The Fridge: A New Man in the Annals of Dating

Despite the Adderall, despite making new friends who have adult attention deficit disorder, despite a bout of what I believe is depression, my search for love continues in the big bad city.

There is a new guy in my life. Not the Chef, but someone who is the antithesis of men I've previously dated. He is 5'4, chummy, and looks like a Cabbage Patch Kid. He is 49 years old and well organized, and has a solid and rather high-ranking job with the government. Not OCD-organized like Mr. Ph.D., but on task.

The Chef opened up his weekly social diary to me, and said I could pick and choose what I'd like to attend. He said I was a high priority so I should feel free to share, and that things are always negotiable. I could exhale, at least for now. I still feel the shame of running late with Mr. Ph.D.

Over sangrias and guacamole last Sunday I asked the new guy, who I will call the Refrigerator (after his compact frame), what was his secret to being super-organized. I batted my eyelashes and said, "I'm juggling eight balls in the air: swimming, dating, job searching, teaching swimming, family, friends, finding a calling in life, laundry, etc. Can you give me some advice, oh great one?"

He liked that and shared his rule of three. Never assume, things should always match, and always get it in writing. Things should match means that if a company says they pink-slipped people and they didn't add positions, but also says that they are growing their staff, it makes no sense, so be wary.

I chomped on the chips and guacamole and drank some more, and thought about what he said. It made sense. The better the communication at the start, the more time it saves. I think I might be able to grow to like the guy, even though his touch tickles me and has the feel of a mosquito on flesh.

And so I've been sucked into this vortex of finding love, and wanting it badly because the few single girlfriends I have are either engaged or close to being so. The Refrigerator seems to have something to offer, even though we've only known each other for six weeks. And he's already asked me to go away for a vacation over July 4th, and I've agreed. Vegas, Atlantic City, Iceland, Paris, or Miami.

The impulsivity in me kicked in, and once again I felt at home.