Another Date? No Sweat

I had quite a few people bug me yesterday inquiring where the heck was my yoga date blog post. Sorry - believe it or not, I actually do work at my cushy internship, and between writing yesterday's long blog and then a 1.5 hour lunch break to get a hair cut (it's pretty short - yikes!), I just didn't have the time to post yet another blog.

But hold your breath no more, my friends, here is the yoga date.

In case you forgot, or just didn't read yesterday's blog, let me give you a little reminder:

I met David while I was enjoying my historical fiction novel over some pasta. Is he good looking? Nope. Is he tall? Nope. Would I have ever said yes but for the entertainment I provide y'all? Nope. While we were chatting there at this Italian restaurant, we started talking about yoga (don't ask me why), when he suggested we should do yoga and dinner. After one reschedule, we set the date for this past Monday evening.

What kind of yoga you ask? Bikram - i.e. sit in a 100 degree room sweating your eyes out. If you have never done or heard of Bikram yoga - it is intense. 90 minutes of sweat and poses - no part of you comes out dry. Typically, at least in Boston, all the guys that do Bikram yoga are like 60 years old and bearded. Fortunately, NYC is not like that. There were some hotties in the class with their shirts off - I may or may not have sneaked a peak in the mirror.

Unfortunately, David was not one of these hotties - much to my chagrin. (Although come to think of it, most of the hotties in my Bikram yoga class were gay...) In fact, I was kinda grossed out but all the sweatiness - ew.

After 90 minutes of feeling like death and overheat, we decided to go for dinner. I told him I like pretty much anything - but I was sick of pizza. David suggested we get Japanese food - we walked for like 35 minutes and I thought my legs were going to fall off. The last thing you want to do after Bikram yoga is walk, let alone for more than 5 minutes. I was uncomfortable, my muscles ached, and I was hungry. Where the heck was this place?? I probably could have walked home to Brooklyn by now. And the whole time he was yapping my ear off, which strangely enough I was rather grateful because I was too annoyed to talk. (What? I couldn't talk? I know. Stranger things have happened, believe me.)

We finally get to this Japanese place in St. Marks - great little neighborhood by the way if you're ever in NYC. And this place was actually great. Lots of kudos to David for picking a cool, off the beaten path, authentic place. We had random Japanese food - and not like your typical California roll either. (If I could remember how to pronounce the food we had, obviously I would include it in this post. However, I haven't brushed up on my Japanese in awhile, so I can't remember the names).

Two eel dishes and several cups of cold Sake later, I was actually relieved to go home. It was getting late, I wanted a proper shower after yoga, and David had committed a cardinal sin.

What is this sin you ask? He actually told me he didn't know the Star Spangled Banner - in fact, he didn't even know that our National Anthem was CALLED the Star Spangled Banner. I almost choked on my chicken liver skewer - even if he was cute, tall, funny, sweet, and all the other stuff we women look for in a man - it could never work out between us. As you know, the Star Spangled Banner is my favorite song. I love America. I live in a town where the streets are painted red, white and blue, for pete's sake!

As we parted ways, Fate, and a whole lot of frequent flyer miles, saved me. He was leaving for Peru on Saturday and will be back after I have already left NYC.

Dear David, if you do not know our great nation's National Anthem, don't sweat it - but just don't call me either.