Day 4- Blast from the Past

As I was in the first few weeks of dating Pedro- weekly dates that we fun and easy and somehow ended up with us nekkid but not fornicating- I matched with a fellow named Jason. I went on a first date with him at a local biergarten that was so miserably tedious, I was quite sure he would have rather been clipping his toenails. We also learned that we creepily lived only 4 doors down the block from each other- the odds of a fail were very, very high. Imagine my surprise when just a few days later he invited me to a wine tasting event. I debated- if he didn't loosen up from the first date, this could be miserable. But WINE. LOTS OF WINE. So I decided to go, and ended up having a fabulous evening. I learned he is very smart and driven, collects wine obsessively, works out obsessively...does many things obsessively. But after a few walks around the room and chats with North Fork vintners, we both loosened up and eventually found our 30 something selves rolling around and kissing in the grass at Brooklyn Bridge Park. He left the next day for an epic trip to Paris and Barcelona- I gave him several recommendations and he took photos and texted from all. Somewhere around the tapas restaurants of Barcelona I lost him- he fell off the map, and I didn't hear from him until a few days after he returned. My fragile ego felt that a man should have texted very shortly after arriving, and not ask "Hey, want to grab a happy hour drink?" (I never said I was sane or easy). By that time I was already starting to fall into a strong lust haze with Pedro, and didn't feel the loss too terribly. Present day, trying to shake off my demons, I match with Jason once more. He reached out immediately and we start texting. Wouldn't this be a meet cute? Love came so close to this pair, circled the block to find parking for two years, then finally snuggled in on 21st Street. He asked me to a Jack Johnson concert with him and I agreed. I am optimistic leading up to the date; at a minimum I knew him to be a decent and engaging fellow and hope that perhaps we will be friends. We meet in Bryant Park and hop on subway out to Forest Hills. He is as cute and polite as I remember, and as before I have to push the conversation along a bit. We walk around snacking and drinking and he insists on paying- is this a date? I am honestly not sure. It took an obscene amount of wine to get this fellow to loosen up so long ago. He is very attached to his mother and brother which I adore, and talks about third wheeling with his favorite married people. We head into the stadium and this is where I find things fall apart. Jack Johnson is essentially elevator music- there are no peaks and valleys, just an occasional flush of recognition when you realize that he has had so many hits and yet they are all indistinguishable from the next. We note that we are the only people not smoking pot, and admit that neither of us really indulge in any illegal substances (but clearly both like the sauce). We both fade as the evening drags- tired, tired of pushing conversations about nothing, thinking about getting up early the following day- it would take far more animal heat to keep us sparking and you can't really fake that. We bolt out and hop in an Uber, and have a very hearty and friendly hug as we part ways on our block. Guess we both have to keep circling to find a parking spot in someone else's neighborhood.