Date Night (not Seth-friendly)

"Will you sit the freak down!" Beth fussed.  I was pacing in our room, holding my cell phone, and waiting for it to ring. 
"I can't dude, I'm too nervous.  My nerves are shot to hell," I told her.  I sat down on my foam-filled mattress and began to bounce.
"Hey! Quit with the bouncing shit too.  You know this guy, he's nice, what are you worried about," Beth demanded of me flipping through one of her many copies of People magazine.

I took a breath and slowly let it out.  "I don't know, I guess I'm just a bit keyed up."  I nervously smoothed my jeans and patted my hair.  Not having anything resembling sexy, I'd settled on a girl-cut t-shirt, and hip-hugging jeans.

Beth snorted.  "Yeah well, you don't need to be.  You look cute, he'll like the view," she laughed gesturing to my over sized front.  I consciously tugged at my t-shirt to prevent spillage. "Shut up.  Not much I can do about them now is there," I said defensively. 

When I lay down the night before, after I talked to Damon, I immediately began to second guess this whole dinner thing.  What if he took me to some fancy restaurant to eat and I was under dressed?  What if I got food in my teeth or spilled ketchup on my clothes?  Or even worse.....what if I went through so many "what ifs" I didn't hear a word he said to me all night!

I woke up that next morning convinced I was going to cancel our date, but damn if Beth didn't talk me out of it.  "You have my number," she said gently.  "If he tries anything, call me and I'll be down with my G.I. Joe with the Kung fu grip."
I looked at Beth blankly. "And what in the hell is that supposed to fix?"
Beth had smiled at me.  "Nothing, it just sounds cool."

While reliving the conversation, my Nextel phone trilled in my hand, causing me to nearly drop it on the floor.  I flipped it open and gave a cautious greeting.....
"Hello?" I said quietly.
"Hey it's Damon.  I'm outside.  Can you come down?"
"Sure, I'm on my way.  See you in a second," I replied.  I stood up and took a few steeling breaths before grabbing my jacket.  Beth stared at me.  "You straight girls....I swear if I had to spend my life worrying about impressing men...."
"Yadda, yadda, 'I'd off myself.' I know Beth.  You really need to quit listening to so much OTEP it ain't good for your mood," I said opening the door. 
"Just keep both feet on the ground and your t-shirt down," she called out of the door.  I bounded down the steps and walked out the front door of the hostel.

I've never been a material girl or a gold digger, and I've never understood those who are.  I've never really been into image, or what is popular, I've always just done what suits me and is comfortable to ME.  If it happens to be stylish or trendy, so be it, but I've never been one to clamor for the latest and greatest fashions or accessories.  I like my men the same way.  If you are into yourself more than what we have going on, you gotta kick bricks.  Are we clear on that?

I say this because it wasn't a matter of fashion or materialism that made me do a double take on the steps of the hostel when I saw Damon's car.  It was a maroon-colored, compact thingamajig that looked like a cross between a 67 Datsun, and a Pinto.  It had rust stains, belched black smoke from the tailpipe, and made more noise than the second coming of Christ.  Damon said something to me, but I was lulled into a trance by the hypnotic "chug-chug-chug" of the engine. 

"Hey girl, come on over here, looking all good," he said opening the passenger side door.  I shook myself and gave a weak smile, and looked over my shoulder into the hostel.  Not a soul in sight.  I bounded down the steps, and slid into the waiting vehicle.  Oh. Hell. No.

I'm a smoker, and have been for years.  There's just no way for me to get around it.  I think short of getting cancer or knocked up, cigarettes are going to be part of my life.  I started smoking Marlboro's in Europe at 15, progressed to Newports in my 20s, and now that I am with Seth, we both smoke Camel Blues.  Although I think all punk rockers smoke Camels.  At least mine does.  And while I do smoke in my car, I flick my ashes out my partially cracked window.  And I don't leave the butts in the tray.  And the list can go on.  Why do I say this?

Because as soon as I sat down in my clean and pressed jeans, I knew it was a mistake.  I looked closely at the upholstery, and then decided not to look any closer.  The car was COVERED in cigarette ashes, and as Damon talked, he puffed and added more to the car's once maroon interior.  I started to feel a bit sick.

