Chile II

After a typically rough St. Patty's Day on Thursday, I was waiting in my hotel lobby for Pedro to pick me up when I received the following text from me:

"Hey you, hope ur trip is going well. My week is stressful so far and im worried about smtg which i hope is false alarm. Miss u."

False alarm, huh? So we could only be talking about fire alarms or pregnancy scares, and since the first wouldn't involve me, it didn't take me very long to figure out what she was talking about. I sent her a text asking how overdue she was and ordered another espresso because it seemed like bad form to drink a vodka cocktail at 7:45am.

I was a few thousand miles away, and since there wasn't anything I could do, I decided not to stress over it just yet and go to work.

While I was working I got a text from my Canadian friend saying she had an "interview" Saturday morning and wasn't going to be able to make it to the beach with me. I kind of expected this because I knew she saw me making out with the Chilean girl. It didn't seem like a huge loss, though, since I didn't know her very well. Plus, with the recent text from ME I considered that perhaps I didn't need an added element of stress on my trip and that it could be good to get away alone.

After work Pedro brought me to the bus station where I bought a $7 ticket to Valparaiso, a two hour ride away. I boarded the bus at 9pm with a beer and a
"completo", which is the most fantastic hot dog creation in the world - a giant pork-dog concoction of sauerkraut, relish, guacamole, tomato, and onion, stuffed in a giant roll and smothered with mayo and spicy mustard. Believe me when I tell you this is the nectar of the gods. Serious food, people.

At 11am I arrived in Valparaiso, or Valpo, as it's locally known. The bus station was a filthy little building with lots of dicey people milling around. Pedro had warned me that Valpo was not like safe, clean, Santiago, and that I should be more on guard there. He said cabbies will try to scam you (remember this), people will snatch your bags, and that I should keep an eye open when walking around alone at night.

Two nights before I was talking to Lermo and telling him about my weekend excursion to Valpo and he said he had a friend who owns a hostel there. Lermo sent the owner an email and copied me, so when I got to Valpo I got into a cab, told the driver the address of the hostel and we were off.

Once we got moving I started to regret going to Valpo. On the surface Valpo is a dirty port city with all the charm of a rusty nail. The streets are narrow, poorly lit, wreak of urine and garbage, and only meet the loosest definition of "paved". The ancient diesel Nissan cab struggled up steep inclines as we drove high up the hills of the city, which climbs steeply from the sea into the hills. Stray dogs were everywhere, sleeping on the sidewalks, walking in the road, and it occurred to me that I hadn't seen a single person after leaving the bus station, it was as if the city was inhabited only by dogs.

The cab finally rounded a corner and stopped, though I wasn't sure of the little car shit the bed or we had arrived at a suitable spot for the cabbie to rob and kill me. I looked out the window. We were on a tiny one-way street where all the buildings were covered in graffiti, which was a small comfort to me because at least it meant that there were people around, and not just dogs. The cabbie told me the fare and I wasn't sure I wanted to get out. I asked him if this was the address and he said "Si" and pointed to a sign hanging off the bu idling to my right. Sure enough, the name of the hostel was painted on it. It was about 11:30, so I asked him to wait while I made sure someone was there to let me in, but as soon as I got out he started up the car and clunked away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk in a cloud of black diesel exhaust. I gave myself only a 30% shot of surviving the night.

I was pleasantly surprised when I knocked on the locked door of the hostel and it opened. The keeper spoke reasonable English and rented me a single room for the night for around $25, a rate I think Lermo negotiated. I took a quick shower, changed, then headed down the street to find some food and drinks.

Valpo actually has an active night life. There are lots of small bars and cafes. While I was walking down a side street I heard a big crowd on the second floor of one of the buildings, and located a stairwell marked only with a neon blue light. I walked up the stairs and into a bar/club. After some initial confusion buying a drink (you don't pay the bartender, you buy tickets from a clerk the use the tickets to get drinks) I was able to order up a Mojito. While I waited I noticed the crowd was different from others I had seen in Chile. The bar had a punk vibe. Then I noticed there were lots of dudes, but was relieved to see a group of five chicks come in. The relief was short lived, though, when I saw two of the girls in the group start mugging down with each other. I took a closer look around the room and saw a couple of guys in a corner holding hands. Yup, I had stumbled into what was probably the only gay bar in all of Valpo. I finished my ($8 - pretty expensive there) drink then casually walked out. After a few more stops I headed back to my room at the hostel and crashed for the night.

