Out of the Frying Pan...

I think the two pigeons outside my window are having a contest to see who can hold their breath the longest.

Anyhoo, this afternoon I had lunch with the Contender--which, considering that we've now spent an hour together sober and haven't written one another off, seems as apt a pseudonym as any for the time being.

I went into the city and met him by his office, from whence he took me to a (very busy) hole-in-the-wall Chinese place where, hoorah! I finally got some good Chinese! I hadn't found any since I got back from Africa a year ago, so that, in and of itself, made the entire afternoon worthwhile.

I am pleased to report that he is still both smart and attractive when sober, which is certainly a relief. He quite cutely apologized for being "so drunk" on our date ("so drunk" clearly meaning "the drunken make-out session in the park"), from which apology I'm beginning to get the idea that he is the sweet-and-sensitive type. Granted, this would normally send me screaming for the hills, past experience having taught me that sweet-and-sensitive often mutates into clingy-and-psychotic... but I've decided that, at this juncture in my life (read: I'm almost 30), sweet-and-sensitive is a pleasant diversion from the aloof-and-unavailable douche bags that I'm generally attracted to.

I can deal with a little public hand-holding if it means that the guy actually makes it clear that he's into me, rather than leaving me second and third and twentieth guessing myself/his intentions.

Not to mention he's gainfully employed.

So... he has been dubbed the Contender for the time being. I think he's coming to see my show on Friday--which, incidentally, is the night that the Lovely A, her boyfriend, and W are all coming as well (PLEASE DON'T EMBARRASS ME! YES, THIS MEANS YOU A! No death threats or discussion of my previously pitiable love life. Even if you're drunk. 'Kay? Kay.)

So... we'll see how it goes.

The Contender.

Hmmm.

If he sticks around, maybe I'll call him Brando.