After being a back seat driver here forever, I figured I would spice things up with a report on some recent happenings since my move. I moved back to the U.S. two months ago, and, yet again, I find myself in a completely new region, without a single acquaintance outside of the male social recluses at my job.
One Friday, I went to a wine tasting, alone of course. Rather than picking the table with a hot chick, I sat with a few guys and introduced myself. The first priority is absolutely to meet people, any people. In this case, I lucked out. One of them was an owner of a night club (and also quite knowledgeable about wine). It’s always good to know a guy like that in a new town.
At the end of the tasting, he started buying rounds. He was quite generous, really.
“So what do you want next?”
“Well, I, uh, I really shouldn’t be having so many –“
“Come on! Here you go!”
I was finishing a beer (yes, he was buying us beer after wine) and getting ready to call it a night when a red head walked in, briefly made eye contact, adjusted her billowy orange scarf, sat down at the next table, and started looking around, and looking at her texts. I though, hmmm, attractive girl sitting in a pub without being engrossed in a conversation with five other people? How often does that happen? Never?
So I walked up and said, “that’s quite a scarf. It looks like something girls wear in France.” I suppose this was a bit of DHV, implying that I had been to France. (I have, and they do wear some pretty loudly colored scarves.) She laughed and spread it out on the table saying “I’m always wearing orange and black. I guess I like Halloween colors.”
“What are you? A Goth?”
“No, not really. I’m a band geek.”
“Yes, I had a very good band geek friend . . .” At this point, I told some funny story about hanging with this guy, we end up totaling his car, almost going to jail, etc..
I tried my best to stretch out the time before we get to the “where are you from where do you work what do you study blah blah blah” stuff. You have to get to that stuff eventually, sure. But I string it out a bit.
Eventually, we start to introduce ourselves. She was waiting for some very late friends. She works at an art gallery, and while I’m no art expert, I pride myself on being a bit knowledgeable about everything. At this point, I switch gears and talk briefly about my opinions of art, and I deepen the mood a little. Instead of keeping up a joking tone, I talk slowly, deeply, and seriously with plenty of eye contact. I talk about how good art is a reflection of the way our minds store visual memories . . . She eventually talks about how staring at a de Koonig painting in person can be like a spiritual experience. To really get rapport with someone, you can’t just keep up a joking, fun loving tone the whole time.
Finally, we were talking about tattoos, and I asked if she had one of those curly celtic ones on her lower back. “No I don’t have any tramp stamp!” I visibly sighed with relief. In hindsight, she was probably impressed by the simple act of qualifying her.
So, she volunteered her number, and a few days later, we arranged to meet for coffee. Nothing exciting, just some nice convo. She’s smart, sarcastic, and laid back. I could really get to like this one. The key part was venue changing. “Wanna go to this sketchy bar within walking distance?” The walk was a journey. I had forgotten that in America, a few feet of sidewalk is often replaced with half a mile of expansive parking lots and medians, which she walked through wearing heels.
It never fails – if she’s into you, she’ll walk closer and closer until you’re practically forced to put your arm around her.
After a drink, we parted ways, and she stood very close to me, as they sometimes do when expecting a kiss. I did my characteristic move of looking deeply into her eyes for a moment, then pointing to my cheek. (Sorry, it’s patented, the rest of you can’t do it.) This resulted in her getting pretty persistent, and some making out.
So she called me and asked me out a few days later. We meet a few more times, and I’m really starting to get used to her. She’s fun without being flaky, affectionate without being clingy, and she just acts, looks, and dresses like a woman should, without being shallow.
She ended up in my bed. With me in the living room. She yells, “sooo . . . feel free to join me. I mean, if you want.” And after that NCAA tournament game was over, I did.
Things were hot and heavy for a bit, then she started giving me some resistance. I wasn’t worried; just back off, try again later. But then she made a confession that has me wondering what to do. She’s a virgin. A hot, 25 year old virgin. And I don’t think she’s planning to change it until she’s engaged.
I was thinking I had lucked out, that I had landed a girl who was about as fine as a guy in my position could land. Now I’m a bit bothered by this. I’m trying to get other plates going, but it’s not easy to keep going out by yourself, even if you do sort of know the bartenders and owners. I’m working on it. Two other number closes, in fact, though I’m not optimistic about either. Plus, I don't think I can realistically find a new girl on this one's level any time soon. I do wish it could work with this one, but this whole dating a virgin thing is such an odd situation.