I woke at about 7am, took a freezing cold showered, had a strong Nescafe (the country has a strange fascination with Nescafe instant coffee) and was on the street by 8am. Valpo in the daylight was much less intimidating. I browsed some of the local food vendors and enjoyed a hearty breakfast of completos (yup, two) and a couple of Empenadas Pinos (if you don't know what these are, and live in DC, go to Julia's and find out first hand). I then set my sights on a cab for Vina Del Mar, and it's white sand beaches.

I spotted a row of cabs stopped at a red light. I opened the door of one, threw in my giant back pack and and said "Voy a Vina del Mar". The cabbie said something that I translated as "Where are you going in Vina?", to which I replied "El centro, por favor". The cabbie said something else, I figured asking for clarification on my destination, so I said "No hay importante, el centro", then rolled the window down. I started to pull out my tour book when the cabbie turned around and began yelling at me. I said "No hablo mucho Espanol" my usual response when people talked quickly, but this didn't caml him down, so I actually began listening to what he was saying and made an attempt at translating. He was pretty upset, mad that I was asking him to drive me to Vina, and something about a "taxi". I figured this was some scam, a way for him to charge me his annual salary for a ride to Vina and I wasn't about to fall into that trap, so I said "Vamos a Vina del Mar, ahora!". He was incredulous and began screaming. While I held my ground, determined to get the "locals" rate on my ride, I noticed he didn't have a meter, which isn't so unusual. But then I spotted a big box of new plumbing supplies and a clip board in the front seat and it dawned on me, this wasn't a cab. I threw open the door, grabbed my bag, and jumped out of the car with a quick "Gracias" and took off down the road. Turns out he was a delivery truck for the local hardware store, that just happened to be the same type of car that the cabbies all drove (black Nissan with small sign on top).

I eventually got my ride (cost: $6, $1 less than my two-hour ride from Santiago, certainly not the "locals" rate), and a few hours later I was in Vina sitting on the beach sipping Pisco Sours (like a Margharita) and chatting chicas. However, my night in Vina was disappointing. I've done a fair amount of traveling alone for work, but Vina was a lonely place for a solo guy. Very few people spoke English, and the restaurants didn't have bars that you could sit at and eat dinner. I spent most of my time walking around the little town. In retrospect, Valpo had a much more inviting nightlife and I wished I had stayed there my second night and only gone to Vina for a day.

Sunday afternoon I returned to Santiago. That night I fly back to DC, unsure what I was facing on the home front with ME.

Chile Part I

Just a few days ago I was sitting in a lounge chair on the beach in Vina del Mar, Chile, sipping a Pisco Sour and chatting up Chilenas. Right now I'm at a Hampton Inn in Detroit watching snow fall outside my window and drinking a tepid Bud Light. There's not enough moderation in my life.

I had business in Santiago, Chile for a week then extended my trip into the weekend so I could visit Valparaiso and Vina del Mar, sister cities on the coast in central Chile. The trip was a series of comical misunderstandings and linguistic catastrophes. Enjoy a few laughs at my expense.

The trip started out OK. My business went well and my coworkers were a really cool group of guys who enjoyed the socials benefits of Chile's relatively new economic success. I would like to say that they worked hard and played hard, but warm weather and a lax South American work ethic conspired against us until we caved to our vices.

For the first few days we actually pretended to work. We walked construction sites, met with architects, studied blue prints, and even identified a few major (and potentially dangerous) construction issues that would keep our lords at bay and justify the truck loads of money we were spending. However, on Wednesday morning Pablo, my coworker and host, explained that we would be going to "After Office" that night, and that I should dress for a night on the town and expect to call in late, if not dead, the next morning.

