Stop the Presses.
Apr. 6th, 2003 02:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleGirlfriend had a date tonight. A DATE. With a real BOY.
This is someone with whom I'd tentatively discussed such an occurrence almost three years ago, now. Then he dropped off the face of the planet, and I must admit I forgot all about him. His loss, said I, despite the fact that he really did have very nice long, blond hair.
So how surprised I was to find an email from him, lo these many moons later, I'm sure you can imagine, Fair Peruser. I was in the back seat of my friend Lisa's car, with her and O'Cin in the front, on our way down to NCRF.
"Oh, my G-d!" I laughed, stunned, reading the unexpected missive on my cell phone. Both my companions, after a quick moment of thinking I'd dropped some part of my body on the floor or been sucked out the window somehow, were quite amused at the story when I related it. Several days later, when I told Noriko about it, she thought it overwhelmingly romantic.
The gentleman in question himself IM'd me when I got back, and after a day of internet tag, we caught up, chatted a while, and by Thursday, actually graduated to live talking. Arrangements were made, and finally, this evening, after being iced for three years, the much-anticipated dinner at Mikado finally occurred.
I was, of course, twenty minutes late. Partly, of course, because I'm sometimes incapable of sticking to a plan. I'd decided days before what to wear, then mentally done that "pull-everything-out-of-the-closet-and -stare-into-the-mirror-in-disgust" thing which only avoided reality because I don't actually own a full-length mirror, a shocking fault in a costumer, I know. So I left late, had to get gas, and by the time I finally got to Ardmore, was a screaming bean sidhe. At which point I hit every single red light on Lancaster Avenue. Following which I couldn't find the proper turn into the most convenient little parking lot, and-- you know how it goes. By the time I raced into the restaurant at 6.20, I was frantically telling myself that some day, this would all be funny. Not much comfort, to be honest. No.
But the gentleman himself appeared in the aisle, and with a huge grin, I went up to him, quite glad he was still as cute as I remembered and had not cut his hair, and gave him a hug and began a flood of apologies as he directed me to our table.
Now, the tables at Mikado require some explaining. As is no doubt evident from the name, it's a Japanese restaurant. The main seating area is raised up two steps into what's made to look like a Japanese house, with round shoji-screen windows, and low tables on tatami mats. But once you sit at the table, you discover the pits under the tables for your legs. I always think this incredibly neat. Some people think it a cheat. Noriko swears it's how it's done in Tokyo, so who am I to argue? There are also tiny footless "seats," with cushions and backs, to ease the frazzled Western physiology. It's a very nice place. I'm sure I don't need to mention with whom I was there last, back inna day. But it's charming, so I certainly don't mind going back.
R suggested the sushi/sashimi for two dinner, and I was thrilled. I LOVE getting those huge, immensely elaborate presentations of beautifully displayed dead fish. Ours was a large, two-masted ship, with a working rudder I absolutely couldn't help playing with. You wouldn't have been able to help it, either. Really.
Before it came, however, he did have to admit that he'd wondered, as he sat waiting for my delayed entrance, if I'd planned it. "I was thinking, 'Well, it'd serve me right.'"
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry. Really!"
"Especially since I got here about twenty minutes early," he added sheepishly.
"Oh, my G-d-- !"
"No, it's okay! It's okay!"
We talked all through dinner. He's been through a lot in the intervening years. Divorce. Three days in a Canadian jail. Years working at Borders. Now he's working in a distributor's. Yay, forklifts. We agreed the nine-to-five can be, after a long period of not having one, a blessing. A whole weekend uninterrupted by an alarm clock is a beauteous thing. We talked about public transportation in Philly-- though he can drive, he doesn't own a car. We talked about his growing up all over the place, with his Dad being in the military. Seven years in Iceland-- that's a new one. We talked about how Icelandic is a distant cousin to Elvish. We talked about wasabi. We talked through tempura ice cream, which is an interesting experience I highly recommend. We talked until-- I'm not making this up-- they told us they needed the table, people were waiting.
I wanted very much to peer into the windows at Past, Present, Future. "It's around here somewhere" is a phrase, I know now, I should treat with the utmost skepticism when I hear it coming out of my mouth. We walked halfway to Haverford, I think, only to discover we'd walked right past it. But peering into the windows I saw the stock's changed a good bit: much more glassware and funky lamps and such than I remember. (It occurs to me now that if I lived near there, it might not be a bad place for a part-time job. Hm.) It was about then, after three hours of talking, that I noticed how close he was standing. I grinned to myself and kept walking.
By now, it was a quarter past nine or so, and we seemed to have no plan, so I decided to call it a night in good showbusiness tradition, and because, well, it'd been such a nice evening, I didn't want to fade off into well-what-do-you-want-to-do-isms. Besides which, I have a fitting early with Kristi, and I suppose, at some point, I should sleep. So I bid him adieu at my car-- and yes, there was kissing. There was very nice, albeit sedate-for-now kissing. Yes, I am grinning. And I was the one who said, "So, you want to do this again?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "And this time I won't take three years to call back." I laughed, and went to hug him, and as I did, he repeated, "No, not even three weeks."
We're on for next Saturday. Thai, you think?
Oh!
He got up to use the restroom, and I kept myself amused by checking my email. There's a collie girl in Atlanta. Terri in New Jersey will keep me posted, but from the photo, she doesn't look like a blue. We'll see, though. She might be fated for me. Who knows? But it was a well-omened evening.
This is someone with whom I'd tentatively discussed such an occurrence almost three years ago, now. Then he dropped off the face of the planet, and I must admit I forgot all about him. His loss, said I, despite the fact that he really did have very nice long, blond hair.
So how surprised I was to find an email from him, lo these many moons later, I'm sure you can imagine, Fair Peruser. I was in the back seat of my friend Lisa's car, with her and O'Cin in the front, on our way down to NCRF.
