Week 3 or I Forgot My Wallet

I pull into Laurelhurst Market, a new restaurant/meat market (literally) and see one other person has parked as well: my date, J. J. has a huge SUV but I won't hold it against him. Turns out the restaurant is closed. We laugh easily about this and move our cars to new spots down the block. That's when he gets out and realizes he's forgotten his wallet. To his credit, yesterday he returned from a trip to Belgium. Also, I like that it doesn't even cross his mind to ask me to cover it. This may sound absurd but my expectations have decreased this much. He offers to drive to his house and I accept, as long as he doesn't expect me to get out of the car. Note: having things go wrong on a date helps break the inherent awkward ice.

We pull up to his very sweet, perfect house: an immaculate lawn, perfectly manicured shrubs. Contrast this with my house. My pregnant neighbor mowed my lawn the day before she gave birth. I have more dandelions than I can count and recently used a scissors to edge the lawn near the sidewalk. J.'s car, by the way, is also spotless – serial killer spotless, whereas mine has dog kibble littering the seats and white fur on the dash, a random banana peel and just yesterday I threw out a spider by one of its legs.

So we may be opposites, which is good. I need someone to keep things sanitary around the house. We go to Navarre. Should I add links to this site? The restaurants may be more thrilling than the dates? There's a whole page for Red Burgundy wines, like thirty, and we eat small plates of scallops, squash, and bread with oil. Aside from charging $1 for the oil, I really like this place. And I actually like J. He's kind and easy going, incredibly mellow. He's an engineer who manages other engineers and he's originally from Arizona and has a slight accent. Or is it that he speaks slowly? He might be a better therapist than I am. He's vulnerable when talking about family, laughs at my witty jokes, and is very much a gentleman. At the end of the date we hug and though not feeling a ton of sparks, I find myself saying: let's do this again. But as I've learned from Millionaire Matchmaker: the ball's in his court. I resolve to do nothing. Nothing is very difficult for me, as it turns out, but it takes away from the guessing game. If I put my mind to it - this time - I can really do nothing.

I must use the dancing approach as R. suggested. We are simply trying out partners and it's on to the next...victim, I mean date. My detached approach is easier since I've begun emailing with D. in NYC. He's a wonderful correspondent. Though only a flirty pen friend, and a cute one from the photos, I feel like I've cheated on J. and E., but I swear I love you all! Equally! But D. has an adorable picture, a twin sister, a dozen siblings, and he's Italian. He's a brilliant writer who uses phrases like: sleepy time and Jersey perm. Who wouldn't fall for him? After all, the ingredients are all there: far away (obstacle #1), Italian (probably not faithful, but sexy), and a funny, smart writer. I like him.

Must get in one more date by the end of the weekend – it's looking like it'll be the law school,Jewish grilling guy, also a J. This could be confusing.