Saturday, October 24, 2009

Brain Sex

First a brief explanation of the concept and then why it would have worked for the Greek Goddess.

When I first saw the Astrophysicist I was thrilled by his foreign shoes (which if you’ve missed, I can identify foreign men on site based on their footwear), his lanky build, his dark hair, and his pale skin. I told him without hesitation that we would not be getting to know each other better physically since he was merely a temporary interloper on American soil. Then he started talking math. Big numbers. Physics. Velocity. Force. Einstein. Space. Luminosity. Celestial bodies. Theoretical astrophysics beyond simple gravitationally-bound objects in the universe.

Sexy.

Brain sex.

Then my pants fell off because I am gravitationally-bound.

The same thing happens when people discuss music theory, philosophy, business strategy, market trends, chemistry, differential equations, culinary arts, thermodyn… well you get the point.

So the Cruise Director had a fabulous ginger bearded friend from Ohio with her for the weekend. Granted he was not as vertically blessed as the Greek Goddess, but still… YUM. He was earthy and artsy and educated… and as aforementioned, ginger bearded.

While we sat at the bar in Lakewood, the Greek Goddess and Ginger Beard started having a conversation that spun wildly from authors to philosophy to science to theories to I zoned out because all could think about was that the two of them should have brain sex.

They clearly connected mentally. Allow gravity to take hold of your pants next time, Greek Goddess.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Date 33: Preacher and the Peacock

The preacher has mentioned going out on more than one occasion. Always in instant messages though. The lack of personal touch in instant messaging makes me question the seriousness of the requests, but I tucked them away for use on a rainy day.

The day turned out to not be so rainy and the extending of an actual invite came from me… not in the form of an instant message, but one click more personal in the whole the scheme of technology driven quasi dating circa 2009.

The Dallas Museum of Art has fabulous jazz in the atrium on Thursdays and I thought, what better way to stoke the romantic fires than with art and jazz?

So I put on my peacock dress, watch an amazing art film that makes me cry a bit, discover that my favorite exhibit has been replaced with what is a pathetic excuse for art that I can only describe as disappointing at best (or a good excuse to blind myself to be more to the point), and then settle at a table in the atrium with a glass of wine to wait for the preacher.

He arrives. There is no fire to stoke. Jazz and art are unnecessary kindling for an empty fire pit… or perhaps a pot belly stove… I like those. Clearly he was just as disinterested as instant messaging might imply. No big deal. He brings up the ex. I reciprocate by bringing up his ex. He mentions that I’m still single. I return the favor. He politely says we should hang out more often. I agree. Then we part ways.