I won't get too bogged down in details, but After Office was like happy hour on steroids, replete with bottle service and a host of beautiful women from Chile, Peru, Bolivia, and Colombia. Ironically, I ended up meeting a tall blond girl from Canada, of all places. We chatted for a while but she was there with some dude who was friends with our pal Lermo, so nothing happened.

Later in the night I met some little Chilena and we made out in the bar, as is customary there. As the night wound down she said "Ok, we go take taxi now?" which I couldn't believe. Sure enough we got into a taxi, she asked where I was staying, and she said a whole bunch of things in Spanish to the driver. We made out in the backseat while we drove along. After ten minutes the driver stopped. I looked around and we were in a residential neighborhood VERY far away from my hotel. I said "Where are we?", and she explained we were at her house. I said "I can't stay at your place, I have to work in the morning, you have to come to my hotel". This was not going to happen. Basically, I had misinterpreted the entire scenario. There was no chance I was going in with her, or that she was coming back to my hotel. She needed me to pay for the cab, and nothing more. Chalk one up to the Chileans, I got hustled. However, the let down was nothing compared to the ball breaking I got the next morning from the guys at work, who laughed their asses off at the story, and my thinking that I was going to get laid so easily in Chile. It was truly a ruthless lunch. They were all doubled over laughing at the cocky Gringo.

Thursday night we went to an Irish Pub in Santiago to celebrate St. Patty's Day. The Chileans didn't know or care what the holiday was about, but there a lot of expats there and drinks were 1/2 price all night. Since we hadn't eaten dinner we got pretty drunk and rowdy quickly. My Canadian friend was there again and I got to telling her about my plan to go to the beach the next night. She said it sounded like a good time so I invited her along to join me. She said she was down so long as I could get her back to Santiago Saturday night. This was not exactly what I had planned, but I said I could do that.

I got separated from Canada and ended up dancing with yet another Chilean girl in the middle of the bar. At 1am I looked around for my friends and couldn't find them, so I grabbed my little friend and we left together. She spoke almost no English, so in my ridiculously poor Spanish I asked her if she wanted to come back to my hotel with with me. She said a bunch of long sentences in Spanish, in which I was able to recognize the words "hotel", "house", and "taxi" several time. Now pantomiming and speaking in rudimentary English and Spanish I explained that I wasn't going to cab her to her house, then go home. I said she could back to my hotel and we could go swimming together (the closest thing to a hot tub offer I could extend) or we could say good night and go our separate ways. And with that she broke down crying.

I felt badly and said I would give her a ride home, thinking that's what all the tears were about, but she somehow conveyed that she was crying because she wanted to see me again and I was leaving the next day. She kept saying "Sunday, you, go, home!" and would make a motion of a plane taking off and flying away. It was kind of funny, actually, but I couldn't sit there at a bus stop all night with this little crying chick. I was sweating my ass off and drunk as hell. After 30 minutes of that nonsense I hailed her a cab, gave him a fist full of monopoly money, then found a cab for myself.

The next morning my head felt like someone had thrown a hatchet through it. I was up at 6am so that I would have enough time to pack and make an 8am appointment. I staggered into my hotel lobby, fired down two double espressos and some greasy eggs, and made my appointment on time. The hotel was abuzz because Obama was staying there in a few nights, and I spotted lots of US Secret Service, which actually made me feel a little at home.

Later that night I would catch a cab to Valparaiso. While I was in the lobby waiting for Pedro to pick me up ME sent me a text saying her period was five days late.

More to come in Part II.

Cut Open Again

Yesterday was one of those days where I should have just stayed in bed. I should have clicked the off button on the alarm, pulled the sheets over my head and gone back to sleep. Instead, I had my stomach cut open again and my dog had a $1600 vet visit.

I knew a big vet bill was coming. The hound has had a sinus infection (or something similar)for a few weeks that antibiotics haven't cleared, so she had a procedure called a rhinoscopy, which along with all the other fun stuff that accompanies it, cost $1600. The real kick in the dick is that it wasn't even necessary. The vet didn't find anything and instead put the dog on some other meds to clear her nasal passage. I can't help but feel that the dog was put through unnecessary stress just so the vet could rack up a nice bill.

