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Happy St. Pat's
2005-03-17, 9:16 a.m.

Just a quickie:

DW's and my second date, the date at which I gave him a second chance after The Swipe, involved a hockey game. I remember the players were wearing their special St. Paddy's Day shamrock jerseys. We were talking a bit about it last night, and what I remember most about that date is that I got to see who he really was, after his first date defenses were down and he was acting like his real self. I started to fall in love with him a little bit.

DW's biggest impression of that date? That he's glad he wore a coat.

I punched him on the arm a little bit after he said that.

It's so funny, the change in his personality from Date 1 to Date 2. His appearance, too. As you may know, this was a blind date - we met on the internet. We are a love@aol success story. I had two very trusted male friends who are from our little town (I did not grow up there, and was living in San Antonio at the time), who I worked with, and who grew up with DW, know him, know his family, etc. So I felt very safe on our first date. I felt like I knew him a bit, because I had already learned that we had two mutual friends. Who would gladly kick his ass on my behalf if that became necessary.

So on our first date, he showed up with that kind of weird meth-lab date-rapist facial hair. Shaved head (he's bald, so no big deal), and that strange, redneck-looking mutton-chop thing with a little line of beard-hair going out to his chin.

And his attitude, to sum it up, was "I'm not sure I like you, but I might like to fuck you." He has agreed that that was the attitude he went into it with. He hadn't had good luck dating for the past several years, and looked at me as another internet date who would surely reveal some disgusting flaw by the evening's end.

We proceeded to have fun, but as the night wore on, he got too drunk. And his inner-asshole came out, and he was a bit obnoxious. Abrasive. We were still having fun, I mean, I didn't dislike him, but I had decided that I might not want to go out with him or see him again. He didn't seem promising enough to waste any more time on. Kind of a pain in the ass, and I had had my share of pains in my ass.

Fast forward to The Swipe, next to a 3:00 a.m. sobered-up phone call with heartfelt apologies for bad behavior...and I decided to give him a second chance.

I'm glad I did. The next evening, he had shaved off all of the meth-lab date-rapist facial hair, and had let his guard down. He was himself. He was cute - hiding his cold nose inside his coat.

This leads me to a digression about the incongruance about that hockey game, and hockey in San Antonio in general. First of all, hockey in San Antonio? I love hockey. It's fun, it's intense, it's fast, and there's fighting, and everyone's okay with that. Hockey in San Antonio, though, that's like jumbo shrimp. Ice does not happen naturally in San Antonio.

Add to that the name of our team: the Iguanas. There are no iguanas in San Antonio. I'm not sure whose ass that name was pulled out of, but there you are. We are the Iguanas, not the Giant Cockroaches, not the Skunks, not the Swarming Mosquitoes. We should SO be the Chupacabras. The Fightin' San Antonio Chupacabras.

Anyway, add to that the special St. Paddy's Day shamrock jerseys, and what you got there is a culture clash. I suppose that's part of what I like around here. You run up against a culture clash everywhere you go. It all kind of fits together and everyone seems to be pretty okay with it, and we have fun with it. There are few things I love better than a person of obvious Hispanic lineage, with a German last name, wearing a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" pin on their shirt.

This wasn't such a quickie, after all. I bit you adieu for a bit, as my bladder, she is full to burstin'.

Just a note: I'm not Supah Gold, I'm just regular Gold, hence, no comments. But if you'd like to email me, I would be thrilled. laura-flea@diaryland.com

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