Reporting in...

Ok, fans. (Or should I say roommates, since that's who reads my blog?)

Last night was first date number 8,793. Well, not that many but it feels like it. I rambled. I shred my coaster. (Had a cloth napkin, so the coaster suffered my nerves. He noticed the nerves, offered me a drink. Yes, thank you. That was a good merlot.)

I promised myself a Dr. Pepper for every five minutes he was late. (They're always late. I don't think they can help it... I think it's in men's natures to be late. So I made it a game.)

So at dinner I drank two Dr. Peppers. But, he called to let me know he'd be late.
He showed up with a flower. And he gave me a mixed cd. And he paid for coffee... and dinner... and more coffee.

He emails. He actually picks up the phone and calls. And here I was beginning to think that men are limited to communicating through text messages, (or not at all,) unless it's my father.

I almost didn't go, for no other reason other than I was nervous. Glad I went. Quite glad that I went. It's been a long time since a date was just straight up fun, with no pressure, no confusion, no stress, and no real work for me. Yes, I know that relationships are work. But a first date shouldn't be. It should be easy, light, fun, enjoyable, and a tiny bit awkward... and it was all those things.

And let's be serious for a minute. I would've drank those two Dr. Peppers anyway.