Dating someone much younger

Every summer we hire college interns to work for us. Two engineering interns started working with us this year, they are both 21. They look so young and they make me feel so old, mainly because if you do the math I could have been their mother. They are good kids, funny, warm and smart. They remind me of another 21-year old, someone I dated last year. Yes, dated. But don’t call me “cougar”. Cougar sounds gross and weird. And it makes me think of botox-faced women hitting on younger men. I can’t really consider myself a cougar. I am not the one chasing younger men. It’s just that sometimes younger men, mostly inexplicably, are drawn to me.

P. was 18 years younger than me. 18 and a half to be precise. He had turned 21 a couple of months before we met. I was 39. We met on the Block Island ferry in early September. I had broken up with the guy I had been dating for four years. In hindsight, that was almost three years too long. In a rare moment of mental and emotional clarity I realized our relationship was never going to be good, and I was just done with him. I broke up with him midweek. On Saturday I drove down to Point Judith in Rhode Island and took the ferry to Block Island. I wanted to be by myself and my thoughts. I really liked the island, I swam, sunbathed, walked a lot. Did a lot of thinking, too. I mainly thought how glad I was I had decided to get on with my life. I was done with being miserable and unhappy. I felt optimistic, ready for the next phase.

The people on the island were beautiful, busy with their swimming and tanning. I was walking along the beach, when I spotted a guy with a pretty hot body walking his dog. His dog started walking next to me. Hot guy and I looked and smiled at each other, said hi. I was wishing hard he would chat me up, and at the same time wishing hard he would not, echoing the duality of my mood for simultaneous companionship and solitude. I picked up my pace to dissolve the synchronized walking. It felt good to have a seconds-long connection with a handsome stranger.

Later in the day I took the ferry back to Rhode Island. I was outside on the port side of the ferry, enjoying the last views of Block Island, the colors changing in the sky, the breeze of the late summer day. Everything was magnificent, and it made me happy. There were only a couple of people on that side. Someone was directly to my right, a kid wearing a baseball hat. After a minute the high-school-looking kid came over and stood next to me. “Hi”, he said, “how is it going?” “Good, how are you?” I asked. “Good. How did you like the island?”, he asked. At that point I thought OK, high-school kid,  I am much older than you thought, move on.  But, no, he kept asking questions, and we kept talking. About Block Island, where I am from, and all the things people ask each other when they first meet. It turned out he wasn’t in high school, but senior in college. Meaning, still very young.

Despite the age difference, P. and I had a pleasant conversation. He was articulate and funny, he didn’t utter “uh” or “you know” once. As we were approaching the shore, he asked if I would like to go get a beer with him. I said, no, I had to go back to Boston. As we were waiting to get off the ferry, he asked again, “c’mon, let’s go for one drink before you head home. We’ll just go somewhere close.” What the heck, I thought, why not. He didn’t act, sound or look scary, I didn’t feel unsafe. We went to a bar in Narragansett. We got carded, and the dude at the door looking at my ID said out loud the year I was born in, and I thought the kid would run away. “Hey, he didn’t know how old I was, thanks for ruining everything,” I told the guy at the door laughing. He was apologetic, and later bought us a round of drinks.

P. looked a little bit shocked. We sat at the bar. “So, now you know exactly how old I am,” I said smiling. “Wow, you look so much younger, I thought thirty,” he said. Then I asked him how old he was and he said 21. At that point I am pretty sure we were both doing the math, 39-21=holy shit, (s)he is 18 years (older)younger than me! We had two beers and we had fun talking about school, work, our hobbies. He certainly was more mature than typical kids his age. Then it was really time to go. He wanted to show me his apartment, which I first thought was a going a bit too far. But anyway, he showed me around his apartment and I met his roommates. “If you would like to sleep over, you are more that welcome,” he said. Thanks, but no thanks, kid. We exchanged phone numbers, and off I went back to Boston.

We went on texting and emailing during the following week. The next weekend we got together and went to Block Island together. We biked around, and drank wine and made out in a secluded and tough to get to beach. It was wonderful. We went back to his place in Narragansett. It was a beautiful, peaceful night, you could see every little star in the sky.  It was nice to be far from the city, and it was exciting to getting to know someone new. For almost three months after that we hang with each other whenever we could. I went down to Narragansett sometimes, sometimes he would come and visit me in Boston. His roommates were funny, and did not look that shocked at how old I was, at least in front of me. From what P. was telling me they were fascinated by the fact that their roommate was dating an older woman.

