I went into this date about as pessimistic as one could possibly be about a person you've never met before. For starters, he shares a name with Ex-BF v. 2.0, and I was all, "Meh too many of these guys MEH!" And it was, ahem, not necessarily my favorite time of the month, so I was bloaty and mildly broken out, which clearly screams "sexy lady, meow." And it rained all day, and I was having 'Nam-like flashbacks to my date with the political appointee the other night, where I spent the standard hour flat-ironing my hair only to have the sky pour down upon me and have it end up looking like a wet dog.
So yeah, I wasn't necessarily feeling chipper.
I braved it, though. And this time, I was determined not to be late. The plan was to meet at 5:45 on a Friday night at Rosa Mexicano in Chinatown for drinks, specifically pomegranate margaritas. So now that I knew how long it takes to walk to the Metro, I started getting ready at 3:45.
Despite the period, I was looking damn fine. Hair cooperated, make-up was perfect, boobs were perky. If this guy doesn't think I'm hot after this, I thought to myself, then clearly he's a homosexual.
I left the house at about 10 after 5, which was slightly later than I wanted to, but made it to the Metro station at 5:23 to see that the train I wanted was coming in 3 minutes. Perfect!
I reached into my bag for my wallet, which contains my Metro card... but I didn't feel a wallet.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK. I am an IDIOT. I had used a different purse to go to work earlier in the day, and had left my FUCKING WALLET in it.
Had no choice but to hoof it all the way back home to get it. Not like I could have gotten on the train anyway with a fare card or called a cab -- no moneys! And while I figured it was likely he'd pay for the night, I didn't want to just assume that, and if I got carded while I was there it would all be a wash anyway.
The lobbyist and I had been corresponding through e-mail, so I didn't actually have his phone number -- another little wrinkle to deal with. I e-mailed him through my BlackBerry: "Here's to hoping you have a phone with internet. I am an IDIOT and left my wallet at home. Will be a little late!"
He e-mailed back quickly: "I do have a cool phone. No problem!" I was thankful he seemed to roll with it.
Sigh. Even Mussolini couldn't make me run on time.
Anyway, I hoofed it. By the time I got back, I was a big sweaty mess. My hair was all disheveled. I took some time to re-flat-iron parts of it, and then continued out the door.
I didn't end up being that late -- probably got there around 6:15. The lobbyist was waiting inside the breezeway, and he didn't look pissed, so that was a good thing. He stood up and was enormously tall -- I dug that. We shook hands, then continued inside.
The lobbyist and I talked a lot about our jobs, about how we spent the inauguration, about sports we liked watching, and about where we went to college. He, too, campaigned for Barack Obama, and told me the story of how he got to meet him one time. He was talkative, and sweet, and we had a good banter thing going on.
He also was a little on the quieter side, like the political appointee, but it's that funny chemistry thing coming into play again -- for some reason, the lobbyist and I just meshed better together (although, get this shit -- BOTH the lobbyist and the political appointee campaigned for Obama in Akron, Ohio... when the lobbyist mentioned Akron, I thought to myself, holy shit these guys probably know each other! At some point, I'm going to have to ask, but it seemed an awkward subject for a first date).
We sat at a table and ordered appetizers -- guacamole and some cheese dip thing, I forget what it was called. The lobbyist served me some guac before serving himself. I thought that was pretty gentlemanly and nice! I ordered a second pomegranate margarita.
And then all of a sudden he was talking about something, and I realized I was drunk. Shit. Way to go, girl, everything's going well and now you're going to start slurring.
I mostly held it together. There was definitely some slurring of words. Fortunately, I didn't knock any drinks over (my patented drunk move), nor did I fall when we walked out of the restaurant.
Which brings me to my only complaint of the evening -- it ended early! We left Rosa Mexicana at about 8, and the lobbyist was like, "So you're probably heading to the Metro now, right?" and I was like, "Uh, I guess so!" But at that point, he had already been like, "Well you'll have to take me to the Crystal City Sports Pub sometime," and the chemistry thing was flowing, so I knew he was feeling it. I'm not sure why he didn't want to continue the night somewhere else, but whatever. He probably had back-up plans in case I sucked; he seems like an organized fellow so I would think that's the case.
We rode the Metro together to L'Enfant, which was his stop. He hugged me goodbye (no kiss -- I would have, but he didn't go in for it... again, kind of scratching my head over that, but I'm not going to worry about it), and I continued down to Crystal City.
The lobbyist texted very quickly after we parted ways to ask if I wanted to hang out the following Tuesday. I texted back and said yes!
I call Bachelor #2 a success!
Originally posted Nov. 26, 2009