"Oh, my G-d!" I laughed, stunned, reading the unexpected missive on my cell phone. Both my companions, after a quick moment of thinking I'd dropped some part of my body on the floor or been sucked out the window somehow, were quite amused at the story when I related it. Several days later, when I told Noriko about it, she thought it overwhelmingly romantic.
The gentleman in question himself IM'd me when I got back, and after a day of internet tag, we caught up, chatted a while, and by Thursday, actually graduated to live talking. Arrangements were made, and finally, this evening, after being iced for three years, the much-anticipated dinner at Mikado finally occurred.
I was, of course, twenty minutes late. Partly, of course, because I'm sometimes incapable of sticking to a plan. I'd decided days before what to wear, then mentally done that "pull-everything-out-of-the-closet-and -stare-into-the-mirror-in-disgust" thing which only avoided reality because I don't actually own a full-length mirror, a shocking fault in a costumer, I know. So I left late, had to get gas, and by the time I finally got to Ardmore, was a screaming bean sidhe. At which point I hit every single red light on Lancaster Avenue. Following which I couldn't find the proper turn into the most convenient little parking lot, and-- you know how it goes. By the time I raced into the restaurant at 6.20, I was frantically telling myself that some day, this would all be funny. Not much comfort, to be honest. No.
But the gentleman himself appeared in the aisle, and with a huge grin, I went up to him, quite glad he was still as cute as I remembered and had not cut his hair, and gave him a hug and began a flood of apologies as he directed me to our table.
Now, the tables at Mikado require some explaining. As is no doubt evident from the name, it's a Japanese restaurant. The main seating area is raised up two steps into what's made to look like a Japanese house, with round shoji-screen windows, and low tables on tatami mats. But once you sit at the table, you discover the pits under the tables for your legs. I always think this incredibly neat. Some people think it a cheat. Noriko swears it's how it's done in Tokyo, so who am I to argue? There are also tiny footless "seats," with cushions and backs, to ease the frazzled Western physiology. It's a very nice place. I'm sure I don't need to mention with whom I was there last, back inna day. But it's charming, so I certainly don't mind going back.
R suggested the sushi/sashimi for two dinner, and I was thrilled. I LOVE getting those huge, immensely elaborate presentations of beautifully displayed dead fish. Ours was a large, two-masted ship, with a working rudder I absolutely couldn't help playing with. You wouldn't have been able to help it, either. Really.
Before it came, however, he did have to admit that he'd wondered, as he sat waiting for my delayed entrance, if I'd planned it. "I was thinking, 'Well, it'd serve me right.'"
"Oh, no, I'm so sorry. Really!"
"Especially since I got here about twenty minutes early," he added sheepishly.
"Oh, my G-d-- !"
"No, it's okay! It's okay!"
We talked all through dinner. He's been through a lot in the intervening years. Divorce. Three days in a Canadian jail. Years working at Borders. Now he's working in a distributor's. Yay, forklifts. We agreed the nine-to-five can be, after a long period of not having one, a blessing. A whole weekend uninterrupted by an alarm clock is a beauteous thing. We talked about public transportation in Philly-- though he can drive, he doesn't own a car. We talked about his growing up all over the place, with his Dad being in the military. Seven years in Iceland-- that's a new one. We talked about how Icelandic is a distant cousin to Elvish. We talked about wasabi. We talked through tempura ice cream, which is an interesting experience I highly recommend. We talked until-- I'm not making this up-- they told us they needed the table, people were waiting.
I wanted very much to peer into the windows at Past, Present, Future. "It's around here somewhere" is a phrase, I know now, I should treat with the utmost skepticism when I hear it coming out of my mouth. We walked halfway to Haverford, I think, only to discover we'd walked right past it. But peering into the windows I saw the stock's changed a good bit: much more glassware and funky lamps and such than I remember. (It occurs to me now that if I lived near there, it might not be a bad place for a part-time job. Hm.) It was about then, after three hours of talking, that I noticed how close he was standing. I grinned to myself and kept walking.
By now, it was a quarter past nine or so, and we seemed to have no plan, so I decided to call it a night in good showbusiness tradition, and because, well, it'd been such a nice evening, I didn't want to fade off into well-what-do-you-want-to-do-isms. Besides which, I have a fitting early with Kristi, and I suppose, at some point, I should sleep. So I bid him adieu at my car-- and yes, there was kissing. There was very nice, albeit sedate-for-now kissing. Yes, I am grinning. And I was the one who said, "So, you want to do this again?"
"Oh, yes," he replied. "And this time I won't take three years to call back." I laughed, and went to hug him, and as I did, he repeated, "No, not even three weeks."
We're on for next Saturday. Thai, you think?
Oh!
He got up to use the restroom, and I kept myself amused by checking my email. There's a collie girl in Atlanta. Terri in New Jersey will keep me posted, but from the photo, she doesn't look like a blue. We'll see, though. She might be fated for me. Who knows? But it was a well-omened evening.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 07:04 am (UTC)I'm so happy for you! *doing little happy dance*
I really am just grinning from ear to ear. Fabulous story!
Send a picture! ;)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 07:30 am (UTC)Did I mention the kinda cute thing? I mean, not staggering, you know, but a very interesting face, and cute. So we shall see!
WOOTY WOOT!
no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 09:24 am (UTC)Welcome! :)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 07:05 pm (UTC)Mwah!
no subject
Date: 2003-04-06 07:29 pm (UTC)People don't bother me much on LJ, even the people I didn't at first want to know about my journal and I've been keeping it for 2 years now. I think most people just don't want to be bothered with looking it up.
I'll leave you alone if you want though. :)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-08 08:56 pm (UTC)