Mr. Attractive Seth Rogen. Which is a really long name, but I can't for the life of me think of a better one. It's strange, because there are so many good things about this person, and a couple of very unique things, but his resemblance to Seth Rogen (Yet attractive) sticks out the most. Who can question the inner workings of my mind.
Not you, dear readers! (All 7 of you.)
Lets call him Seth. That's a little shorter, and at this point I think I'm on a first name basis. Seein' as how we've been on about 5 dates and I know his face pretty intimately with my face.
Too much?
First Date
I met him at a party. He was standing there with a martini, being funny. We talked about things he later forgot because he was drinking. When we left the party, I mentioned to my friend that he was cute. She offered to set us up (With extreme enthusiasm because that is how she does everything.) and I hesitate.
I do. Because even though this blog is fun, and all tongue in cheek and stuff: I am exhausted. I am exhausted of holding my tongue (In my cheek?) and acting very polite and acting interested and... Acting. I am holding up a drawing in front of my face of a very interesting, normal, cute girl and my arms are tired.
Because, although I am very interesting and cute and all of those things, I am not normal. Who thinks they are, in this world.
I am bratty and spontaneous and quick to judge and say what I'm thinking (Even if it's really uninteresting) and I have a vendetta against very elderly people and cars that refuse to let other cars merge in traffic.
I am just a ball of weird.
I am tired of pretending I am not for these random strangers. They are not even worth the trouble. If you recall, the last time I told someone that I liked them, he called me and told me Jesus was not a fan.
I did not want to waste more time and effort on an awkward encounter in which I waste my time and he wastes his money (Though that is being hopeful).
It wasn't like that, not at all. Well, maybe a little awkward. Luckily I am a destroyer of awkward; cutting through silences and pauses with my sword of irritating babbling about random shit.
We met on the pier in Seattle, in front of the pirate store. (His idea.) There was not a plan, but I am also a destroyer of plans, so that worked out fine. We walked and talked about things. We went in antique stores and weird tourist traps. We went to the comic book store. I noticed he was not dressed like a hobo, which was nice.
I imagined myself as Katherine Heigl in Knocked Up, only not pregnant or a bad actor.
At the end of the date, we smoked a cigarette. He is a smoker. I hate that action, not only because I hope to date someone who will not die anytime soon, but because I have it within me to become a smoker. I like to smoke: I started in Paris when I was 17, and I have smoked sporadically at parties ever since. I never buy a pack, but I hear cancer doesn't give a shit about stuff like that. It smells bad, it makes my throat hurt, I can't run up hills as well, and my brain won't shut up about how bad it is for me. I am too smart to be willingly drawing chemicals into my body that injure it.
And that is my rant about smoking and how much I hate it.
So we smoked a cigarette. And then he kissed me.
THAT was awkward. I'm just gonna calls it like it is, because he is so cute, but god it was awkward.
I understand. It's hard, as a guy, to know what kind of lady you're kissing. Does she like the cute 90/10 equation? Does she want to be grabbed by the shoulders and kissed like you're going off to WWII? Who can say.
So instead he chose the third: awkwardly lean forward and trip off the curb into your face option. Which I continue to laugh about. It was a nice kiss.
We planned a second one. Date I mean.
It will take about a million years to write about all the dates we went on, and what we did. Also I am a lady and only kiss and tell 79% of the time. That's an exact percentage.
But here are some hot spots:
The Needle and Thread
Seth had jokingly spoken of taking me to a speakeasy, and silly me, I assumed he was kidding.
Not so.
I'm not going to tell you how to get here, because you'll have to find your own way in. Part of the magic.
After making a reservation, your date escorts you through the restaurant and find your way to a wall. With a door and a telephone. It's all very mysterious. He then picks up the phone, states the reservation and the door is buzzed open. Then you go up these stairs:
I freaking know.
And you're in a freaking speakeasy! With the music, and the highbacked chairs and the two lone bartenders polishing glasses.
He bought me an amazing drink. Whiskey sour with egg white, which sounds gross, but is actually foamy and delicious. Try it. Maybe it's gross somewhere else, I don't know.
Then if you're really lucky, when you're done with your drink your date will take you to
Quinn's
We were seated upstairs, in the
"I'm Better Then You Because I Eat At Gastro Pubs" Section.
Oh wait. That was the whole restaurant.
It was amazingly good, the waitstaff was nice, and it was really cozy and not pretentious, like you think it would be. Seth got bone marrow. That is exactly the kind of person I like to eat out with, the person that gets the weirdest shit on the menu, so that I can try it without committing my order to it.
My steak was better.
I give it a serious 5/5. It's relatively inexpensive, delicious and fun.
Then we went back to his place and made out. So that was awesome.
I am having way too much fun with this person. How much time are you supposed to spend with someone you just met? Am I jinxing things by talking to him every day?
Can things actually be jinxed?
In other news that is awesome: I signed a year lease on an apartment in Queen Anne. So I am no longer "the girl crying on the ferry because it's 2 in the morning and she just wants to sleep."
I am "girl who lives in hip neighborhood and has amazing calves from hiking up hills."
Or "girl with absurdly long nicknames."
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