Bostonman Recap

Had my first date yesterday with Bostonman. I was 15 minutes late but he didn't seem to care.

Ate omlettes and drank bloody Mary's all day and even squeezed in a bit of the Yankees game.

First impression of him: handsome and classy. I'm used to dating 20-or-somethings, but I've realized just how well men age compared to women.

He was polite, let me order first and put his napkin on his lap - nearly trivial things, but downright dealbreakers for me.

It was endearing to see him in a pale yellow Burberry polo, khaki shorts and flip flops - hellooo, New England - while I'm used to seeing extra-small American Apparel tees and skinny jeans in Hipster City.

Don't know if this is a reflection of age, but the conversation during our three-hour long brunch date was real. We laughed a lot and found some common ground in our undying love for baseball (me, a born-and-raised Yankee fan; he a die-hard Red Sox fan). Talked about our families and college. Our jobs and future goals.

Real. Good. Conversation.

So my best friend has a rigid first rule date: Never, ever kiss on a first date. But lo and behold, there I was, smoochin' the oldest guy I've ever dated in broad daylight in front of the bartender. I felt like a fool - but then giddy all at once. I liked that he was bold. And that our first kiss came because I bet him Mariano Rivera wouldn't have to come out to close against the Mariners. But I wasn't a sore loser.

So my first date with Bostonman made me realize how I'm still fine-tuning my standards. Despite my self-proclaimed independence from all mankind, a guy who knows how to take care of his woman is sexy - and a must in my book. Hail her a cab. Open the door. Make her breakfast. That kind of stuff. Maybe the appeal of dating an older man lies in that standard of mine.

So this is where it all begins now. Here's someone I instantly like, but I still have that mentality of "Oh, whatever" because it's still new - and quite frankly, anything could happen given the revolving door on Match.

Bostonman texted me this morning to find out if I got out of work on time last night. We had talked about possibly meeting for a drink after I got out of work at midnight. I purposely - stupidly? - played the game of not texting him though I said I would to see how he'd react. Results are delightful.

He'll be gone up in Bahhstahn for a week visiting his uber-Catholic parents who make him make his bed (bear in mind, he's 31, but it's very cute he admits this). But maybe after that, we'll go bowling like we said we would. We also discussed going to a Boston-Yankees game - but who knows if we'll make it that far.

I have another date today, this time with Elitistman at 3 p.m. But something about him already rubs me the wrong way. Don't know if it's the three-hour gap in between his lengthy texts or if it's the fact that he's already showered me with throw-away compliments ("You sound amazing," "How is your smile so amazing?)

I'm leery.

Week one: complete, and I'm already getting worn out from dating.