After I dropped the hound off at the vet I went to my surgeon for a follow-up visit. The doc looked over my stitches and said that the incision by my belt-line (it's actually halfway between my belt and my junk) looked infected. He moved me to another room where he did an ultra sound on the area and found an "abscess", which is essentially fluid trapped under the skin, likely a result of irritation from a stitches.

The doc said "This is not uncommon, we can take care of this here, let me get a nurse". The area in question looked like a big zit. It was a little smaller than a dime, red, and raised like a mountain. I figured he would squeeze it or stick it with a pin and I'd be on my way. Wishful thinking.

Moments later the doc returned with a nurse and a silver tray stacked with bottles, packages, needles, scalpels and a very large set of hooked needle-nose pliers.

The doctor left and the nurse had me unbutton my jeans and pull my pants down to the top of my crotch. She then tucked a piece of paper into my pants and folded it back over my jeans and had me hike up my shirt so that she had a clear work area. While she was sorting through her tray of toys she said "So, any travel plans this summer?" Really, we're going to make small talk now? This is exactly what my dentist does too. She pulled a disposable razor off the tray and started shaving the area around the zit...dry, without cream, or water, or anything.

I said "Uh, actually, I'm going to Chile Sunday..." but trailed off, saddened by the bare 6"x6" square around mount zit.

"Chile, huh, going to be cold down there, right?" I was looking at the area she just shaved and chuckled because it now reminded me of the Japanese flag. I said "Actually, I'm going to Santiago, in northern Chile, it's summer down there.." I stopped when she pulled out a long piece of tape and started applying it on my flag and ripping it up. rrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP "Whoa! What's that about?" I said, fighting back the urge to elbow her in the eye socket. "I'm removing the hairs I just shaved." I said "And a few you haven't".

"How long will you be in Peru?" Now she was swabbing the area with iodine, which ruined my flag. "Chile.", I said "Right, Chile. So, it's summer there?" I decided that since she's wasn't really listening I didn't have to respond. She didn't get the hint, though. While she drew fluid into a syringe she said "Isn't Chile down by Antarctica? Just a little pinch, now." and with that she I watched her plunge the needle into the tip of the zit. I was holding onto the sides of the table to keep my ass from lifting off, which would have driven the needle deeper. I said "I'm sorry, it's just hard for me to concentrate on geography with that needle in me."

The nurse pumped the topical anesthetic from the syringe into my zit, which made it almost triple in size. As she finished the doctor came in and they talked shop while he put on his gloves. He then came over and said "It's starting to get warm out, any travel plans this summer?" He was removing the cap off a scalpel so I decided not to get into the Chile discussion and just shook my head. The nurse was poking me with the needle and asking me if I felt anything. Then she said "He's going to Chile Sunday. I thought Chile was near Antarctica?" At least she got the country right.

The doc said "Ok, just a little pressure now." I then watched him stick the tip of the scalpel into the base of the left side of the zit, then drag it over the top to the right side, leaving a very fine, shallow, line like a paper cut. The nurse adjusted a huge light above us and nodded. The doc then retraced his line and pushed in HARD when he got to the peak of the zit. I felt a "pop", then about threw up when I saw a stream of milky white spooge explode out of the tip of the zit. He said "There's the fluid". No shit, you think?

He continued to cut and dig with the scalpel. Occasionally the nurse would swab the huge pool of blood with some gauze. It's a very unsettling sensation having someone cut into your numbed skin. I was surprised by how much pressure was necessary to cut the skin, I thought it would just part if you touched the scalpel to it. Not so, though. He was almost sawing the skin, and I could feel tugging.

The blood was really coming now and no one was making small talk, which was a relief. The nurse swabbed the incision with gauze and the doc said "Hot pen, please". She rooted around the tray but couldn't find it. She put down the gauze and searched the tray with both hands. The once mighty zit was now split open like an erupted volcano, blood and puss flowing down the right side. Doc abandoned his post too and was shuffling through the drawers on the room. The nurse said "Check the top drawer". I took up swabbing duty. I didn't even know what a "hot pen" was, but I really hoped they found it soon, it seemed important and I was bleeding a lot.