"You okay baby," he asked, Newport dangling from his full lips.
"Yeah, I just think I need some air," I said quietly, grabbing the silver handle and pumping down the window circa 1985.
He smiled, "Sorry about the car.  It's old, and I'm saving up for a new one right now, so you know, gotta make do."  He flashed me a brilliant smile that lit up his face, and that's when I saw them. 

Dimples.

Ahh, dammit Beth.  I didn't know he had dimples.  I'm gonna do this guy.  Dammit.

Damon took me around the corner to a little hole-in-the-wall hot dog shop.  I was a bit surprised, but not disappointed.  After all, I'm from Pittsburgh, home of Primantis, The "Dirty O" and Peppis, some of the best food in the world is from hole-in-the wall places where a greasy guy takes your order, and the floor hasn't been mopped since '72.  It's a way of life.

"You told me," Damon began as we slid into a booth, "that you were from the East coast, Pittsburgh I think, right?"
I nodded, "Yep, born and bred."
"Funny, you sound like one of them New Yorkers or somethin,'" Damon said to me flashing that gorgeous smile.  And the dimples.
"I've gotten that before," I said laughing and shaking my head, "but usually from people who live down south, not out in the Midwest.  Funny thing is, New Yorkers tell me I sound like I'm from Georgia," I said shrugging.
"Well, whatever it is, you sound sweet," he said with that growl at the end of 'sweet.'  I gave an inaudible little yelp in my throat.
"So I decided that maybe, you'd want to try some traditional Chicago hot dogs.  Best hot dogs in the country, I swear on it," Damon said leaning back and crossing his heart.
I smiled.  "Well, I guess I will take you up on it."

We placed our orders at the counter, and I sat back down while Damon paid.  I glanced around the place, from the gaudy yellow wallpaper, to the small wooden booths that lined the walls, the place screamed tacky.  But the enticing aroma of double-charred beef franks was making my mouth water.  Damon brought our tray over, and put up his hands with a flourish. 

"And here we have for the lady, two Nathan's beef franks with the works---sweet peppers, baby pickles, tomato wedges, mustard and relish," he said with a smile.  I picked up a dog, and took a bite.

If I could have slapped my name on them and sold them in Pittsburgh, The Dirty O in Pittsburgh wouldn't have a leg to stand on.

"Wow," I said after the first bite, "this is fucking amazing!" I covered my mouth in surprise at my language.
Damon laughed out loud and unwrapped his chicken gyro.  "Glad you like it.  Next time we'll get some Chicago deep dish pizza." 
The rest of our time was spent laughing, lounging, and having a good time.  I discovered he had three brothers, two older, and one younger, and that his younger brother was 11 and blind. I told him about my love for music, and my difficulty in finding housing.  We related on a human level, with no expectations, and no strings attached.

When we left the restaurant, he drove me immediately back to the hostel (which surprised me), parked, and looked over at me.  The streetlights shone on his eyes that were a breathtaking chestnut color.  He really is a good looking guy, I said to myself. 
"Hey, listen you're from Pittsburgh, and I hear all the girls out there are Steeler fans."
A man after my own heart. "Yeah, most of us are.  The ones with sense any way," I said with a chuckle.  "Myself included."
Damon nodded.  "Okay, well, the Bears play the Steelers at home tomorrow.  My roommate is going to be at work, and I'd love to have someone to watch the game with," he said smoothly.

I fought to keep my breathing regular.

"Um," I swallowed. "Okay, that sounds cool.  I mean, you know y'all are going to get your asses handed to you, right?" I asked skeptically.  The Pittsburgh Steelers had just come off of a great season. The Bears, as usual, had done nothing.
He laughed out loud.  "I am well aware.  I never seen a Pittsburgh girl get rowdy at a game though.  I'd like to see it.  I hear you can be hellcats."
"It's all true," I said with pride.  "Game starts at what? 6? Can you pick me up at 5:30?"
"Of course, your chariot will await," he said grabbing my hand and giving my knuckles a kiss.  I turned my head and giggled silently.

After seeing me to the door of the hostel, I ran up the stairs and threw open the door to find Beth sitting cross-legged on the bed flipping through my copy of "Wicked".  She looked at me closely.

"Nah, not tonight," she said before looking at me more closely.  I wiped my mouth, thinking I had leftover mustard on it. Beth smiled.  "But tomorrow night, ladies and gents, we will have lift off," she said with a smirk, as I tossed a pillow in her face.