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I order cocktail number 2. p.m.: My date and I discuss tech jobs. It is not fascinating to me. p.m.: I go to the bathroom for a quick moment of an introvert’s retreat because I am still not fascinated. Ashlie: It’s Valentine’s Day today and Stephen takes it very seriously.

He (let's call him Luther) gave my friend his number and e-mail so I could get in kissed at least 62 people, ventured on half as many first dates, been in seven long-term relationships and five not-so-serious ones, taken 4.5 virginities and seriously thought I was going to marry two men. These are the events that followed: p.m.: I text my best friend in Berlin and ask her to stalk my date on Linked In since he’s not on Facebook. p.m.: I decide I will get ready in two minutes. p.m.: I choose to wear tights because I haven’t shaved my legs in three weeks. p.m.: I leave house eating piece of salami. p.m.: #Blessed for the sandy piece of gum I find at the bottom of my bag. p.m.: I approach the bar and consider leaving, but I know my neighborhood market grandma would be disappointed. p.m.: I spot my date in the bar! He is not great. p.m.: I walk the six minutes home. p.m.: I participate in an introvert’s dream: eating popcorn alone on the couch with a small dog. Now in my late 20s, my latest prospect plopped a used condom on my copy of the a deeply sad and beautiful book, and it infuriated me. To satisfy some dark, deep, cobwebbed mess in my unconscious? We hug lightly but awkwardly since we are strangers, and our only common thread is our neighborhood-market grandma. One moment we were discussing our siblings, and the next there is a tongue in my mouth (and hint: it isn’t mine). It was fun while it lasted and it lasted three hours and 45 minutes, from until . It wasn't a blind date because I'd seen him around, first at Yum Yum Noodle Bar, where he looked gentle and gallant, and next at an art opening, where he looked angry. A week later he turned up in the audience of a concert my friend gave, and afterward she told him she knew a woman who'd like to meet him, but that the woman was shy.

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I recently found out that if your face is as lined as mine it is better to use cream than powder. "Put it on the apples of your cheeks," said the pretty young woman who had also asked as tactfully as she could if I spent a lot of time in the sun. I thanked her, we blushed, and they were shown to their table. Hello and hello, a pleasant shaking of hands, we took a seat at the bar. His shoulders were like great big folded angel wings. His face was bony and also very deeply lined, and he looked as if he made things. "That's just what they call the way they cut the chops," she explained, "nothing to do with size." He had the lamb and I forget what I had.

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