So the date was perfect. We were chatting for a while over the phone before we finally met.

He drove in from Staten Island. We have Scholar Garden plans in the future.

We started out in the West Village before we both realized that we don't know any places, which meant we ended up at Pongsri.

Several stories were shared: of mine, these include "Are you Chinese?", leaving-in-the-middle-of-the-night, the stairwell embarrassment, the pink iPod nano.

I heard all about the once and current lesbian wife, the military boyfriends, the hick bars, and multiple instances of extreme drunkenness.

We did round 2 at duplex, which was a bit much: I want me-serving bartenders not self-serving ones, but the knee contact was more than stimulating.

Somehow at the Stonewall Inn I was so enthralled I barely noticed we were the only colored people there, which meant that we could make all the honorary black women jokes we wanted.

It was and is still early, but somehow I think we felt the date had been so perfect we should end it on a high note.

I walked him back to his car and we stood by the door and we had a kiss (well, three) goodnight in the middle of Seventh Avenue near Perry.

We'd see each other again soon, but then again it is the national figure skating championships this weekend.

I just need to remind myself to take it slow.