Date 6- Looking for love in all the wrong places

It was a picture of him in cowboy boots with a hat that sold me on Vanilla, complete with full beard and warm smile. Since I left Texas I have always hoped I might come across a hybrid breed- urban shitkicker- but they are increasingly rare. More importantly this day in age, he gave great text.

As Thursday rolled around, I spontaneously had drinks with girlfriends in Williamsburg, sharing a bottle of rose on a patio (when will these dates get more fun than hanging out with my girlfriends? NEVER). He happens to be in the same neighborhood and confesses he might have had a few drinks with friends, so we agree to meet close by. If I could bottle that moment when a man sees you and can't hide his delight, I would be a millionaire. Maybe I would be the Millionaire Matchmaker, which would solve all my problems. He looked awestruck, whiplashed, happy as a pig in shit. The conversation was engaging- he is a Long Island rich kid who wishes he was Southern- and we discussed Willie Nelson, Austin, travel. He's nice enough, and I love my reflection in his eyes, so we head back to our neighborhood to continue the date. We gallivant among the dive bars (I am pretending to be easy going until these guys fall madly in lust with me. Then I'll whip it out and reveal what a pain in the ass I am) and in drunken curiousity wander into the famous Grand Prospect Hall. This place is a legend, the scene of many an outer borough wedding and/or baptism, gilded everything and the purveyor of the Best Worst Commercial You Have Ever Seen ("Grand Prospect Hall, where all your dreams come true!"). My 39 year old date and I are acting like naughty kids, trying to scope out the scene and crash a couple corporate events that are winding down. We wander into a dark unused ballroom and he grabs me and kisses me. I let him because I have thrown strategy out the window this week. I just want to lay my head on a big man's chest in my big bed. We finally end up at my apartment on the couch. I am breaking every rule that could be broken for a man I am only lightly attracted to, but my ego took a beating with the Italian, and this new apartment of mine is begging to be seen, torturing me to show her off. After 10 years of living in a shared shoebox in Hell's Kitchen (including 5 years in a really seductive twin bed), I finally have an enormous apartment to myself and its glorious. Its a man magnet in my opinion- arty, airy, sexy. (I hope.)

He sees two air conditioners sitting in my kitchen, yet to be installed, and says, "I bet I'm going to be putting those in windows for you soon." Sweet, but I could care less. He's not the one I really want anyways, but for tonight he will do. There are times in this dating adventure when I don't recognize myself, can't figure out where decisions came from. But I end up with my head on a manly chest, his blue eyes watching me as the sun comes up in my little Brooklyn apartment.

SIXTH DATE- A SOFT PLACE TO LAND

LATE NIGHT NIBBLES- THE 2AM CHEESEBURGER MIGHT NOT BE THE BIGGEST REGRET I HAVE IN THE MORNING

WINE SELECTION- WENT DOWNHILL AFTER THE ROSE