One Friday, I went to a wine tasting, alone of course. Rather than picking the table with a hot chick, I sat with a few guys and introduced myself. The first priority is absolutely to meet people, any people. In this case, I lucked out. One of them was an owner of a night club (and also quite knowledgeable about wine). It’s always good to know a guy like that in a new town.
At the end of the tasting, he started buying rounds. He was quite generous, really.
“So what do you want next?”
“Well, I, uh, I really shouldn’t be having so many –“
“Come on! Here you go!”
I was finishing a beer (yes, he was buying us beer after wine) and getting ready to call it a night when a red head walked in, briefly made eye contact, adjusted her billowy orange scarf, sat down at the next table, and started looking around, and looking at her texts. I though, hmmm, attractive girl sitting in a pub without being engrossed in a conversation with five other people? How often does that happen? Never?
So I walked up and said, “that’s quite a scarf. It looks like something girls wear in France.” I suppose this was a bit of DHV, implying that I had been to France. (I have, and they do wear some pretty loudly colored scarves.) She laughed and spread it out on the table saying “I’m always wearing orange and black. I guess I like Halloween colors.”
“What are you? A Goth?”
“No, not really. I’m a band geek.”
“Yes, I had a very good band geek friend . . .” At this point, I told some funny story about hanging with this guy, we end up totaling his car, almost going to jail, etc..
I tried my best to stretch out the time before we get to the “where are you from where do you work what do you study blah blah blah” stuff. You have to get to that stuff eventually, sure. But I string it out a bit.
Eventually, we start to introduce ourselves. She was waiting for some very late friends. She works at an art gallery, and while I’m no art expert, I pride myself on being a bit knowledgeable about everything. At this point, I switch gears and talk briefly about my opinions of art, and I deepen the mood a little. Instead of keeping up a joking tone, I talk slowly, deeply, and seriously with plenty of eye contact. I talk about how good art is a reflection of the way our minds store visual memories . . . She eventually talks about how staring at a de Koonig painting in person can be like a spiritual experience. To really get rapport with someone, you can’t just keep up a joking, fun loving tone the whole time.
Finally, we were talking about tattoos, and I asked if she had one of those curly celtic ones on her lower back. “No I don’t have any tramp stamp!” I visibly sighed with relief. In hindsight, she was probably impressed by the simple act of qualifying her.
So, she volunteered her number, and a few days later, we arranged to meet for coffee. Nothing exciting, just some nice convo. She’s smart, sarcastic, and laid back. I could really get to like this one. The key part was venue changing. “Wanna go to this sketchy bar within walking distance?” The walk was a journey. I had forgotten that in America, a few feet of sidewalk is often replaced with half a mile of expansive parking lots and medians, which she walked through wearing heels.
It never fails – if she’s into you, she’ll walk closer and closer until you’re practically forced to put your arm around her.
After a drink, we parted ways, and she stood very close to me, as they sometimes do when expecting a kiss. I did my characteristic move of looking deeply into her eyes for a moment, then pointing to my cheek. (Sorry, it’s patented, the rest of you can’t do it.) This resulted in her getting pretty persistent, and some making out.
So she called me and asked me out a few days later. We meet a few more times, and I’m really starting to get used to her. She’s fun without being flaky, affectionate without being clingy, and she just acts, looks, and dresses like a woman should, without being shallow.
She ended up in my bed. With me in the living room. She yells, “sooo . . . feel free to join me. I mean, if you want.” And after that NCAA tournament game was over, I did.
Things were hot and heavy for a bit, then she started giving me some resistance. I wasn’t worried; just back off, try again later. But then she made a confession that has me wondering what to do. She’s a virgin. A hot, 25 year old virgin. And I don’t think she’s planning to change it until she’s engaged.
I was thinking I had lucked out, that I had landed a girl who was about as fine as a guy in my position could land. Now I’m a bit bothered by this. I’m trying to get other plates going, but it’s not easy to keep going out by yourself, even if you do sort of know the bartenders and owners. I’m working on it. Two other number closes, in fact, though I’m not optimistic about either. Plus, I don't think I can realistically find a new girl on this one's level any time soon. I do wish it could work with this one, but this whole dating a virgin thing is such an odd situation.
It's quite a juxtaposition between that name and that quote.