Tonight, a boy took me on a date. An old-fashioned date, the kind I love. Dating is such a complex animal; but even if I’m all not into commitment or long-term scariness sure to end in doom (!), I know one thing. And that’s if a guy (or girl) wants to see me, like go on a date, it’s best not to ask me to “hang out”. Unless you just want to hang out, and get beer and eat pizza and watch TV with roommates. No, if you ask me on a date, I want a date. Where we dress up for each other, and go through the rituals and nervousness and even a few delightfully archaic gender formalities. We dress up for each other and go out, and maybe it’s going to lead somewhere.
Such a hot formula for me.
Tonight he came over in his little convertible Triumph, all dressed in black with a neat-cut dark gray wool coat. Clean shaven, he waited for me to slip into a big coat on my chilly doorstep. He picked me up; I wore short boots, black tights under a black 60s babydoll dress, houndstooth headwrap, smelling like girl and butterscotch and vanilla. He kissed me sweetly all evening like no one else was in the room.
But there were a lot of people in the room: he, of course, took me to a nerdc0re rap hiphop show. It was the MC Frontalot show, with my friend Doc Pop opening and a rapper I’d never heard but now I love — STD. Live, he rocks. He rapped about grammar and usage! He dropped lines about how nerd girls are the hottest! “When we kiss.. It’s like magic… (The Gathering)…” (It was weird too, like he somehow knew I was at the cat show yesterday…) Check out his video full of insanely sexy girls (The Peach Tartes) dancing a super-sexy burlesque routine; a rapper after my own heart. Or lower.
I got the desired frisky goodnight kisses before the Triumph sped away; now I’m off to bed to dream of Chronicle columns…