When we were out and about together and there were other people around I avoided hand holding, hugging and kissing. I always wondered how other people saw us; perhaps they were trying to figure out our relationship, aunt-nephew, sister-brother? Lovers? That would be wild. But lovers we were. It was nice that we lived away from each other, every get together was like an excursion for one of us. We did fun stuff, hiked a lot, walked a lot. And we talked and talked. It was refreshing to be with someone so young, no baggage to bring him down, no issues to burden the relationship. He made me feel wanted and desired, and would always say how beautiful, hot and sexy I was. My self-esteem got a boost in a time when I needed it. He was the force that carried me out of my previous relationship, and I did not look back once. His body was taut. He was loving and caring. He would bring me flowers, little gifts whenever he visited. And the sex was, well, you get the idea how sex is with a 21-year-old man, very frequent and very quick. Good thing he was the kind of person who was interested in finding out what I liked and willing to explore new things, so it was good for me, too.

Dating a much younger person makes you feel younger. But it also makes you realize that you are not that young anymore; like that time when we were biking uphill and I was almost out of breath and he was flying, and I had a hard time keeping up. When the path got sandy and I got off my bike to walk it, he sprinted back to me and carried my bike. Extra points for stamina. Another time we were walking in the woods and it was hot, I wanted to keep my hair up but did not have anything with me, so he held my hair up for ten minutes walking by my side until we got to the beach. Sometimes when I was with him it was like being with a puppy, who always wants to cuddle and play. I remember we went to a show at the Paradise and during the whole show he was hugging me snuggly from behind like a human seat belt.

Most of our conversations were carefree, but sometimes we talked about our age difference; it was great we were able to have fun together despite of it, but we also knew that it could not last for long. It lasted a bit longer than it should have, and at the end he got a little bit emotionally vested.  I was sorry to see him hurt when I called it off. He was certain we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. Which was cute, but quite unrealistic.

It was an unconventional relationship, but it was different and it was fun. Even today when I think about it, I can’t help it but go holy crap, I can’t believe I was dating a 21-year old! Sometimes people say age doesn’t matter, but actually it does. It is not a sustainable relationship in the long run. It is easy to find things in common to do and enjoy, but there is also a gap in interests and knowledge, common references and experiences that will manifest itself at some point. And this can be tough if you are a person who values common interests in a partner. As a brief affair it can be super fun while it lasts, it boosts your self-esteem, it is exciting and intense. So if you ever have the chance, go for it.


Good Timing. Sometimes.

Timing can be good, or bad. Usually, at least for me, it is bad. Last night, though, there was that exception to the rule, when timing was perfect. A welcome exception to the rule, I must say.

The plan was to see two movies at the Independent Film Festival Boston at the Somerville Theatre, “The Way, Way Back” at 7:45pm and then at 9:45pm the documentary “The Punk Singer” about Kathleen Hanna. There was also a free ticket available for me to see Josh Rouse live at the Sinclair. The Man, had won two tickets and he was going to be at the Sinclair before me. He was going to ask if he could leave the second ticket at the box office for me to pick up, and text me the details. Rouse was going up at 10pm, so there was the chance I could catch his full set.

“The Way, Way Back” started 15 minutes late, at around 8pm, which meant it would go until 9:45pm. That was cutting it close. At 9:30pm there was still no text from the Man. The movie was almost ending, but not quite yet. At 9:38 I got the text, that he had my ticket and I would text him when I got there, so he could meet me at the door to hand me my ticket. A couple of minutes later the movie ended, and as the credits started rolling, I rushed out (which by the way, is something I hate doing, I always want to see the credits. Also, the movie is hilarious, I recommend it).

There was a gazillion people in the lobby, but I had to be quick. It was 9:45pm, the exact time “The Punk Singer” was supposed to start. It looked like there were seating people, and I had heard that it was sold out. I went to the rush line outside, where five or so people were standing. I asked if anyone wanted a ticket to the Punk Singer, the first two people were together, so they wanted two, the third one, a woman, needed one. I sold her my ticket, and the seconds it took her to find the $10 bill in her wallet, felt like 10 minutes. I was sorry I was going to miss the documentary, but I hope it will be shown again at some point in my area, so I can eventually catch it.

With the ticket sold, I ran to the T station right next door, tried to get through the gate, but I didn’t have enough money on my Charlie Card. It sounded like a train was coming, I added value, went through the gate, and as I was running down the stairs the inbound train was opening its doors.

I got on the train and sat down to take a breath. OK, good timing, I thought to myself. Harvard Square is only two stops away from Davis, so it was a quick train ride, and at that moment I thought how great it was that all the cool things I wanted to do were so close to each other and so close to where I live. North Cambridge, I love you!

I got off at Harvard, went up to the Church Street exit, walked down Church Street. At that point I realized I had never been to the Sinclair before, so I didn’t know exactly where on Church Street the entrance was. For some reason I thought it was next to the Fire+Ice. I went in through that door next to the Fire+Ice, and it looked like an office lobby with elevators at the left side. OK, not the entrance to the club, I thought. Through the doors straight ahead and to the right, I could hear music, but the doors weren’t labeled or anything, they looked more like exit doors. Nevertheless, without thinking much, I went to one of the doors ahead of me, I pulled, it opened, and just like that I found myself inside the Sinclair, with a couple of surprised people looking at me. OK, that surprisingly worked, I thought. The stage was ahead, and no one was playing, so that was good, I hadn’t missed any of Rouse’s set. I went to the right, where the bar is, and then I saw the entrance next to the bar. Good to know where the actual entrance is, for future reference.

