My Date with Norman Nurman

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

So many men, so few sparks…

Maybe I am a lesbian.

Now, I know that you rarely find someone special by actively looking for him or her. Cupid always gets you when you least expect it.

Tell that to my hormones.

Between the clearing skin and hysterical urge to mate, I must be ovulating. I want to cuddle and smooch and (subconsciously) make babies! Making babies isn’t going to happen, but, at times like these, I think we can all admit that you want to shout from the rooftops:

I WANT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I admit it. I want a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend. I want a sexy boyfriend. I don’t want to be thinking about marriage, but I also don’t want to be thinking… I’m definitely NOT going to marry this guy. I know it’s not going to happen at my request or convenience or, god forbid, at all, but I am humbly telling you that I am officially pining.

This is probably why I let Norman Nurman kiss me on our date. Twice!

I regret some of the things I said about Norman Nurman last week. He’s a terrific person and took me on a splendidly romantic date. Our first stop was a cute rooftop bar, and I actually had an entire glass of white wine (unheard of behavior for Sara Swing)! I warned him that this was the most liquor I had ever had in my life. But I was with Norman Nurman! He’s practically an R2 unit; there’s certainly no danger of him taking advantage. Or so I thought…

I had made the incredibly good decision of not eating anything all day on the day of my date, only to quickly imbibe a beverage with a high alcohol content at the top of said date. What was I trying to prove? Actually, that’s just it. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I didn’t care. I knew it would be ok and it totally was… if you don’t count the one pedestrian collision on the way to dinner. But we don’t have to talk about that.

He took me to this awesome Korean restaurant where we had to take off our shoes! I thought this was a wonderfully novel treat. At this point, we were eating and the wine had lost any power over me. I thought Norman’s liquid courage must still be going strong when he proceeded to get frisky under the table… playing footsie! I was pleasantly reminded of how much I like to rub feet with a special someone… so I just let it happen. It was Norman Nurman; what was the harm?

After dinner, Norman and I were at a bit of an impasse…

Norman Nurman: Um, well… do you think you’d like to get another drink?

Me: I’m ok.

Norman Nurman: You sure?

Me: I don’t need another drink.

Norman Nurman: But would you like one?

Me: Honestly? No, not really.

Norman Nurman: Hmmm… um- what to do now then? Where do you want to go?

Me: We could just walk.

Norman Nurman: It is a nice night. How about going back to the park we met up at.

Me: Sounds great.

Norman Nurman: Or we could go back to the bar...

Me: Um… let’s go to the park.

Norman Nurman: Oh, wait. The park is closed.

Me: Oh.

Norman: Is there anything else in particular you’d like to do?

Me: I’m pretty flexible. You’ve taken us this far…

Norman: Ok, let’s go back to the bar then.

And so we did. At this point, I was having an out of body experience. Each step I took toward the bar was a step toward a lie. I did not want to have another drink. I had said this. Why was he pressing it and why was I caving? It seemed to be because, once again, I just didn’t mind. I knew I wasn’t going to let myself get drunk and I knew that Norman Nurman didn’t have it in him to get me drunk. When he asked me what I wanted to drink, I said, “surprise me” with a flirtatious smile. He was shocked. For me, the date was entering a new faze: target practice.

He brought over a whiskey and a pinot noir. I knew he was lying when he said the whiskey was for me, but I didn’t bat an eyelash as I took a sip. I could have killed him, because it tasted like radioactive yellow homeless guy pee… but whatever. When in Rome! I slowly sipped my rightful wine after that, careful not to finish it, while we sat under the dark night sky languidly chatting about nothing I can recall. As boastful as it sounds, I knew Norman wanted me, and- god help me- I liked it! I liked feeling confident and sexy and captivating. For once in my life, I was pretending to be like all the other girls who made it look so easy. Suddenly, Norman did the incredibly awkward yawn + arm-around-girl move (sans wink of cliché acknowledgement). He gently pulled me to him and our lips met.

It’s never a good sign when you’re thinking about your mother during a first kiss. At that moment, I knew that kissing Norman Nurman at the rooftop bar was a mistake. A minor misdemeanor perhaps, but, nonetheless, just not me. At least it would make a good story for Mamma Swing, who’s wishing I was doing more of this sort of thing, lest I climb aboard the lesbians-who-aren’t-good-to-sara bus again. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree to go on the date in the first place in hopes of a good story to tell all of you. I might have been in over my head, but I had to admit I was getting exactly what I bargained for.

The thing is- I have never been like all those “other girls that make it look so easy.” Something tells me that no one is.

Despite Norman’s surprisingly supple lips, my heart was not in that rooftop kiss, and it was never going to be. So, walking to the subway with Norman Nurman, I was faced with a choice. He was going to go in for another kiss. I could either pull away or take the hit. But why did it have to be so black and white? Perhaps I was being too hard on myself and poor Norman. Why couldn’t I enjoy a simple kiss? Perhaps I could use this opportunity to practice my craft. Who needs books when you have a live lab rat sitting in front of you? And so, in the true spirit of my first and last date with Norman Nurman, I said to myself…

Why the hell not!?

Yeah, I kissed him. I kissed him gooooood.

