Lucky Me 2006

Anyone who's ever seen my apartment would know that I'm a packrat. I just can't bear to toss something that has a story behind it, that represents a particular moment in my personal history.

There's a green plastic necklace, a cheap clover-shaped trinket emblazoned with "Lucky You 2006" and a beer logo on the back. It hangs on my bathroom doorknob, rattling and knocking every time I open or close the door. Looks like a piece of junk, but I'd hate to forget about the night I got it.

Midway through my second year of teaching: I was settled and much more confident in my classroom. I had recently met a few more people in New York, but still led a fairly lonely life. I'd been single for several years and spent my weekends holed up in my tiny room. So when one of my school friends invited me to a St Patrick's Day happy hour, I easily agreed. There were plenty of cheap green drinks and cute boys. My friend made sure to introduce me to her friend behind the bar, a burly Island guy named, appropriately, Vinnie. He instantly flirted with me, and before I left I gave him my number.

He texted me for the next few days, calling me sweet and cute. I was flattered but it felt a bit weird; I'd talked to him for all of five minutes, that was moving a bit fast. Soon he asked me out for dinner that Friday night. Of course I agreed; who am I to say no to a date?

But the real reason that I said yes was to make that week go faster; a week after that, I knew I was going to be seeing another boy, A., at a group bar outing. After meeting at a teacher-blogger gathering, he and I had been emailing for a couple months. I was ridiculously excited to see him again; I knew there would be sparks.

So in the meantime, I went out with Vinnie. He was a very nice guy, a bit older than me, with a young daughter and a dog. He treated me to a drink and then a fancy dinner at a Union Square restaurant (I believe I had a baked potato; one of my best qualities is that I'm a cheap date). He drove me home, and I was relieved. I felt nothing and he realized it, too. He was nice about it, though, and we didn't speak again.

The next weekend, I saw A. again. We talked and flirted all night, but for some reason (?!), he didn't ask me out. It took him nearly another week, and I almost went out of my mind, waiting anxiously. We finally went out on a real date on Friday, March 31, and it lasted until four in the morning. I knew that it was the beginning of something big, something great.

We've been together for just about two years now, and indeed, lucky, lucky me. I'll hang on to that cheap green necklace for as long as I can.

Smitten Kitten

That's me. I have been smote.

On Saturday evening and Thursday evening, I got to hang out with one of the nonAmerican boys I met while in Paris last January.

And oh, he is cute. Very cute. Also sarcastic and smart and well-traveled.

But, naturally, he's also taken.

In any case, it was a good lot of fun. Walking around the city in new and familiar areas, eating, talking about culture, travel, school, maps, etc.

It was so awesome. And so, I will probably never see him again, seeing as how he's nonAmerican.

Does that stop me from swooning, sighing, and smiling all over the place? Nope, not a bit.

Now for the non-smitten story. Blech.

I also had a date last weekend from an online site. It was blah. The guy was not bad-looking, but not exactly cute, either. I felt zero connection or chemistry. And he was trying a little too hard. He actually said at one point, "There's something sexy about libraries," a little too earnestly. Ew. After dinner, we went to walk on/stand on the nearby piers, and I think if I hadn't been huddled into my coat just enough standoffishly, that he would have tried to hold my hand or something grossly inappropriate like that.

He called on Wednesday, but I saw it was him and didn't pick up. He left a breezy little message, but I'm not going to call him back. My logical, sensical side says that I should give him another chance, but...meh. After the fantastic, easy, enjoyable time with the nonAmerican, it seems kind of pointless to attempt something with a boring someone.

Fee Fie Fo Fum, I smell...Friday!

Thank god only two days left are left of the week.

Let's see. It's late. All of the classes were sort of shitty today. Not horrible or anything, but there was too much chatting and attitude from too many of them. Especially Class B. Which was such a shame because nearly half the class was desperately trying to participate. Days like this, I'm like, dang, I really do kind of suck at this. Teaching, I mean. Oh well.

Had QC class today, after two weeks of not being there. Didn't feel like I'd been gone or anything. I also was not prepared; I did not even pretend to try to do any work for either class. Right. Class=lame and boring! Ha, I'm such a hypocrite. Like I care anymore; I'm too busy for that shit, man.

Cute nice boy is killing me. He was pretty flirty tonight, but I always think boys are teasing me when they're too nice. I wasn't sure how to react, so I just played it light. During our class note-taking conversation, he called me smart, then cute, then composed lyrical odes to me. My response: Shut up! We laughed. Aw, he's cute and he's too nice. It's fun to giggle and daydream about a boy liking me...but I usually regress to my thirteen-year-old, insecure self and say, Naw, I'm weird, unattractive, too smart, too smart-alecky, and standoffish. And insecure. No one would like me. Nothing comes of this crap anyway; the daydreaming or the insecure ramblings. So shut up, me.