Philly Date Part 1

Last I wrote, I was fresh off some shenanigans in The City of Love. I had just met the groovy tattoo girl and had that shit-eating grin on my face the whole ride back home. It stood there until I pulled into my driveway and realized the new girl was almost two hours away and I probably wasn't going to see her again. This chick had one night fling written all over her - probably in a tattoo somewhere else on her body - but I'm supposed to be trying to find a wifey despite any obstacles in my way. Distance, age, family, STDs be damned! Nothing can hold Mikey back!

I waited a few days and called. After a week of random return texts (Never a phone call. Welcome to dating in 2010.) which always came at the tail end of her being out drinking, I was about to give up. I figured she wasn't interested, but maybe, if I dared her to go on a date with a Jersey shore guy from far away - it would work. Sometimes corny crap like that works. Espeically when you have to convince girls that you don't do this on your weekends. (btw, that's not a joke. These people exist, quite literally, on my street). I made my cute proposal and, much to my surprise, she took the challenge.

I was a bit nervous since I felt like I had twisted her arm into a date. I should have been fine since we had spent a whole night out before - and I had fondled the funbags - but there were lots of alcohol and friends easing that night's antics. Now it was showtime. The first opportunity to embarrass myself came pretty early. No sooner did we walk into sushi dinner did I have to excuse myself. I had borrowed my buddy's jacket for the night and the zipper was stuck all the way up around my neck. Not cool North Face, not cool... Unhappy with the prospect of looking like a turtle all night, I retreated to the "swanky communal bathroom" and fought with my jacket solo-style ala an invisible Patrick Swayze fighting his killer in Ghost. Once again, the ghost was coming out on top. With beads of sweat coming down my face, I finally popped that jacket open like Hulk Hogan ripping through a tight yellow tank top - much to the delight of this large girl watching and giggling at me the whole time. Thanks, I'll remember that when your muffin-topped high heel gets caught in a sewer grate on the way out.

About ten minutes later I was back upstairs trying to look cool and collected. It is usually in times like this that I wonder WWJD? As in, What would Justin Timberlake Do? Just as I was about to explain my absence, she shoved a cup of Sake in my face and said, "Cheers!" Ahhhh, sake. Nothing like a miniature cup of Windex to ease the mood. It was time for me to relax. And I did.

Before I knew it, two hours had passed. Dinner was over and tattoo chick suggested some drinks at a neighboring Mexican bar. I felt some momentum gaining here. Turns out she was a school teacher in one of those Dangerous Minds types of school in Philadellphia. She spent most of her days breaking up fights and dealing with children years behind in their studies. Being someone who works with the same crowd in NY, we had plenty to chat about. "Down with the system! Down with poverty! Down with Fox..." ya know, the normal liberal banter. Back and forth we went for another hour or so. I was in the zone. I knew I had this in the bag. What exactly "this" was, I didn't know, but when we left El Vez, I was getting a repeat invite back to her place. And that is when the fun started - for me at least.