Love,

-Sara

The Computer Wore Dancing Shoes

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

I’m in trouble.

I have agreed to go on a date with NORMAN NURMAN tomorrow!

Yes, this is the same Norman Nurman I revealed in my last letter as,”so-boring-I-keep-forgetting-to-tell-you-about-him.” He’s been hounding me for over a month to go to Dancing Under The Stars, an annual swing dancing festival extravaganza here in the city. He emailed, facebook messaged, called, and texted me in his quest for this date; it was a full artillery assault.

I’ve never been a big dater. I have always fallen for friends. Before last weekend, I had only been on two real let’s-see-if-we-hit-it-off dates in my life. The first was with a guy we’ll call GIDEON DICK. Charming, talented, and smart, Gideon Dick had it all and seemed to really dig me. Yes, I asked him out, but only because he was too shy to go for it himself. At dinner, Gideon went on and on and on and on about my many outstanding qualities, only to stamp on my ego and dub me a “Screwball” at then end of the evening. Apparently funny girls intimidate some guys…

However, Gideon Dick has nothing on IAGO DE THESPIAN. Shakespearean actor Iago de Thespian had been enamored on me for almost a year prior to our date. Finally, I convinced myself it could work. We were slated to go to a free classical play in the park. First, we had to wait in line for the tickets that morning, which went smoothly. Iago then ran off to the airport with his best friend, who was returning home to China on that very day. He ended up not calling me for dinner as planned and not showing up until the second act of the play that night! I took a good hard look at him upon his arrival, only to discover he was covered in hickeys he did not have that morning. The conversation then went something like this:

Me: Are those hickeys?

Iago de Thespian: (dramatically looking down in shame) Yes. They are.

Me: I see.

Iago de Thespian: You know what the worst part is?

Me: What?

Iago de Thespian: She missed her flight.

Me: You were at the airport for a long time; how long does it take to miss a flight?

Needless to say, I was offended. The careless pig actually tried to ask me out again at the end of the date. Six months later, Iago got drunk at a party with a bunch of my friends and cried about how he’d ruined his chances with me by “ending” one relationship on the same day that he tried to start one with me.

Sooooooo not my problem.

But, ladies and gentlemen, my luck seems to have changed. I recently went on a date for the first time in a long time, and actually had a lovely time. This guy (yes, guy) didn’t abandon me, marginalize me with belittling nicknames meant to give me the brush off, or suck face with some foreign girl in the middle of our date. (Have I accidentally found myself in a secret feudal war with Asian girls?) He even checked to make sure I made it home safety. In my book, this date is the first ever success story!

Of course, he doesn’t live in the same city as me and hasn’t contacted me since our date. (it’s been whole days, people!) So when Norman Nurman asked me out this week using every communication weapon in his arsenal, I felt I had no choice but to give the guy a chance. I mean, why is it always the ones that pay attention to you that you take for granted and the ones that barely notice you that make your heart skip a beat? When someone goes out of his way to show you he thinks you're special, it’s worth overlooking a few dweeby flaws, right?

You see, Norman Nurman is more like a robot than a person. Sweet? Yes. Good looking? Yes. (And Asian! Ooh-la-la!) Smart? Totally. Rich in personal intrigue? Hell no. He works with computers and volunteers at an animal shelter. The latter point is a very pleasing quality, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that my heart flat-lines whenever he’s near.

But maybe I’ve misjudged Mr. Nurman.

It turns out Dancing Under The Stars is exclusively Salsa on Friday night, so Norman asked if we could make alternative plans. I rather reluctantly agreed. He then sent me the following oh-so-sexy text message:

I will send you details in forthcoming correspondence.

Yesterday, I received that highly anticipated correspondence in the form of a text with the time and outdoor meeting location of our date. I then asked:

What’s on the itinerary or is it a mystery?

Norman Nurman: If I tell you, I’d have to, well you know…

Wow. Ding, ding! Maybe Norman Nurman has a few tricks up his sleeve. He then quickly followed with:

Oh hey, do you eat meat?

Enter my roommate, Parker, the Will to my Grace. Parker brilliantly proposed that I play into Norman’s little innuendo game, so I responded with a cheeky…

If I tell you, I’d have to, well you know…

Quickly followed by:

P.S. Yes, I eat meat.

Parker and I felt sure that whatever his response, it would be a sign of whether or not he could really handle a sweet but truly sassy woman like myself.

And his response was:

Good thing you’re cute Miss Smarty Pants! ;-)

Uh- fatal error. Disappointing at best. What does that even mean? Well, golly gee! I’m gonna gitcha, Miss Smarty Pants! Wow, Norman. I'm really shakin' in my boots.

Some might say my standards are too high. He’s just trying to be witty. …and failing. Suggestive banter is far from the key to my heart. I’m an outgoing girl. I am highly compatible with socially awkward introverts. I guess I’m just hoping for a feisty, passionate heart underneath the timid façade. I love a geek! I am a geek! But I guess I love it more when my beloved geek doesn't push to be something he or she is not. When you try to act so much cooler than you are, it usually rings false. Regardless, I have it on good authority that one thing can be said for Norman Nurman and his tame breed.

They’re tigers in the sack.

Wish me luck! I think I’m gonna need it…

Yours Truly,

Sara