Strongly Worded

Weekend Post Mortem

On Friday I heeded all your advice and enjoyed an exceptional meal at Oleana, sponsored by the generous Mr. Divorced. Days in advance, I launched an inner debate about how to get to the restaurant. I could take public transit, or drive. Driving would involve parking stress, but then I could just go home on my own and avoid the whole saying-goodnight-on-my-porch -and-maybe-asking-him-in quandary. However, if things went well, having two cars would impede a casual, natural “why don’t you come in and make out” scenario. It would require too much boldness to suggest that he come over after dinner if we had to do it in two cars.

After thinking way to much about this, I decided to drive, but I cleaned feverishly just in case we did decide to go back to my place afterwards. The incredible dinner included pumpkin falafel with tahini, yogurt, beets & crinkled cress; tamarind glazed beef and smokey eggplant puree with pinenuts; and the most amazing tangerine-granita-and-mousse parfait. We had a good and reciprocal conversation. It may have helped that, early on, I described an obnoxious Friday afternoon meeting in which a colleague from another agency talked nonstop about his career challenges during a so-called joint networking session. “It was like a bad date”, I said pointedly. Mr. D snapped to attention and asked me plenty of questions and listened to my answers.

Afterwards we went to see Shut Up and Sing, an excellent documentary about the Dixie Chicks (remember how they expressed shame about sharing a home state with George W., and their fickle right-wing “fans” skewered them?). Even if you don’t get to see the flick, you should immediately buy or download their new album, or at least the song “Not Ready to Make Nice”. Mr. D graciously agreed to see the movie even though he is not a Dixie Chicks fan. He liked it and even followed up by sending me a link to an article about NBC’s refusal to air promos for this film. I am equal parts enraged by NBC and pleased by the fact that a) he followed up immediately and b) was similarly enraged.

Afterwards we hugged and got into our respective cars and there was absolutely no weirdness.

On Saturday E. and I went for a long walk which included a foray into the tailgating area near the annual Harvard-Yale football Game (note the capital G). We scored some free snacks and hung out briefly with drunken Ivy leaguers.

On Sunday I did homework for my Spanish class (which sucked, I hate homework and can’t fathom how I used to do it on a regular basis). I also attended DM’s lovely housewarming party. I sat near the wood-burning stove and experienced warm, zoned-out feelings in which the conversation lapped up against me.

Then I went to Mr. D’s stunning apartment and made dinner. He has lives in a swank apartment in Brookline with towel warmers in the bathroom, a convection oven, and framed prints of photographs he’s taken in foreign countries. I had flashbacks to Dr. Surgeon, who had a similarly beautiful home just blocks away. I spent about four thousand years wondering if we were going to make out, and we did not. We did, however, listen to the song “Cold November Rain” on his souped-up-high-tech-impressive-sound system.

Then I drove home and cried a little because the weekend had ended.

Posted by Dori at 11:10 AM