Last Night

I met Uzma at a desperately-trying-to-be-trendy bar and grill in Lakeview. We ate outside---it was a nice evening and the noise from the trains overhead was preferable to the conversation inhibiting music inside (why do bars always play the music so damn loud? Don't people talk to eachother anymore?). The date had an inauspicious beginning when I asked the waitress what beers were on tap. She rattled off Blue Moon and I said, "...every bar has Blue Moon anymore....it's gotten pretty common now---I'll take a Stella." Uzma shot me a puzzled look, I looked down at her beer and saw the tell-tale orange slice.

Oops.

A great way to begin a date is to insult her choice in beer.

Anyway, Uzma was born in Pakistan and came with her family to the U.S. when she was six. She's a sunni muslim, but no more religious than her christian-raised ecumenical brethren. She had a lot of very good stories, as someone from her background is bound to, and I have a series of good stories that I trot out on first dates, so the conversation flowed as easily as the alcohol.

I picked up on Uzma's sarcasm from our email correspondence, but she was more shy than I anticipated---her voice was soft and she didn't hold eye contact with me until her second beer . I realized that she had a reserved, vulnerable side for which her sarcasm was a cover and adjusted my vibe accordingly. After three hours, I told her I had to get up early for work, pointed to my cheeck and said: kiss goodnight.

Outside, we shared a HOT kiss and I climbed into a cab.

In January, I went out with an advertising executive for a movie and dinner. We made out inside the cab. The next day, I got an email from her saying: you seem like a nice guy, but I don't feel this is something we should pursue.

In February, I made dinner for someone I met online. She spent the night and left her contacts on my sink. She texted me the next day with this message: about the contacts---you can throw them away. And my number.

I mention these incidents to illustrate that kisses (and blowjobs) are not promises: sometimes women feel "buyer's remorse" and things that were done late at night under a cosmopolitan-induced haze don't look as appealing in the clear light of day. Nor, in retrospect, does the guy. However, I'd be very surprised if we don't get together within the next five days.

In other news, my neighbor Cathy had another loud fight with her abusive boyfriend at 3 a.m. He called her a whore (always trots out the same epithet) and demanded to know why she called the police on him. Alway outside on the fire escape every time the weather warms up. She called the police the last time she hit him. She's two floors above mine, so I only hear the outdoor fights. The girl who has the floor above mine says they fight constantly. Rehearsing for Jerry Springer, I suppose.