Sunday, April 22, 2007
Yesterday was the big NYC date.
I haven't stopped smiling yet. I even break into chuckles at odd moments.
I took the Metro North train down, and he met me at Grand Central. We walked and talked. Central Park. The Museum of Natural History. Street cart hot dogs (I insisted - as a tourist, it was de rigeur). Dinner, revolving over Times Square. He was more than a perfect gentleman.
He didn't want to put me on a train to go home. He drove me back to my car at the station in Poughkeepsie, which involved a slow wander around the city lights in a sporty little convertible with the top down and Bare Naked Ladies on the player, and him singing along. (I'm not usually impressed by a guy's wheels, but come on! The combination was fantastic!) We had taxi drivers grinning at us.
We were together 14 hours, and it just kept getting better and better all day.
I drove home, and he drove home, and I received two phone calls and an email (via Blackberry) from his car before I'd finished feeding Miss Thunderfoot.
One weird thing happened. We had stopped at a rest stop on the parkway on the way to Poughkeepsie so I could use the ladies' room. He pulled over by the door of the building, and I got out and went in. When I came out, he was nowhere to be seen. I checked both parking lots and the gas pumps, and didn't see his car anywhere. He was gone. Now, I've been dumped once or twice (and also dumped a few myself), but usually it's sort of expected, like I'd called the guy some bad names or had to beat him off. This was completely unexpected. I was starting to panic (dumped? at a rest stop? in the middle of nowhere? at 2 am?) when he came out the door of the building and looked relieved to see me. I ran toward him and got my first hug (and the first kiss, on the top of the head).
He had parked (beyond a larger vehicle, maybe? Black car, dark lot) and gone to the men's room, and then waited by the ladies' room for me to come out. But I never came out! He was beginning to worry that he had misplaced me somehow. I'd simply left the ladies' room sooner than expected.
Next kiss when we got to my car. I liked it.
And that was Saturday.
A gal's head could get turned. I have to keep reminding myself that even though I like everything I've seen so far, I haven't yet seen everything.
I woke up this morning to a wonderful email. I replied that I'd like to know who taught him how to write to a lady, so I could send them flowers.
Today was anime at FirstWoman's house. It was such a beautiful day we sat on her patio for a few hours talking.
Sheesh. Too much of this and my face will clear up.
.
4 comments:
Did he sing "I Can, I Will, and I Do" to you? Was it a mixed CD? Or was it the most recent one?
Tell him I'm rooting for him. We BNL fans stick together.
Ok, this whole post just had me giggling!
Chris
My Blog
Queen: I asked. His reply, "No, you've never heard that song. You will. I plan to BNL you up. The idea is to begin with Gordon and move forward, sprinkling in something from all of the other albums. 'I Can, I Will, I Do' is from Barenaked Ladies Are Men, which is the newest album (about 2 months since its public release, I got it last September). Same thing, great lyrics, music that makes you think."
What I got Saturday was selections from the mix. I'll see him tomorrow (Wednesday), and he has promised I Can, I Will, I Do. "I read your letters every night; well, I skim them just to be polite..." He asked why you chose that particular song.
Chris: I'm not sure how to take that. Was that an "Oh, how sweet" giggle, or a "What an idiot" giggle? I'm still giggling, so I guess you can be forgiven.
Giggling and tingling.
Personally, "I Can, I Will and I Do" is not one of my favorite songs, because I like Steven to sound a bit less breathy. However, what I remember best is someone raving that hearing that song at a concert made he and his wife want to go have babies: "Steven if it's a boy and Paige if it's a girl."
I like the Suicide Setlist best: War On Drugs, Next Time, This Is Where it Ends, Pinch Me, etc. Any peppy song about clinical depression speaks to me.
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