So my first Philly relationship with S* was a brief and complete bust, and at the time, quite heartbreaking. I was so desperate for a kind word and shoulder to cry on, that I actually contacted the married guy, who has always been a strong voice of support and reason through my frequent moments of panic and irrationality. He thought S was a jerk from the get-go – it was the snooty “fine artist” description that turned him off – and, as usual, reminded me that I was a catch and could have my pick of the bunch. “Yeah”, I thought, “Then why are you still with your wife?”

But alas, S was in the arms of another girl, married guy was still married, and I knew I had to suck it up and move on. I delegated two full days to my own personal pity party, during which I raided the basement wine collection, watched an assload of “The Bad Girls Club” on the Oxygen Network, and puffed through 3 packs of Parliament Lites on the roof deck overlooking the city. When those two days were up, I brushed my teeth, showered and shaved (no time for hygienic maintenance during a pity party!), and turned my Onion Personals profile back on.

Again, it didn’t take long to re-connect with some bachelors that had showed interest pre-S, as well as finding new potential candidates. And I’m proud to say, after getting dumped on a Sunday, I had successfully set up not one, but two dates for the week. I also feel the need to add that within a short 3 weeks, I had been on more dates in Philly than during my entire 5 year run in Charleston. You gotta love those stats!

On Wednesday, still stung and hangover, I had my date with N*. He frequented my neighborhood quite a lot and took me to a few out-of-the-way bars that I had no idea even existed. The conversation was light and easy, but nothing as intense as with S. He was physically very attractive, very much a “boy” in regard to his hobbies, intelligent, and only a couple years older than me. There just didn’t seem to be that passion that I had experienced with S. I longed for that feeling again, even with all the drama associated with it. N was quiet, and with my opinionated loud mouth, I didn’t know what to make of it.

He dropped me off at my house and kissed me – something that I wasn’t expecting. I didn’t know what would become of us, if anything, but that kiss – it was surprisingly genuine. I decided to not get over-analytical and, instead, focus on my next date in a couple of days with W*.

I met W in the hip area of Northern Liberties, which I guess could be comparable to Upper King as far as real estate prices and hipsters are concerned. I spotted him at the designated meet-up bar, walked over, and proceeded to stand there while he finished up his one-sided conversation with the empathetic female drink-slinger. My first impression was that he was loud, rugged, and well, loud. He finally turned around, greeted me warmly, and ordered my drink. He offered to take me on a neighborhood pub crawl, and I was game.

He was interesting, not only to himself but to me as well. I don’t know if he did it out of nervousness, but he kept interrupting me. He would ask me a question, I would begin to answer it, and then he would cut me off. For example:

W: “So, why are you getting out of radio?”

J-dub (a.k.a me): “Well, it seems like a good time since I never really liked the business and-”

W: “Yeah, my old man yakkity, yakkity, yak, blah, blah, farty, fart, fart…” (copy and paste last part 50 more times)

But that aside, he was very nice, entertaining, and made me feel good about myself. He kept telling me how beautiful I was in person, and what a great time he was having.

The bars were closing, and like most of my dates, he invited me back to his place. I must’ve given him a look that said, “Buck off, Hop-along” because he quickly promised that he wouldn’t try to sleep with me. No, what he had in mind was much worse…

We walked back to his house in Northern Liberties, and he gave me the grand tour. He showed me his bedroom and kissed me. Honestly, it was late, I was drunk, I trusted this guy to be the gentleman he seemed to be, so I figured, why not? Who doesn’t like a little make-out session? He was a good kisser, not too aggressive, but not weak. Then he began untying my converse sneaker. Then he took of my sock. And began sucking on my toes.

My friends, I shit you not.

It took me a minute to realize what exactly was going on. Then it occurred to me, “Hold up. I’ve got a grown-ass man who has voluntarily put my sweaty foot in his mouth, and furthermore, seems to actual enjoy it.” And as quickly as that, the party was officially OVAH.

I excused myself, grabbed my shoe, and told him I had to get home because my father was waiting up for me. I don’t think he made the connection that the foot thing was what prompted me to summon a cab, and asked if he could call me sometime. I said sure, not knowing what to make of him in my slightly intoxicated and creeped-out state.

The next day, he called. Twice. I didn’t pick up. It’s horrible, because he was really intelligent and would make a great friend, but I simply couldn’t get over the foot thing. Call me shallow, but that shit is weird. And not exactly a fetish you should expose on a first date.

N also called that night and asked if I’d be up for grabbing a beer. I said yes – N was quiet and normal and that’s exactly what I needed right at that moment. And as it turns out, what I still needed a few weeks later, too.

*Still protecting the not-so-innocent weirdos in Philly