God sent me a Finance Man

I feel rejuvenated about blogging ever since I met these two nineteen-year-olds in Sweetie in the East Village (Sweetie staff if you’re reading this, your bouncer is lacking). “Oh, you’re bad,” one of them said to me and I exploded into giggles and immediately asked for their life stories.

When I told them a little bit about Hot Literati, they gushed and called me Carrie Bradshaw over and over, which is flattering of course, but I am not Carrie Bradshaw. I am a retired beauty queen who got really into heady literature too young and am consequently on all fronts, slightly insatiable.

Now, some updates.

There’s this couple that comes to this cafe I like. They are disgustingly beautiful. Like Goop beautiful, like they do cryogenics together every day and drink their own blood. She looks so clueless when he is around, as if he coordinates everything which, as the internet has coined, girlfriend GPS (or lack thereof), is a real phenomenon. My own ex used to complain that I’d walk through puddles, stand too close to the door as he opened it, etc etc. It’s nice to be clueless sometimes.

But I also wondered what it would be like to date someone very into curation. Someone who likes nice things and likes to look nice. I’m a retired WAG, I’m used to having a male partner that’s on the gruffer side. And the universe or God heard my curiosity and sent me one of the most interesting men I’ve ever met.

I was walking to Penn Station to meet

Victoria

to go to Princeton Reunions (her piece on it soon!!!), and this man started chatting me up on the escalator down into the station.

“Are you Brazilian” was his first line. I’m used to people trying to guess my race and generally don’t love being cold-approached, but he just kept going.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he said. Mind you, again, we are in Penn Station.

We chatted a little bit. He was wearing a lot of Prada. I told him I liked Prada. He asked if I like Italian food and said he’s going to see Lana Del Rey in Milan next week. He showed me his lock screen. It was Lana, but like flower crown Lana. He asked if I was free on Monday.

“Next Monday?” I said, an honest assumption. But tldr, I’m about to leave to meet him for a date. Buckle up friends.

After a strange winter of no alcohol, a week without caffeine, and a stretch without first dates,

I’m back.

Not Carrie.

Hailo.

Book club starts tomorrow! Upgrade to paid to join, we r reading Beloved