Now what am I going to do with all the call-girl flyers I had made up? And other, more morbid issues

Hung over as I was yesterday, I left work all geared up for an awesome night cuddling on my couch, ordering pizza, and watching the French Connection. My first New York pizza! It didn't work out that way, and although the night wasn't totally great, I'm actually pretty glad!

Basically, I was invited to meet someone out. A dude. A dude I barely know. A...dare I say it...date....sort of. I was hesitant, but I decided to go for it. After all, Newbie NYC says to never refuse an invitation...and having whined last week about not going out at all, why not!?

So I went. Two major things happened.

1. I saw a man fall down the stairs on a subway platform and crack his head open. Hemophobic as I am, I was scared as hell, but I just couldn't leave him! And other people were just stepping over him and going about their business....I know this is New York, I know people are busy, but GOSH! COME ON, people, have a little human decency and at least go the other way! I had these visions running through my head of me lying on that concrete, moaning unintelligibly, barely breathing, a pool of blood and fluid pouring out of my skull, suits and skirts stepping over my twisted legs... I called the station manager. Another nice girl stopped and called 911. I stayed until the help came. It was all I could do to keep from crying; I have never seen that much blood before. I kept wondering if that's how much blood came out of my dad... I felt so bad for that man, for his family... what if he has two little girls at home? What if he...

I couldn't stay. When they got there, I just couldn't stay to find out if he was... I just never want to know, because this way at least I have some hope.


I almost went home, but I didn't have R's number to cancel, and I also...kind of didn't want to go home. I kind of wanted a drink at that point. So I got on the train and wound up meeting him around 68th and Columbus...

2. R was...really cool! The only fault I can see so far is that he doesn't drink (not even a glass of wine with dinner? I don't know). And that's really just not that big of a deal, because he may have a very good reason for it. After I explained why I was late (still shaking), he read my palm. Very cute, and it totally helped to calm me down. He was still dressed for work, in smooth business casual--and me in my hipster uniform from casual Friday! He looked great in a tie. I only hope I looked great in glasses and pigtails.

I must have, because as the evening moved along he seemed to get closer and closer. We had the most amazing conversation about god and pain and living in the moment. I haven't talked like that with someone in a really long time. After two hours of thinking and talking about thinking and then thinking more, he suggested we grab a slice of pizza. Perfect! Ironic! Funny!

At the pizza joint he spoke Spanish to the guys behind the counter. And he's not just bilingual, oh no. He's multilingual. Amazing.

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PS - Speaking of call girls, go check out my sister's awesome post about Eliot Spitzer.