Um... wrong. Or I should probably say that you are partially right. You see, there were tons of guys who wanted to date me (a few girls, too). I remember emailing my friend Michelle to tell her that I didn't realize New York had so many single detectives, college professors and brokers, and how they all seemed to be really attracted to me.
I spent two weeks going on first dates, just to find out that there was nothing there. The fifth spark-less meeting convinced me that I should take a break from online dating. I clicked on my profile, and was about to hide it, when I saw this man:His pictures made things tingle. This shot was not the first one I saw. The one that made me click forward showed him smiling like a morning sun. I opened his profile, and read this:
"I have broad tastes-I suppose that's why I was drawn to the theatre as a profession. There I can play music of all genres, classical to rock to big band... and serve in a variety of roles: lone pianist, pit musician, vocal coach, conductor.... The change of pace with each new job keeps it fresh!"
"I run a lot. But not marathons. 4-6 times a week."
I have a car and 6 closets.
I was born in Utah, and raised without religion. The Mormons didn't get me... I recently took up crosswords and Scrabble to stave off the Alzheimer's.
I was taken by his candidness, his wit, and his legs-my goodness, the man shared a picture where he was wearing running clothes, and I wanted to meet those limbs. Still, I was only enjoying the eye candy. Then, he told me a story about crabapples. It took place when he was a child. It was filled with emotion. And it is our secret, so I have to apologize for not sharing the details. I will tell you though, that the story was what made me email him.
Wanting to keep things light, I sent him the following message:
"Six Closets! "
I'm extremely jealous of your closet space! I'm moving in two weeks, and my new place has two excuses for something that if put together might qualify as half a decent closet. The kitchen (if you can call it that) is a nightmare, but I make myself feel better by thinking about my new working fireplace, huge deck and dreamy view.
"Hope you are having a nice day,"M"
I waited, and waited, and waited... for what felt like forever. The next morning, the broker, the guy with whom I had gone on the latest date, emailed me. He said something about how we could be friends or something. I explained that I thought it would be a little weird. He convinced me to meet him for a drink. Okay, I was so bored, and annoyed because Mr. Hot Legs had not emailed me back, that I said, why not.
I met the broker at a coffee shop, and after I threatened to break his legs if he touched my knees with them one more time, he told me that he could buy women like me for a dime a dozen. I got to my feet and left him yelling like a maniac.
Claiming a seat at a different coffee shop, in Time Square, I started my laptop and got ready to write a blog about insane men and ridiculously funny second dates. Out of habit, I opened my email. I grinned when I saw a message from Mr. Hot Legs. He said,"Sorry, didn't mean to brag about all my closets (actually there are only 5, but one is double-wide and another is walk-in, so I fudged the number)."
He made me laugh and that, my Wicked Luvs, opened a window into my soul. We messaged each other many times after that day. The emails got longer and more personal. Soon we exchanged phone numbers and partook in conversations that lasted several hours every night. After twenty days of hot emails and sizzling phone calls, we agreed to meet for the first time.
Again, the morning before I met Mr. Hot Legs, I emailed my friend Michelle. I told her that I was very nervous. Not so much about the fact that every bit of me was sure it wanted to jump his bones, but because I was afraid of not liking and wanting him as much in person, as I had over the phone. Michelle, my dear MouseDeamon, is a very wise Witch. She told me to quit being scared; to keep the date short and manageable, if I liked him go for it, and if I didn't run for dear life.
I had a Harlem Renaissance final exam that day. I finished the test in about ten minutes-no joke-I write like a mad person when I'm nervous. So there I was, sitting at my school library with two hours to spare before the date, when he sent this text:" I was involved in a car accident."
There was more to the text, but my mind read only those words and added a few others that suggested Mr. Hot Legs was about to stand me up. I replied to the text, and after making sure that he was okay, I said that I would wait until he sorted things out.
We spoke on the phone about half an hour later, and he said that he had gotten very dirty while trying to get one of his bumpers from under the second car involved in the accident. We agreed to meet one hour and a half after that.
With a heavy heart, I walked towards the subway. For some reason-or for the obvious reasons-I couldn't stop thinking that perhaps there was no future for Mr. Hot Legs and I. As a Witch, I believe in omens, and a car crash right before my first date with a guy didn't send the best signals.
I got to South Ferry Station, the meeting place, first. I emailed Michelle to let her know about the car accident and how the incident was freaking me out. She reminded me about running for dear life if he turned out to be ugly, a liar and most important if he didn't smell good. Michelle's silliness cheered me up. I turned off my computer and moved towards a place where I knew I would see him when he walked in.
I spotted him in the middle of a crowd. He wore a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of beige cargo shorts covered the upper half of the best set of legs I had seen in ages. I tried to sneak up on him, but he saw me while I was halfway down the stairs that led from the second to the first floor of the ferry station. His smile was warmer than I remembered. His eyes, which I had believed to be brown, were a strange shade that suggested someone had taken gold and mixed it with a bit of night. I closed my eyes when we kissed. Then we hugged for a long time-his face in my hair, my face in the crook of his neck. I remember thinking, "My goodness this man smells so good". I didn't run.
On our first day, my Piano Man and I ate pizza and ice cream. We walked for miles, smiling and sniffing each other; we kissed under the Staten Island sunset, and we made love...
Yesterday, we celebrated another anniversary of our first date. Yes, with pizza and ice cream, walking for miles, smiling and sniffing each other, kissing under a tree in Staten Island, discussing handfasting locations, riding the ferry, saying how lucky we are to have one another.
I wasn't going to give anything away during our sharing of Art, Passion and Heart-Told Tales. I thought the love-filled vibes we would get from reading each other's stories would be the best possible gift-I still think that. Yet, when Stacy drew this handsome, piano-playing baby crow, I knew I had to present it to someone. So... To win this original "Piano Player" by Magic Love Crow, first, tell me why you want it, and second, leave a comment telling me a bit about how you met the other half of your heart.
Please add the direct links to your Art, Passion and Heart-Told Tales post right under the party button, on my sidebar. I will add all the links to the party page after July 3rd.
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Reference: my-spiritual-path.blogspot.com
