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The Dating Game – Round 1.

May 2, 2014

Dinner and a concert last night were both… really fun. VNV Nation killed it, no question, and I about fell over ogling Ronan Harris.

By far, one of my absolute favorite running songs of all time, and it was no less fantastic live than it’s ever been while I’m running:

A couple of stupid girls slammed into me a few times at the show, but otherwise, everyone was really quite awesome. I should be happy that for as vapid as the girls appeared to be, they at least had the good sense to listen to VNV Nation. They were young, likely not much more than 18, which, God help me, means I’ve been listening to the band nearly the entirety of their lives.

I wish I could explain how I feel about my date last night, but my inability to say that it was entirely a smashing success leads me to believe that either a) i’m not ready to date or b) he’s not the right guy.

And yet, later tonight, I’ll find myself almost dozing off over and over again in his arms on his couch, watching Attack on Titan while one of his cats purrs happily on his chest. For my part, I am also happy.  But something still doesn’t seem quite right, and I need to put a stop to this or slow it down if, after our next date (dinner at his place on Saturday), I don’t feel that same spark that I still feel for MTIA. That’s not fair to him.

Also, I have The Dating Game – Round 2 coming up in a couple of days. Just coffee, like friends, but he’s this adorable, baby-faced lawyer, interested in my collaborative gardening with my neighbors and my advocacy of the LGBTQ community. He enjoys the same sports that I do, and , thankfully, made no mention whatsoever of wrestling in his profile. I’m thinking I might need to add that I LOATHE wrestling to my profile.

Confession: I don’t like Round 1’s taste in shoes, and this will likely doom any potential relationship we might have. On the other hand, he freely admits that he’s got little fashion sense and has enlisted me as an integral member of his wardrobe committee for an upcoming style makeover. He needs to let me pick out his glasses when he goes to buy a new pair.

God, I’m shallow. I’m not proud. but I’m honest.

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