By the way. PS. Didn't I tell you?
It was a complete reversal of fortune compared to the way I spent Valentine's Day last year.
A few months ago I learned how to turn off the "Looking For A Husband/Boyfriend/Someone to Sleep With" function embedded in my wiring. Honorary Big Sis has always said that's key to actually finding The One. HBS told me I needed to focus on myself, my interests, my friends, and other things having to do with My Life. My. Single. Life.
Once I mastered this, I stopped caring. I stopped wondering which man at the table was the most likely candidate to make his way into my double bed. I stopped wondering why I don't have a BF and I stopped pouring myself over my hair/makeup/wardrobe (who am I? Jessica Simpson?) for the Perfect Ensemble to Snag A Date.
Blech. How pathetic.
I went out to watch the Super Bowl (effin' Steelers) with some friends when The Neighbor came along. He lives near one of my friends and I had met him a few months ago, sometime after I stopped caring about the men I met at bars and other social events.
At 37, Irish is a little bit older than I am, but not enough to make a huge difference. He and I had a great time talking during the football game. At one point, we were totally engrossed in convo, ignoring the other two people sitting at the table. When our friends went to the restroom, Irish made a surprising confession.
"I really want to get married and have kids. I'm getting older and I hope I find someone."
Well damn. The shock hit me like the impact of a 16 wheeler Mac truck. Since when do attractive, viable men make such a revelation to a woman they barely know?
You'll be proud to know I kept the poker face on. This was not a good moment to gush back, "Me too! When are we going to Vegas? My uterus isn't taken!!"
Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself and continued to talk to this handsome man, pouring his heart out to me.
My gal pal D Money knows how I've pretty much pulled the emergency break on any advances towards men, so she slyly mentioned to our table mates that we each had tickets to Joseph, and "Do you all want to go with us?"
We knew our friend The Girl With The Rockin Bod would be in, we were just surprised that Irish was just as eager.
Fast forward to Valentine's. TGWTRB actually couldn't go because she actually has a boyfriend and actually had to spend the holiday in some state of actual or figurative bliss with him.
But Irish wanted to go.
Did I mention my nerves led me to bite off all my nails?
We had a great time. D Money rounded up some other date so we got to enjoy the evening as little, superimposed couples. We turned up at a charming bar across the street from the Broadway venue and Irish was a picture of perfection. Pressed blue Polo oxford, navy sportcoat, great slacks. We got the convo ball started rolling and I was smitten.
After the first half of Joseph was over, Irish and I walked to the lobby and he surprised me with a glass of red wine when I returned from the restroom. We chatted inside the theatre long after the second half started, he sharing with me how much he loves theatre, ballet, museums and the like. I know what some of you are thinking, and no. He's just cultured. I have to say, I have a lot more in common with this kind of guy than I do someone a rabid sports nut (no offense intended, NB-C. You know how little I'm interested in sports.) He told me about some of the best seats he's had for other performances (ps. Irish says you can see the best version of the Swan Lake ballet in Moscow).
We talked about traveling and some of his interesting experiences living in spots around the world.
Irish chided me to come out for a drink after the show, even though I had my heart set on a nap before my graveyard shift started.
Our little foursome headed to a different, chic bar and instantly it was more talking. Just the two of us. D Money says we left her little couple in the dust, chatting up how Irish and I go to the same church (he even sat in the pew in front of me last Sunday) and about our families.
He asked me to stay out a little bit longer, and then around midnight we both turned into pumpkins, he heading home and me getting ready for work.
A few days later, I have not yet envisioned he and I standing at the altar. I haven't planned the reception and I am not mentally dreaming up what kind of couch I want in our future living room.
All I'm thinking about is the next time I might get to see him. Irish says he'll be at my Mardi Gras party.
I hope he brings the beads.