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