Valentine’s weekend did not turn out as I had planned. I was not able to go to Miami due a last minute change in my moving schedule. Instead, I spent Friday moving all my stuff into my new apartment and mourning the loss of my life partner, my great dane.
He did not pass away; he went to a better home. Our breakup was as close to mutual as I have ever gotten with the opposite sex. Needless to say, no men have brought on such tears as my Manolo did. It was true love. Enough of that.
Saturday night I went on a date with a guy I had met weeks ago. Right after I met him, he had to go overseas for business, so this was our first date. I was impressed.
He picks me up (ten cool points). Old salsa music is playing when I get in the car, oh my! Now, keep in mind, that he is not Hispanic. He is American, of Indian decent. He also speaks Spanish—Puertorrioan Spanish, to be exact. Hmmm-mmm!
I get in the car and, naturally, he compliments my appearance. I know I look good. I just spent the last three hours trying to look like a woman again, after I had been moving all day the day before.
We go to this really nice Indian restaurant and sit at the bar to wait for our table. We eat some appetizers and cocktails and, without realizing it, a couple of hours go by. In between world traveling and documentaries, we order pretty much every appetizer on the menu. There goes my fruit diet. I might have to starve for the next two months in order to undo the damage. (Just kidding.) The food was so amazing. It is not worth losing those last ten pounds.
After dinner, we go downtown to meet his friends. Yes, his. I don’t bring guys to meet my awesome friends on the first, second, or third date. They have to prove themselves to have that privilege. While we are walking towards the bar, he asks how high my heels are. I realize he is shorter than I prefer remember, but I was trying to be a good person and not let it bother me.
I know—I am aware this makes me sound like a superficial girl. I am. But I also love children and take an interest in social issues. I mean, I haven’t seen a blockbuster movie in over a year. Doesn’t that compensate for the fact that I can never proudly walk next to a short guy? I end up asking the guy to take me home early. If I don’t stay true to myself, who will?
Sunday night I asked one of my lovely girlfriends to be my Valentine. I promised free drinks, dancing, and hot guys, so, of course, she accepted. I had the most fun I’ve had in a long time. We went to a drag queen show, got a couple of free drinks, and went dancing. At the end of the night, I met this (tall) Australian soccer player who was in town checking out the Austin Aztecs. Happy Valentine’s to me…
CJ in the Capital City