Table Seven

I have had a bit of my own independence day. It is rainy and as the 93 yr old wonder put it “depression weather.” I dozed all throughout the morning hours with a little Monk and Law&Order in the background. I picked a delicious late lunch and watched an infomercial in which a woman explained her love of food and how she managed to curb her eating to lose 140lbs. I ate french fries for her, and actually appreciated the oxymoron of eating the french fries while listening to her explain how she taught herself about bad food.
And now I am watching RockyIV. I truly do not enjoy watching people get beat up. I am definitely more of a lover than a fighter, if given the option. Tough, but not a good fighter at all. Watching Apollo Creed succomb to the Russian was difficult, but watching Rock come back after his training in the outskirts of Moscow is oddly inspirational.
A whole lot of me-time. Biggest excitement might be that Tweeky saw George Hamilton in Aspen, and he is not nearly as tan or leathery as one would imagine. But my laziness and me-time is about to end.
I am about to go and celebrate the birth of the White Buffalo and his emergence onto the scene 31 years ago today. I am kind of excited about fireworks and the Buffalo… I will document with a photo or two. Pictures here
Happy 4th.

I suppose I don’t always think people are listening to me. Perhaps it is because as a child, they always used to tell me that I talked too much or too loud, so I just figured people tuned me out along the way. On my most recent non-date I was reminded that I offered a greek meal to the non-date and an audience member. I had thrown it out several non-dates prior and honestly thought they weren’t listening or probably wouldn’t take me up on it. Unbeknownst to everyone involved, it was a completely cheating greek meal. I had the necessary components in my freezer, so really all I needed was time to thaw, throw it in an oven, to make a salad, and a handful of hungry people. In my own defense, I am fairly skilled in the kitchen when I choose to be and with that being said, I can make some mean greek dishes. But I am blessed to live in a world with a 93 yr old wonder and a mother who cook often enough for everyone so I do not always have to - let’s be honest, cooking for one is really for the birds.

The non-date kindly challenged me to my cheating meal. And I took that pepsi challenge. We figured out a day and were ready to go. And then that day came and I had not heard from him, knowing that he had a multitude of things going on. I have been high-fived, told I was going to have retarded children if I didn’t hurry up and procreate and as that day went on I thought I was going to be stood up at this here greek meal.

My meal was thawing, although no where near fast enough. No word from the non-date. Laid back as I may be, this was not how I would have planned it all out… me cooking a meal for a boy is at least stage 4 - it means I have been wined and dined a little. It means that I like him enough to pull out the stops. And as the most-intimate-platonic-man-in-my-life let me know You cooking him dinner is just opening the door for sex. You eat, logically you move to the couch, watch tv or something, start making out, it moves to the bedroom - boom- done. I was nervous. Obviously for several reasons and the misconception was now part of the mix. And not hearing from him, made me all the more nervous. I have had roommates in the past point out they knew when something was bothering me because I would clean, spotless, clear piles, vacuum, spic & span. This place was pretty spotless. I poured a scotch, in a large styrofoam glass and kept telling myself not to worry…

I punted as far as cooking was going. I was over it. It was too late, my window was closed. I couldn’t rush the thawing, if I did cook, we weren’t eating til at least 10pm, and I was nervous. Nervous to the point that I guess I didn’t care anymore. So when he did call, and was apologetic, I was probably more myself than ever. No sweat. But when I didn’t hear from you, I didn’t try to speed thaw the food. So we either eat at 10, at this rate; we break bread elsewhere or we just raincheck it. Your call. He said Perfect. We’ll just go out and eat.

And that we did. It was easy, which is how most of our outings are - no awkward silence, solid conversation, effortless, fun. He opens my doors and makes me smile. Like all men should.

