The short version: It went well. Really well. I really like this guy. We went out again on Sunday in a more casual sense (a local festival) and we’ve made tentative plans to get together again this weekend.
The long version: It was quite lovely. And if it says anything, I actually let him into my apartment after our second date. I don’t usually do that.
After dinner during the first date, neither of us wanted to just go home. So we ended up going to a theater, getting late tickets to “The Conjuring” (he likes horror, thank goodness), and hanging out at the bar while we waited. I had a small glass of something, but limited myself. He actually only had a small beer. I was impressed after previous awful dates where they’ve practically bathed in alcohol.
We didn’t kiss on the first date, which was something that sort of bummed me out (yeah, I’m a slut). Then he texted me and confessed that he was worried about the awkward mechanics of a first kiss in a car (it was at my request that he didn’t walk me to my door- I was worried about Zoe barking and waking up my brother who’s staying with me) and wanted to save it for when we were actually standing/sitting in a less awkward position. It made complete sense.
Then we went out again Sunday to a festival. And kissed. And he doesn’t suck (unlike my last awful dating attempt). It was really nice. My coworker Hannah met him at the festival. She says she approves and likes him.
I really. Really. Like him.
I already added him on Facebook. Early for me. He’s already said super nice things about all my awful/goofy ancient pictures.
I broached some mental-health stuff. Mostly just depression and some family history type things. Nothing extreme. He was surprisingly receptive.
Anyway, I could go on and on but I’m worried about jinxing it and I need to save some for later anyway.
So yeah. Good date. I’m happy. Things are pretty rolling right now.
Just crossing my fingers it stays this way.