comfortable having a conversation with the good looking brown-eyed man who from the smile on his face obviously likes a challenge.  While the grandfather clock in the corner chimes away the hours the only real challenge in our conversation is about the relative merits of my Patriots unmatched modern dynasty and his Steelers that were good back before I was born.  We find common ground in politics, literature, and every other subject.  He’s handsome but not the type I would have drawn on a blank page; and yet I can’t stop talking to him.  I am rapt in our conversation except for the moments when I stare at his lips wondering how soft they are.  Words are hot and this man twists his in the way I want to twist the sheets on his hotel bed – uninhibitedly but with seemingly great care.

Was that really six chimes from the clock? I have a date in 30 minutes what am I doing here? 20 minutes. 10 minutes. I have to go. Why hasn’t he told me his name or asked mine? Why do I really not care? I’m 10 minutes late, 20 minutes.

“Do you have dinner plans?” he asks. “The only place I know in the neighborhood is Sonsie’s but if you would venture into a cab with an imperfect stranger, a friend told me that The Butcher Shop is a great place…”

“I have a date” I finally admit and I don’t know why I feel like I am about to cheat on a partner. “I had a really nice time talking with you; but I have stayed twenty minutes longer than I should just trying to find a way to tell you.”

“Well you should go – it’s not polite to keep a gentleman waiting. Please allow me take care of the check; I wouldn’t want you to be any later.”

The Brown Eyed Boy without a name is smiling and standing but his disappointment is palpable even as he holds my coat open for me.

“That’s very kind of you, but not necessary. I really did have a nice time this afternoon” I try to assure him even as I slip both arms into my coat.

“It’s my pleasure and I just put my business card in your pocket, call me if you ever make it to DC – I’ll let you buy the drinks next time. Good luck with your date.”

Fuck is the only word that my mind wants to form until I make it to the street. I really don’t want to leave and can still smell his cigar as I make my way down Newbury. I know that this was nothing – he’s leaving in the morning.  I also know that his unavailability might be part of my attraction.  I know that this was a surreal maybe of flirtation separated by 400 miles but why is the Cute Brown Eyed Boy with great lips but without a name still in my fucking head?

I enter a lightly crowded Sonsie’s and scan the bar for a guy who looks five years older and two inches shorter than his pictures.  A sweater clad man at the bar turns my way and smiles his best “I hope you’re not disappointed” smile.  I make my way to him and we exchange pleasantries.  He orders me a Grey Goose and Tonic without asking me – I mentioned my drink preference in my profile – which is too clever by half because I want another glass of wine.

Before my drink arrives I start fishing around my wallet for a twenty dollar bill.  Seeing this, my date says “Don’t worry about the drinks – I’ve got it.”

“No, I really need to pay for this round.  You may think I am a horrible person and you’re probably right but Dave…”

“Doug.”

“Right, Doug, I’m really sorry. I am sure that you are a lovely man, but I have to cut this short.  I met someone earlier and… and I just have to go.  I’m so sorry.”

Doug is either a prince in understanding silence or too shocked to speak.  Either way my conversation grenade provides just enough cover to slip my twenty on the bar, kiss Doug on the cheek and find the door.

I am walking as fast as new boots that haven’t finished the break-in period will allow.  I can practically see me heart beat as I get to the door of Cigar Masters.  And there he is my Unnamed Boy still sitting in the window where I left him fifteen minutes ago.

“Don’t say anything” I say as he stands to greet me. “I went to meet my date. We met on-line and I am sure he is lovely. Maybe I am going to hell for what I just did but I told him that I was sorry… I would have spent the entire night looking at him talk and wondering what would have happened if I had stayed here. I know you are leaving in the morning, but I really want to have dinner with you tonight.”

With not much else to say, the Unnamed Boy articulates a kiss and answers the question about his lips.

7 Comments | blog friends, Crush with a big C, dating, fiction, monday fiction series, Uncategorized | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee

Next Entries »
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 210 other followers