A Change of Pace

It's been a busy couple of weeks up here in NYC. Spring has (finally!) sprung, bringing warm sun, beautiful flowers, and...tourists. I've had a couple of friends visiting me, which gives me a fantastic excuse to visit places like Ellis Island and Madame Tussaud's, and to discover fantastic new bars and other hangout spots. Now, if I would actually make the effort to break my routine and go to these places on a regular basis...

Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. If I'm going to do a bit of spring cleaning of my social life, I need to start small. How about a new kind of dating story for you folks?

It seems a bit cruel to be constantly harping on these poor tadpoles. As much as they deserve it, I'm not exactly a perfect date myself. Take my tenth grade homecoming, for example:

Picture, if you will, two young, awkward kids who have known each other as friends for many years. I have had a crush on the boy for, oh..., forever. He is an awkward 15 year old who is basically dating me because I'm the only girl who will talk to him.

Because we are both 15, we have to be driven to dinner and the dance by my mom. And, as we learned from Raspberry Beret, being driven to a date by your mom is never cool.

Awkward Boy chose a gas station for dinner. To be fair, it was an old gas station that had been converted into a restaurant. And it was one of the nicest restaurants in town, y'all!

So, there we are, all dressed up, staring at each other across an old picnic table inside an old gas station, picking at plates of fried chicken and trying to make conversation while my mom is sitting at a different table and pretending not to be there. I was trying desperately to make a good impression- I was hoping that this dance would be a magical, teen movie night, complete with my very first kiss, and I knew just what to do to make my dream come true...

I would be flirty! So, while the Boy was talking, I grabbed my glass of sweet tea and started playfully spinning the straw while gazing longingly into his eyes. I maintained my fabulously flirty eye contact while sexily licking my subtly parted lips. I bent toward my glass, making sure to display my decolletage, and grasped the straw

Or where I thought the straw was. But all I got was a less-than-sexy mouthful of air.

Determined to salvage the moment, I lifted the glass and reached my lips towards the straw.

And missed again.

But I was not to be defeated! I kept my eye contact and, as sexily as you imagine it would be, chased my straw around the glass with my tongue before finally getting the damned thing in my mouth.

Needless to say, that was the most action my lips got that night.