Josh Rouse was still not on stage, I texted the Man to see where he was, but the text wasn’t going though. I started looking around, I saw him standing by the bar, and I went in front of him and went “BOO!” He was like, “What, how did you get inside, I have your ticket?!”, and I told him the whole story. It was like I went to that show for free twice, not only did I have a free ticket, but I had also made it in with no ticket at all. Which could very well mean that I used up my free-entry-to-shows quota on the same show, but what can you do.

We got beers, settled closer to the stage, and in a minute Josh Rouse and his band came on stage and started playing. It was a great set. We took the T to head back to Davis, and as we made it to the platform the train was pulling in to the station. We got on the train, sat down, and there was a quarter on the seat right next to mine, like a tiny goodbye gift concluding a good day. Perfect timing, or what?

2012 Year In Review

Here we are on the last day of 2012. A year that went by fast, and looking back, it was a mix of good and bad. Now is the time I am looking through my notes to see what happened in the year expiring soon. Here’s a summary of what fun things I did, what I liked and didn’t like, and the notable things that happened in my life in 2012:

Movies: I counted them all, in 2012 I watched 83 movies, that is an average of 1.6 movies per week. During the Independent Film Festival of Boston I would see up to three movies a day, but generally I go to the movies at least once a week. It turns out this year I saw plenty of classic and old movies at the Brattle, and finally did the wise thing and acquired a Brattle membership, which saves me some money. The movies I liked best this year were ‘The Kid With A Bike’, the Belgian movie by the Dardenne brothers; ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi’ a documentary about the Japanese sushi master Jiro Ono; Wes Anderson’s ‘Moonrise Kingdom’; the offbeat, different ‘Safety Not Guaranteed’; the heart breaking ‘Take This Waltz’; the tough and incredibly moving ‘Oslo, August 31st’; the touching ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’; and the fascinating documentary ‘The Imposter’. A quick note to mention ‘Lincoln’ for the superb acting by Daniel Day-Lewis, and Paul Thomas Anderson’s ‘The Master’ for the visual beauty. I also liked a lot Bradley Cooper and Robert De Niro in ‘Silver Linings Playbook’. The movie that creeped me out the most, made me feel extremely uncomfortable and wish I had not seen was Pedro Almodóvar’s ‘The Skin I Live In”. Oh, and I am not seeing ‘Les Miserables’ because I absolutely hate musicals.

Music: I went to 18 live shows this year. Some shows stood out, like the Radiohead show, the Mogwai show, which finally happened after two prior cancellations, and the Saint Etienne show at the Paradise, where everyone was dancing happily away. I saw the most interesting lighting and staging at the Grizzly Bear show at the Orpheum. The worst show? The Jesus and Mary Chain, no contest. The Paradise still remains the best venue in the area to see live music. I just wish it was located somewhere in Camberville. I can’t say there was a band or album this year I adored, but I did listen to some music I liked a lot, like Tanlines, Alt-J, Beach House, Lower Dens and Beach Fossils. After seeing Frank Ocean and the Dirty Projectors making everyone’s best music of the year list, I tried to listened to them, but I find them unbearable. Frank Ocean’s music is plainly boring, and the Dirty Projectors singer sounds like your friend who keeps singing along to every song he hears, and he is always off-key.

UPDATE: I can’t believe I forgot to mention this but my favorite song this year was Japandroid’s ‘The House That Heaven Built’. Yeah.


Theater: Not too much theater in my life this year. I mostly went to plays my friend TMB was in, like ‘Measure For Measure’, ‘Waiting For Lefty’ and ‘Anne of the Green Gables’. I also saw an interesting production of ‘Uncle Vanya’ at the Apollinaire Theatre in Chelsea, and David Adjmi’s ‘Marie Antoinette’ at the ART, a play I found was trying too hard to be witty.

Art: I visited the ICA and the MFA a couple of times each. I liked the exhibition Degas and the Nude the best, because I really, really like drawings. Really. Also at the ICA I saw Sam Green’s live documentary ‘The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller’ with live music by Yo La Tengo. And I love Yo La Tengo.