The doc found it - right in the top drawer like the nurse said. It looked like a big white magic marker. He pulled the cap off and exposed a wire loop on the tip. I said "Looks like a soldering iron" he laughed and pushed a button that made the loop immediately glow red. He said "Exactly like a soldering iron." Cue nervous laughter from NN - "I don't see any wire around..."

The nurse was back to swabbing and the doc said "We're going to cauterize the blood vessels then pack the cavity. The wound will heal from the inside out so that it doesn't close up and fester again." For those of you who haven't figured out what "cauterizing" is, it loosely means "to burn the shit out of something with a red-hot poker to stop from bleeding". It's probably German.

I then watched in morbid fascination as the nurse pried open the gash with the hooked needle-nose pliers and the doctor jammed the red tip into the hole. When the tip hit skin or whatever else is in that hole, there was a hissing noise followed by a narrow slit of white smoke that rose up about twelve inches. I've never smelled burning flesh before, but it smells just like burning hair - which is to say it's nauseating.

As promised, once the flesh-burning was complete the wound was packed with a 4" ribbon of white fabric. A gauze pad was placed over that and taped down with a huge layer of sticky tape that will remove the few remaining pubic hairs I have left above my gear.

Pretty great Wednesday.

Travel and ME's Birthday

I'm wiped out. It took me a solid two weeks to recuperate from my surgery. I then spent a long weekend in Burlington, VT visiting my nephew then spent eight days in Utah working and hanging out with some friends. This coming Sunday I fly to Santiago, Chile for work, then plan to spend a few days in either Rio or Bogota.

Between the travel and being laid up from surgery I haven't gone out much. ME visited me a few times while I was recovering and even made me dinner one night, which I thought was very nice of her. Bartender fell out of the picture for those three weeks, though, and I haven't seen DGII since that night we went out for dinner.

Things with ME are going much better than I would have originally thought. Her birthday is next week, but since I'm going to be away for ten days we are going to get dinner together this weekend before I leave for my trip. Her mom is in town so she asked if she could come along, which I of course said was fine.

I'm not sure what I'm going to get her for her birthday, though. I wanted to take her on the bike to a B&B in the mountains for the weekend, but I don't think it's acceptable in her culture for an unmarried couple to go away together like that. I may have to get her a small gift that she can open in front of her mom and then plan the trip and tell her about it later.

I talked this over with my buddy Chuck and he said "Are things serious with this girl?" I don't know if I would classify us as "serious" but I did say that I like her. Chuck said "Why don't you give her exclusivity for her birthday?". The concept is funny if you think about it, I bet that's a concept Hallmark would run with and do a whole line on.

All kidding aside, I have considered cutting ties with Bartender and seeing where things go with ME.

On a totally unrelated topic I heard that Kay and Roja (whom I haven't written much about but dated for a while when I first moved to DC) both got engaged recently. Then I actually ran into Roja Saturday night. We passed each other in a crowded bar. I would have said hello but she shot me a quick sideways glance then ducked into a group of people. She made believe she didn't see me but I could tell she did by the look on her face.

Organ Harvesting

When I got home from dinner with DGII last Tuesday I wasn't feeling so great. My new dating schedule has me drinking 4-5 nights a week, so naturally when the right side of abdomen felt like I was kicked by a mule I assumed the worst: sirrhosis of the liver.

I was on the road for work Wednesday, main-lining coffee and eating rich foods, so when I still didn't feel great that night I didn't think much of it. I wasn't in any real pain, there was just a dull, throbbing, pressure in my belly like I was bloated.

However, I woke Thursday morning to an intense shooting pain under my right lower ribs. A quick consultation with WebMD changed my self-diagnosis from liver disease to kidney stones. I was supposed to fly to South America Sunday night for work so I decided to deviate from my normal "no doctor" policy and scheduled an appointment to get the problem checked out before I got on a plane for ten hours.

