It was a few nights ago, Monday, but it bears mentioning because it was the first date I have been on in probably at least three years. Even when I was single, I didn't really go out on dates. I met people at bars or on Grindr and we went to someone's house and had sex, skipping that awkward event where you talk to each other about who you are, introduce yourself, try to think of things to say, and wonder when, if ever, you may kiss this person at some point in the night.
He is a nice guy I met some years ago but had never hung out with until Monday. We had drinks at a couple of bars and then ate some Mexican food together. I was really missing not so much Jacob during this date, but the comfort level we had reached. I felt very awkward most of the night, was often unsure of what to say, and so just laughed probably too much and danced around in my chair to whatever songs were playing in the bar or what songs that I wished had been playing there. I smoked a lot of cigarettes. We kissed goodnight on a street corner in East Williamsburg. We made out a little. I wanted it to last longer. I wanted to invite him home with me, but knew I couldn't do that because I still share a bed with Jacob. I wanted him to invite me over. He did not do this. It was a very chaste date or maybe hangout session; I never how these things work. He did say that we would hang out in a couple days.
I opened my windows when I got home this afternoon. The mosquitos have somehow found their way through the gaps in the screens. I have been swatting them away as I watch on my television a very large group of Americans, enough to fill an arena, cheering on the idiocies voiced by various Republican men. This is happening in the city I was born, Tampa. I am drinking white wine with ice cubes in it as I take in this spectacle. The mosquitos choose not to take notice and are focused solely on blood.