The 100 Girls, 100 Days Project

I started the demise of ‘09 with something fresh…a glass of orange juice across the table from a five feet, six inch blonde girl named Jamie. Now as much as I enjoyed my lunch date the other day, I have to say the breakfast date was completely different territory. It’s not unusual when you spend the night with the girl in question, but it’s rare to have a first date with a freshly risen sun, and half the city still not quite in a stir.

I met Jamie a couple days prior while bartending. She was watching me make drinks for tables, and I pretended to be self conscious about it. I told her to not watch me make Margaritas, and that she was only allowed to stare at her beer, or I’d cut her off. She told me I couldn’t do that, and I told her I had the right to refuse service to anybody I wanted.

It was her idea to meet at 8am in the West Village for breakfast. I think she was the kind of girl who wanted to make a mark on me. She wanted to be the country omelet girl to my coffee & bagel city-boy ways. And she wanted to be the last date of my ’09. Some girls bring their A game on a first date, and other’s expect you to do all the work. Jamie was definitely the former.

Three coffees to stay awake isn’t normally a good sign for a first date, but I had to hand it to her that it was enjoyable. She had a million stories, and would randomly stick her tongue out at me.  The inflection on the way she said button towed the line between obnoxious and adorable. She grabbed my hand as we walked down Houston.

I had plans with Nicole later in the evening, and I didn’t really feel the urge to kiss this girl. She even went for it, and I pretended to cough, and gave her the cheek kiss that is usually reserved for elderly neighbors and relatives that you only see on Christmas and Thanksgiving. And I immediately lit a cigarette, so she would be singed if she tried to get in the vicinity of my lips.