As expected the trip to my doctor was a complete waste of time. After hours in the waiting room and a five minute exam he sent me for a CAT scan, which because of health care red-tape could not be scheduled until Friday morning. In the meantime I was treated to two giant containers of barium sulfate, which if you haven't had the pleasure, looks, smells, and probably tastes like lead-based paint. Delicious. After the scan I grabbed lunch then headed home to await the call from the doctor with the results.

At 3:30 my doctor called and said my kidneys looked clear but my appendix was enlarged. I was no longer in pain and he surmised I was likely in the clear, but that it would be prudent to have a surgeon take a look at the scans and clear me for travel. Being late in the afternoon on a Friday my doctor said the only place I could likely see a surgeon was the ER. I asked him if he thought this was absolutely necessary and he said he "strongly encouraged it". Given the length of my flight and the medical care available in southern Chile I opted to go to the ER for a quick look.

I pulled into the hospital and parked in the visitor's lot thinking that I would be in and out. I signed in at the front desk and explained that I needed a surgeon to review my scans and clear me for a flight. Within twenty minutes I was half naked and a nurse was inserting a rather large needle into my arm to start an IV drip. I kept saying "No, this really isn't necessary, I just need the doc to take a look at my scans". The nurses all just nodded and kept on swabbing and poking.

Finally a doctor introduced herself and asked me why I was there. I told her the story and she gave me an exam. She said that since I wasn't in any pain I would likely be cleared to fly and sent home, but that she wanted the surgeon and radiologist to look me over first. A short while later another doctor examined me then walked off with my scans. I was hooked up to an IV and was only wearing a johnny coat, so I just sat there and read the book I had brought along. A nurse darted in and out of my room so I flirted with her for a while until she asked me when my last bowel movement was, which pretty much killed any connection we had established. I may use that next time I'm in a bar and want to get away from a girl.

Thirty minutes passed before Nurse Bowel Movement returned and started hooking up new bags to my IV drip and asked if I wanted to call anyone. I said "No, why?" and she said "To let them know about your surgery." I said "What surgery, no one told me about any surgery", and she said "You have an acute appendicitis, they are going to remove it. They called the PA and anaesthesiologist, they should be here shortly"...I said "Sweet".

Now they put me on a gurney and rolled me to an elevator. We went up a floor or two and when the door opened we were greeted by four women who started hammering me with questions. "Do you smoke, do you do cocaine, do you smoke marijuana, have you ever had abdominal surgery before, do you have a living will, how did you get to the hospital, are you allergic to any medications, who would you like called in the event of an emergency..." The list went on and I was starting to get nervous. I was still in my johnny coat but I had all my clothes and my cell phone in a plastic bag on my lap, so I went through the bag and pulled out my phone. I quickly called my parents to let them know what I was going on. I didn't tell them earlier in the week about my abdominal pains because I didn't want to get them nervous, so naturally they were pretty shocked to learn I was being wheeled into the ER at that very moment. I finally said "OK, Mom, I gotta go, they want to put me under now..." and hung up. I later got a good yelling at for that.

The last step was when a security guard come up to me and said "I'm here to inventory your belongings". The guy counted my cash, made note of my credit cards, wrote down the model number of my cell phone, then made me sign two inventory sheets. I said "This is kind of like jail" but no one found that funny. He was just about to walk away and the nurse said "You forgot his watch". Anyone who knows me knows I don't take my watch off for anything except to put on another watch. I said "I'm not taking it off". She said I couldn't go into surgery with it on. Reluctantly, I took off my Rolex and handed it to a complete stranger. This went against every instinct I had. I signed off on the watch and the guard promptly dropped it on the floor. I said "Oh, yeah, that's great for it. The owner's manually actually says to drop it on the floor once a month. Thanks." and with that the guard walked off. I came to terms with the fact that I would probably never see the watch again. I probably should have been more concerned with my appendix than my watch, but it took my mind off the fact that I was about to gutted like a pig.

I don't remember much between the watch hitting the floor and waking up in a room late that night. My first thought when my eyes opened was that I felt like I had been in a fight. My stomach, throat and groin were killing me. I later learned that I had been intubated to keep from choking and a catheter was inserted to drain my bladder. So I was wrong, I hadn't been in a fight, I had been raped. Thanks, hospital.

