Back on the Horse. No one in the Saddle.

Tonight's Drinking-for-Charity Dress

It was just a couple weeks ago that I was tweeting pics of my Friday Night Dress with a note that said, "just a little number I like to call 'I already have a man.'" It was hideous. Truly. And there are, literally, dozens of pictures online and in print that prove it.

I was running late anyway, so I never got the post out of draft form -- Been Busy, and all -- but the blog saved the notes, so here is what I wrote in very rough draft that night before racing out the door:

"As I looked through the closet for cocktail dresses that would be appropriate for tonight's drinking-for-charity evening, it's clear that I went with a little number that said, "'I already have a man, thanks. Move along. Nothin' to see here.'  I hate it when people do that. The person you're already crazy about should be the one you want to show off for. He does it for me (and takes way longer to get ready -- but it's always worth it), the least I can do is reciprocate. I don't typically misrepresent myself -- I am not the kinda girl who pretends to like Jazz on a first (or 20th) date, because I know that means I would get dragged to subsequent jazz concerts -- but he met me in the summer, when I had different hair, different wardrobe, and a different body. And most definitely a different attitude. I certainly know better than to show up for cocktail parties wearing a turtleneck. But it's Winter. And I am just not myself in Winter."

What a difference two weeks makes.

Obviously, I have learned my lesson as you can tell from the dress for tonight's drinking-for-charity date with a guy I met at SuperBowl -- kind of a younger, taller Aaron Eckhart type. (I should specify we weren't at the actual game, but at a party given by mutual friends.) That is where I first started practicing my Game Face.

Tonight, I am living in George Costanza's Opposite Land. He will not pick me up. He will not see where I live. We are not meeting any of my friends, before/after/or during. We will socialize with all of his colleagues and contacts and none of mine. We did go to the same college (but at different times), so there will be some common ground and overlap, but no more than I can avoid. I will arrive early. I will leave early. He will not bring me home. But unlike my last two cold-weather Ex-es, at least the poor guy's gettin' the right dress. Add to that the fact that I lost my voice right after leaving the radio station yesterday, and I think everyone can agree he has still pretty much struck gold. (Did I mention the shoes?)

He does not twitter; he does not facebook; he does not even know this blog exists (or if he does, it's in that way that people might know about Gstaad, but they don't really go there). Because of that, I can repeat the word he used to him when I said yes to this one thing -- actually, I have a picture of it (because I had pasted it to the top of my Ex's valentine card, where it was obviously a premature misnomer). It was such a sweet thing to say I was taken aback.... mostly because I realize it'd been such a long time since anybody had used that word to describe being with me. Or had bothered to describe being with me at all.

Tonight's date does at least know what I do for a living, and it's nice that he's impressed as opposed to embarrassed. And he's seen the first book, which he said was, "a riot." (Yeah, plenty have died on that sword before you buddy.)