But what to do with all this now, finally thawed food? Epiphany: I will take it to the non-date bar of choice and the non-date and his audience members can all join in and feast. The non-date was both surprised and pleased with my idea. The week ahead was a little hairy, so we decided upon the night after our initial feast. We texted throughout the day with the details. He called to see if I needed any help, which I probably should have taken him up on it, but instead I declined, was appreciative and said that unless I had a food crisis, I would see him later…

I prepare a delicious motherland style salad, I cook my family prepared thawed treats, I have chinet, I have plasticwear. The main dish is taking forever to cook. I start watching The Bachelor twist-off show, Age of Love, and continue to pray and check on my food. And I make the oven a little higher temp to speed up the process and SHIT! we are a little brown on top. I use the industrial size cookie sheet, I put all the food in its serving trays, get everything in the back of my car and I am on my way. And I might be more nervous than ever. All I keep hearing in the back of my head is circus music. I can’t believe I am taking hot food to a bar for a boy. Which is really not all that it is, but bare boned it looks odd. As I pull into the driveway, I say aloud, I hope you are worth this

And I think he was or he is. The audience was merely five. All of whom were kind and fun and funny and hopefully didn’t realize my butterflies and uncertainty. At one point I felt like the giraffe at the zoo and everyone was waiting to see my next move, but overall I think they liked me, liked my cheating dinner and had a good time. Slowly they all disappeared and left me with the non-date. It was as effortless as before and even though we talked consistently it was mostly about nothing. I would have said it was a good non-date. I would have said that he seems interested. I would still say that I think it was an outside of the box early on entertaining evening as far as dating goes. I will also state that I think I have gone above and beyond showing interest. I would say I have proven to be honestly fun and delightful, even laid back and engaging. But I don’t know. I have received little to no feedback. But I would do it again and I would maybe even play the circus side show music a little louder for comic relief. A little something different, for someone a little different.

brother - Hello.
dk - Hi Yan. Someone called me from home. What’s up.
brother - Yeah. Dad called you. Are you in jail?
dk - Uh, no. Why?
brother - Do you know anyone in jail.
dk - Not to my knowledege.
brother - Ok. Dad picked up the phone a little bit ago and it was a collect call from jail and he hung up. And then he worried it might be you. So I think he was just calling you to make sure it wasn’t.
dk - Interesting. Nope, not in jail.
brother - Good to know, I will let him know….

I am, fortunately or unfortunately - still unsure, the reigning Queen of the Non-Date. Third round tonight. And, in case anyone is curious, it was the best non-date yet. Even more impromptu and the most intimate (and by intimate i mean, least amount of audience members) of the non-dates as far as one on one time goes.

At thirty, my dating life has retorted to what I imagine it is like for the cool, skinny, popular kids in middle school. Only it takes place in bars and not on the playground, movie theater or at the local high school football games.

My previous experience has always been that when someone is interested, they act upon it. I always thought that it was acted upon quickly. I mean, when you like someone and want to hang out with them or learn more about them, don’t you want to hang out with them? I am learning that I have to accept the pace if I am interested back. To each their own way. We shall see…

I am not sure that I ever won anything as a child, growing up sports-wise.
alexandra leading I haven’t really ever put much thought into until the other day when I got a priceless phone call mid day at the office. Precious Alexandra called from London to tell me all about ‘sports day’ – She won 4 stickers and a medal and she was so excited. And even though people cheered, “no one came over to say ‘well done,’ Dana”
It tugged at my heart strings, I made a mental note to remember to tell my unborn little girl and sweet Alexandra “well done” every opportunity that I have. And then it got me thinking. I cried every day of the 3rd grade. Don’t ask, because I honestly have no clue as to why I was so very sensitive. I was never a real athlete, especially as a child, and even when I was playing and actually good at high school sports, I still wasn’t great.
look at that form and precision I could blame laziness, skill or weight, but all are just excuses. I remember having to run a mile and relays at school and no one ever wanted me on their team. I was usually one of the last chosen for kickball. I, by the grace of God, did manage to kick a homerun in the 3rd or 4th grade. I so vividly remember where on the elementary school campus we had set up the field and thinking ‘run fast, as fast as you can before someone pegs you with that ball…’ and booking it across all the bases. And was in absolute euphoria as I rounded the trees.
To hear her perfect little voice filled with excitement as she talked of the relays and the sack race, the stickers and then the medal. Everyone should feel that at least once.