Since the surgery I have been splayed out on my couch watching movies and reading. I can move around a little, but I feel like an octogenarian. I walk hunched over, can only wear sweatpants and loose t-shirts, I keep forgettting what day it is, and I haven't really left the house since Saturday.

DGII

After a few weeks of trying to schedule a time to get together, DGII and I finally met up last night for dinner on the Hill. She's a cool girl and overall the night went well, but I did not get the sense there was much connection.

I spoke with DGII Monday night and we decided to get together for a drink after work. We agreed on a spot and I said I would pick her up at 7pm. At 7pm she called and asked for a "courtesy fifteen". Not a problem on the first date, so I said sure and gave her a "courtesy thirty".

I showed up at DGII's house, knocked on the door, then heard a bunch of yelling inside. I thought I heard "Come in!", but just before I opened the door I thought "Maybe she said coming, and not come in" so I decided to wait for her to open the door. When she did I was greeted by her and a little growling pit bull.

I had only briefly met DGII a couple of times, and I think both at night, so I didn't really remember what she looked like, but I was pleasantly surprised when I saw her again. She's about 5'8", thin, with long strait jet-black hair and really big brown eyes.

Our plans were to get drinks but when we arrived at the restaurant it was packed. Most of the tables were full and there were no open seats at the bar. We walked to the hostess station and DGII said "Did you make a reservation", and I said "No, I didn't think we would need one on a Tuesday night". She said "That's OK, I called ahead". Normally I would think this was a presumptive move, but given how busy the place was I was impressed. To be honest, I felt like a dick for not thinking of it myself.

I thought dinner went well. We had a fair amount in common and she is easy to talk to and likes to laugh. She is very confident and wasn't afraid to swear or touch on topics that most girls avoid. For instance, I told her I was from a large family and that I was a "surprise" to my parents. She laughed then started to say something, but then stopped and I could tell she had something funny but was holding back. When I pressed her she said she has a friend who was also a "surprise" and that he refers to himself as "a load that was meant to be swallowed". I thought it was hysterical, and I've never heard it put quote so delicately before.

The other noteworthy thing about DGII was that her voice and delivery didn't match her appearance. She has a quiet, reserved look about her, but she talks like a Brooklyn trucker. It's more how she says things than the actual content (above example excluded). DGII has a tough-guy chip on her shoulder like she grew up with a bunch of big older brothers (which I later confirmed she didn't). It would be easy to catigorize the way she talks as unpolished, but I like it and took it as a sign that she was relaxed.

We finished dinner around 11pm and I was exhausted so I didn't suggest getting a drink afterwards, but it was late enough on a school night that I didn't think a night cap or anything else was expected. We talked about music and a few other things on the drive home, and when we pulled up to her house she just kept on talking. At first she was just finishing her story, then she started rambling on and I wasn't sure if she was stalling waiting for me to do something or stalling so that I couldn't make a move. When she ran out of breath I said "OK, well, I had a great time, let's do something when I get back into town in a few weeks (I have two weeks of business travel coming up)", she said "Yeah, that would be great", then spread her arms really wide and came in for this big exaggerated hug, which in my experience is never a good sign.

I didn't hear anything from DGII today and didn't call or text either. However, I think tomorrow I will shoot her a text just to say I had a good time.



I

Criticism

I thought I should briefly address the recent criticism. In short, I don't know any of you and don't care what you think of me. I don't care if you read my blog or like my writing style. I don't care if you think I'm an asshole (which I generally admit I am) or full of shit. I am simply retelling events in my life because I think the dating scene in DC is interesting. Often I just copy and paste emails that I sent to friends into the blog then change names, places, or slightly blurr timelines to cover my identity. If you want to read something that has been fact-checked go buy a New York Times. If you want to criticize, I am fine with that, believe me when I tell you that you're not hurting my feelings. The comments are usually amusing to me, especially when someone accuses me of defending myself as an anonymous poster. The irony is that if I did have something to gain from this blog I would be better off posting anonymous criticism than defensive rhetoric because the hits on the page go through the roof when the criticism is posted.

Enough on this, go about your day.