I think I met the death of this blog.

Nearly a month ago, a guy messaged me on OKCupid. I had basically stopped using it, but every now and then, my profile still came up in searches, and I got messages. Mostly from illiterates or weirdos, or both.

And then I got a message from this guy. I didn’t think I was interested in him romantically, and I told him so, but he did seem really cool, so we started messaging back and forth.

I was out of town with my family. Traveling makes me insanely anxious, so I liked the distraction of being able to text with this person. And he was just…lovely. Of course, I’ve learned in the past that good text chemistry isn’t necessarily good in-person chemistry, but it still felt good.

When I returned, he and I met up. We shared a bottle of whiskey and talked and laughed until 2 am.

He’s a chef and a bartender. He works in restaurants, in kitchens, behind the bar, and as a consultant. He wants to open up his own 1900s themed bar, and has been hustling up investors and looking at spaces. He’s also smart, creative, funny, and – here’s the biggest thing – entirely unfazed by how nuts I am. Partially because he’s fucked up too, he’s been through his own shit. But partially because he just…gets it.

You know how I always say I’m difficult? He loves that I’m difficult. He loves that I’m too smart for my own good and bossy and that I want what I want when I want it. He weathers my anxiety and neuroses – more than weathers, is totally fine with them. I can get too drunk and start worrying or crying and he doesn’t mind talking me down. And none of this is a push-over kind of thing. He’s not just enthralled by my quirky Jewish girl thing. We totally go toe-to-toe.

“Of course I found a New York Jewish writer,” he said to me. “Of course. I hate you.”

On Wednesday, I made him fried chicken at my apartment. He played Billie Holiday on his phone and we stood in my kitchen, listening to the blues and the sound of lard popping in a cast iron pan. He stayed completely out of my way, helping with things I wanted him to help with (“You can make the salad – slice the cucumbers, but tear the lettuce”), but not interfering with my cooking process in any way. After we ate our fried lunch, we sat in my bathroom and chain-smoked and drank cheap 100-proof whiskey. It was seriously the most romantic day I’ve ever had.

On Friday, we went out to lunch at a fabulous French bistro – he had just gotten his check from the holidays, and wanted to splurge. So we went to Cherche Midi, by the same guy who owns Balthazar. If we hadn’t just had that Wednesday, I would say that was the sexiest date I’ve ever been on – we started our meal with chicken liver pate (sublime) and baby lettuce salad and the most perfect Grey Goose martini I’ve ever had. It tasted like fresh freezing spring rain. Dangerous. Anyway, then we had perfect steak frites and finished with perfect French champagne. Over-the-top amazing lunch. Perfect service, which anyone who knows me knows is my weakness. And perfect company.

So, let’s sum this up. I found a man who both appreciates the finer things (read: can accommodate my Jewish American Princess needs) and slumming it with homemade fried foods and cheap whiskey in the bathroom. He not only can withstand my crazy, but he likes it. He is entirely unfazed by every weird thing I do.

I have no problem writing about bad dates. I don’t mind making myself look like an asshole, or telling stories about a time when I was crazy and scared someone off. I can come clean if I was naive and thought a man liked me when he really just wanted to sleep with me. I can be honest about all sorts of things when it comes to embarrassments and bad luck in love.

But it takes a lot for me to write about something good. I’m ultimately very private, when it comes to my personal life. I don’t like people knowing my business – my happy business, especially.

This time, though, I couldn’t resist. I found someone I adore who seems to be everything I’ve been looking for for the past four years.

Yesterday, we were in bed, watching trash TV on Hulu. Buckley was lying between us, intermittently licking my boy’s arm and chewing on his Nylabone. I had my baby dog, whom I love more than I thought I could ever love anything. And I had my new squeeze, who, so far, makes me the happiest I’ve felt in years.

The last few months of 2014 brought so much excitement – publications, fur coats, Hermes scarves in trash cans. And now? Maybe they brought love, too.

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