I came home "smiley" last night. I haven't been smiley in a while.
Because W.G. called me to schedule our second date, I didn't feel bad about being the one to contact him for a third- you have to meet them halfway, right? On Sunday night, just before I texted Mr. GoE, I called W.G. and we made a date for Wednesday night. Similar to the last time, we decided to go out to dinner, again, in his neck of Philly (I am going to have to buy myself some cute walking shoes if this continues), but he told me he would let me know about the choice of restaurant when we got closer to the date. On Monday night, he sent me a text suggesting a BYO sushi place, and I told him that I'd bring the wine.
As I was walking home from work on Wednesday and about to get the wine, I received another text saying that the sushi place was not BYO after all, and instead, we should go to Distrito. Now, I know nothing of restaurants that are outside of Rittenhouse or Fitler Square, so this meant nothing to me. I came home to get ready, and nonchalantly informed Danielle of the change of plans. "Sarah, you know Distrito is a pretty expensive Hose Garces restaurant, right?" No, not right at all. The thing is, this guy just recently got laid off, is doing freelance lumber-jacking, and maybe makes $600 a week. He doesn't have the money to bring me out to a fancy restaurant; I don't even like fancy restaurants unless I'm going out with my family. And normally, I wouldn't feel bad about that kind of a thing, but he is a genuinely nice guy who wants to spend money on me, which I guess would be fine if he had it. But frankly, I'm indifferent to it in this circumstance and would be more than happy to grab a slice of pizza and brown-bag it in the park.
With this new-found knowledge, I bucked up, mentally prepped myself on eating a very small dinner of soup or salad or chicken or whatever, and walked the 20 blocks to meet him. I got to the restaurant 5 minutes late (I'm perpetually 5 minutes late), and he was already there (he's perpetually early). We had a beer at the bar, and I told him about my minor promotion at work that day (I became the Editor of two publications, although no raise, or I would have gotten dinner). We went outside for a post-beer cigarette and a pre-dinner make-out, and then headed upstairs to a cute little table with a couch. I've never actually sat at a couples table before; there were pillows and candles and ambiance. Very romantic, but very not us. Just like I'm very low maintenance, I think he is as well; it's one of my favorite things about him, that he's uncomplicated and no muss, no fuss. And that doesn't mean a total lack of romance, but I sort of prefer the cuter things. Like on our previous date: we were kissing on the way home, and it was a bit drizzly out. It had stopped for most of our walk home, and so the need for an umbrella didn't exist until right then when the light rain started. He went to put the umbrella up, but I pushed it away, and we just continued kissing. And later, he commented that it was romantic, you know, kissing in the rain. That kind of romantic I can appreciate because it's much more down to earth than pink pillows and cushions on a wrap-around bench. Nonetheless, I was thankful for the sentiment and dinner went very well. We each got a margarita and split a couple of tapas (we both could have eaten more and they were delicious, but geeze, way too pricey): octopus tacos and a crab meat enchilada.
One of my favorite things about this guy is that I can talk to him in a shoot-the-shit way or in a real way. And while during dinner, it was more recapping of weekends and exchanging musical tastes, the conversation grew from there. After we left, he asked if I was up for another drink (I broke my two-drink date limit for him), so we went to City Tap House, a bar with 60 beers on tap, which was cool, along with outside benches and fire pits. We each grabbed a pint, and cuddled outside in front of a fire; I was freezing and he's easy to curl up into. Finally comfortable (and a bit warmer), we began talking about The Fountainhead, of all things. Howard Roark is one of my favorite literary characters, and W.G. reminds me of him, particularly in that scene where he's in the quarry picking up rocks and looking damn sexy. Not to mention, they're both redheads. So I told him this, not expecting much of a response because he's not a huge reader, but it, apparently, is one of his favorite books. Which just made me want him more.
We finished at around 11pm, and he asked if I'd go back to his place. I wouldn't. See, this is how you know I sort of like the guy, because I don't just see him as a means to an orgasm, but as someone with whom I enjoy passing the time. That being said, a means to an orgasm isn't completely off my radar, plus, the guy is not making enough money to be taking me out to these dinners and drinks. So I offered, for our next date, to eat the least date-y food possible, greasy chinese, in his apartment, watching The Life Aquatic. I'm looking forward to it, actually: less of this artificial, dating stuff and more everyday life.
I sort of like a freelance lumber-jack. Didn't expect that to happen...
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