The beginning of the end, Part 2

So I get back in my black VW golf, put my hands on the steering wheel, and take just a few moments to try and figure out what the hell just happened. A kiss I can take… a hug means there’s a 50-85% chance she likes me… a handshake means she’s either interested or is going to wash her hands with antibiotic cleanser in the next 30 seconds… and a “It was nice meeting you. Take care”, well, that means “Don’t call, like, ever.” But what the heck did two hugs mean? If I went by my usual formula that either meant I was entering dating territory (100% interest) or I was entering stalker territory (100+% interest). There was one time I actually had a girl show up at my apartment and demand that my roommate’s girlfriend let her in to verify that I was, in fact, sick in bed. Needless to say, she didn’t get buzzed in, but I did have a 102 fever. What might also throw this further into the crazy column was that we’d met once at a party and talked twice on the phone… and the museum – The Museum of Tolerance… but that’s another story.

So after settling on the idea that the only way I would figure out what the hell just happened was to call Kim again, I started the car and drove home. A few calls to some buds revealed similar conclusions by them – “Yeah, dude, no clue” and “You sure she wasn’t trying to give you a kiss on the cheek and chickened out the second time?” were some of the ones I remember.

So I called Kim a few days later to set up the first actual, pick-you-up date. And in an effort to test her culinary tastes and also come off as a guy who’s idea of eating out isn’t just Fatburger (don’t get me wrong – Fatburger served it’s time in my rotation of restaurants), I offered sushi. When she got in the car, I gave her the option of run-of-the-mill sushi or something a little more adventurous. And she got the five bonus points for going for the adventure. So when we got out of the car, I remember asking, “so I don’t want to be presumptuous, but if you were planning on going dutch, this place is a little on the expensive side, are you okay with that? It’ll probably be about $45 per person.” A statement which has received mix reviews from friends (on her side and mine). I was planning on paying, but growing up in a house with an ultra-feminist mom, I really didn’t want to argue about a check at the end of the night. Kim said she was fine with a little expensive, btw.

So anyway, dinner was great. I took her to Sasabune, when they were still on Sawtelle in Los Angeles. The restaurant basically looks like it moved into someone’s home and you’re eating in the living room. The fun part of Sasabune is that you don’t get to choose what you eat. You can only order the chef’s special at first… and you get pretty much whatever’s freshest or whatever the chef feels like making. So Kim was a trooper at this point, but I made sure to mix in a little sake to calm the nerves (she later confessed to being a largely “California Roll” sushi person). Can’t tell you much of what was said, but I know I had fun. But when the check came, I opened it up to find out that my estimate for food was way off. The total bill without tip was up around 180. “I totally underestimated this; there’s no way I can let you even think about paying for half,” I told her. I think she finally found out the cost of the dinner after a month or so of dating.

So by now, it’s about 9:00 and we were in need of desert. Back in the car and heading towards the beaches of Santa Monica, she suggested a gelato place located just off the Santa Monica Promenade. That was totally fine with me because it would let us walk in the park along the bluffs afterwards… to chat, of course. So we walked and chatted for about two hours again – reminiscent of the first date, before we got to that awkward hand-holding part. I think my interior monologue at that point went something along the lines of this:
“Hold her hand?”
“Yeah, go for it”
“What should I lead with?”
“The pinky! always lead with the pinky?”
“Just the pinky? like a frickin pinky-swear?”
“Just do it, you pansy!”
(1812 Overture ensues)
Anyway, after a few more minutes of walking up and down the park, I drove her back to her place in Brentwood. I tried to do the chivalrous thing and walked her up to her door… and okay fine… for a goodnight kiss.
… now I’m willing to face facts… most if not all of the people reading this blog are a) female and b) people who follow Kim’s blog… so I’ll share this little tidbit that still befuddles me… Kissing a girl who is as tall or taller than you (if she’s wearing heels) is just plain wierd. Or at least it was for me. Being 6’2″, I’m used to being the taller one… looking down a little bit… and just generally relaxing. So Kim threw all that for a loop. I felt like I was back watching “Pretty in Pink” as a 9-year-old boy trying to figure out how sucking on a melon would make you a better kisser. But something must’ve worked, because we’re only 9 days from anniversary number 3.