No Matter How I Slice It…

…a date is a date is a date.

When he whom I will hereafter call Sexy Lebanese Guy called to suggest a coffee date, he did say that someone else would be there. I didn’t think much of it except that I knew I probably shouldn’t be calling what we were agreeing upon “a date.” But, it was more fun to think of it as that, so, if only in my mind, I persisted with that thought. After all, there was an essential truth in the statement: a drop-dead gorgeous Lebanese guy in his mid-30s with dark hair and deep brown eyes had actually picked up his cell phone on his day off and called me to suggest we meet for coffee. These days, that’s more than good enough for me!

Turns out that Sexy Lebanese Guy’s friend was a guy to whom I shall refer herein (with no further explanation) as the Easter Bunny. In fact, the first 10 seconds of our meet up, which could have been disastrous, was rather funny, especially when SLG asked us if we knew each other. The Bunny and I were quick at picking up unspoken cues from one another to avoid even a whisper of discomfort.

It also turns out that SLG’s story is a lot more complicated than what I managed to figure out upon first meeting him. I did get that he speaks three languages (English, French and Arabic); that he grew up in Beirut during its darkest years, meaning that he is familiar with taking shelter from bombs, day after day; that he studied four years in Paris; that he’s been in Halifax for four years after being advised — badly, I would say — that his chances of getting work in his field (fashion design) would be better here than in Montreal where the competition would be much stiffer. But what I did not get is that he spent some time in Kuwait after his studies in France; that, in his last months in Kuwait, well after he had decided to begin the process of coming to Canada, he met an American there, and for the last four years, he has been caught in the immigration process while having a partner in the northeastern United States.

We eventually went from the coffeeshop to SLG’s garden for more coffee and finger food. Twice during our time there, Partner called. Clearly this is normal for them, albeit not ideal. And SLG didn’t try to hide from Partner who the heck this Maurice character is. After hanging up and momentarily feeling awkward, SLG simply said, “We’re open about everything. We tell each other everything.” Not that there was anything to say or tell, really, except perhaps the rather odd circumstances in which we met (which, while rated PG, I won’t get into here).

I did observe, when I first met SLG and definitely while we were at the coffeeshop, that he’s essentially a very warm, curious and gregarious guy who doesn’t shy away from starting up a conversation with anyone. He clearly knows a lot of people in town, if only to say hello and exchange a few words. And be it cultural or just the kind of guy he is, he looks intently in his interlocutor’s eyes during conversion. Except for the trivial fact his dark browns occasionally make my heart jump a beat or three, I don’t mind a bit keeping the lock of looks! 😛 In fact, he confided that he finds most Haligonians are put off by his brand of forwardness, but noted that, unlike “most Haligonians,” I didn’t (and don’t) react like they do. “Maybe it’s because you’re French,” he suggested.

The words I thought but didn’t speak were, “Maybe it’s because I really, really, really wanted to get into your pants from the moment I set my eyes on you.” But even now that this outcome seems quite improbable, I’m neither crushed nor maudlin. As I said in my initial post, I don’t know many people in Halifax whom I can call — of they can call me — just to go for coffee, so this meeting of SLG could be my entry into an informal group of guys who touch base occasionally. SLG even suggested we go to the beach this weekend.

That’s all fine by me! That …and the fact my fascination with SLG’s eyes is surpassed only by his fascination for my own hazel eyes, which he claims being unable to stop staring into. If SLG wants to be a flirty baby, he better be prepared, for he may have met his match in that department! 😮

But all in good fun.

A Taste of the South

The other night, Stephanie invited me over for a down-home Southern meal, and man was it ever good! But, for whatever reason, I hadn’t before thought about what’s the principal culinary process in Southern cooking.

Frying. Deep frying. Not sure what to do with somethin’? Try frying it.

The fish was to die for. The woman even made her own tartar sauce, which is not something I would’ve thought of concocting! But moreover I learned that if you don’t know what to do with it, try frying it. 🙂