Food, Drink: I liked Casa B in Union Square in Somerville, a space with unique and pretty cool interior design and delicious tapas. I finally made it to Santarpio’s where I discovered the best pizza in town. I also liked Strip T’s in Watertown, West Bridge, and Belly Wine Bar in Kendall Square. I was impressed by the food at the Garden at the Cellar, which might be Cambridge’s best kept secret. The food is amazing, how come I didn’t know? I also paid many visits to iYo the new frozen yogurt place in Davis Square. The square will soon be fro-yo central, as a second fro-yo place opened, and there are plans for a third. I had some very good cocktails at Stoddard’s downtown, and at Brick & Mortar in Central Square.

Travel: Nothing extraordinary travel-wise. I spent three lovely days in Provincetown, I love this happy and laid back place, and the amazing beaches. Speaking of beaches, I discovered Duxbury beach this year (the best beach area is south of the bridge), pretty much one of the best beaches around Boston (sorry, North Shore beaches, no comparison, really). I went to Greece for a couple of weeks to see family and friends, eat well and swim in the Mediterranean, and that’s always pretty neat and relaxing. I also visited my brother and his family in Germany. I finally got to meet my nephew, who is a very cute baby, and got to see my niece again, who is a very cute toddler.

Exercise: In the beginning of 2012 I found myself ten pounds overweight, and ten pounds is a lot for a person of my size. I had a hard time shedding off the extra pounds just by eating less. So, I started eating less and exercising more,  the magic combination that always works. After hating running for as long as I remember, this year I followed a 5k training program, and after eight weeks I was pleasantly surprised to see I could comfortably run 3 miles. I participated in my first 5k race in December, and completed the race in 28 minutes. I also started taking tennis classes, and I loved it. I can’t wait to start new classes again. I biked a lot, as usual, and I took a bicycle repair class at the Broadway Bicycle School.

A couple of other notable things from 2012: I refinanced my mortgage and once again discovered how inept the people who work in this business are. After twelve years of living here I finally decided to apply for citizenship, and became citizen on September 11. I voted for the first time, and was happy with the results. I got to meet Elizabeth Warren, the new senator from Massachusetts, so now I have met both Senators from MA in person. Oh, and being a citizen means I can now run for office, but don’t worry, I don’t plan to.

In 2012 I experienced some disappointments, but no reason to talk about that now. I do not have any major new year’s resolutions, but I will definitely try to do certain things different: I will try to visit places I haven’t been to before. I would love to have someone willing and able to travel with me, but I am also willing to travel by myself. I will try to read more, and after many years I have cancelled my New Yorker subscription in order to free up time to read the untouched books in my bookcase. I will try to get back to creative things I used to like, like drawing.

Above all, in 2013 I will do my best to find time for all the small and big things that make happy. Happy New Year.

My first 5k race

Last Sunday December 2, 2012 I ran the Yulefest 2012, my first 5k race. It was fun, the weather was not too bad, and I managed to finish it at 28:36, my best 5k time so far. As someone who only started running in April, it felt pretty good to be able to run it comfortably. My overall ranking was 787th out of 1,363 runners. The race course was around Harvard Square, and was mainly flat, apart from an uphill section a little before the finish.

There was a cool after-race party on Bratlle Street with music, snacks, and free-flowing beer. And good beer, mind you, from Pretty Things, Notch and Slumbrew. So much beer on a virtually empty stomach made me very happy for the rest of the day.

The thing is, it is a nice surprise to see my body liking this new running thing. Every time I go running I feel strong and powerful afterwards. I might be a little obsessed with it too, as I now plan to concentrate on improving my running form and my running time. And the plan is to run many more 5k races. On one condition: there has to be (good) beer at the after party.

Just ran my first 5k race! #c5kyule @cambridge5k by Acidgalore

Just ran my first 5k race! #c5kyule @cambridge5k, a photo by Acidgalore on Flickr.


I was never a runner. I never liked running. I remember Phys-Ed classes when we had to run laps around the school and I couldn’t do it because my throat, my stomach and my sides ached. I remember the much-hated warm up for the rowing class when we had to run 3 kilometers, and I wish I could exchange it for a hundred sit-ups and a hundred push-ups. I was an active child who became a relatively active adult. Although I am of good health, I am not the one who goes to the gym. There are many things I hate about gyms, like the proximity to strangers’ warm and sweaty bodies, the stale air.  I do realize the significance of staying active, and in the past five years I have taken modern dance and yoga classes, I bicycle and walk a lot.  I do it because it makes me feel better, walk better, breathe better.

I live on a bike path, and I always admired the runners and joggers going by. They do it when it is cold, they come out like snails after a rain, sometimes even during a rainstorm. A month ago I looked up an 8-week training program to run a 5k. The idea is that working on your running stamina by the end of the 8th week you’ll be able to run 5 kilometers (or 3.11 miles). It was called ‘couch to 5k’ which I think is a dumb name. I don’t necessarily consider myself a couch potato. But being one who never ran, I thought it was a good program to gradually introduce my body to running. The training program includes different routines 3 times a week for 8 weeks. I was skeptical, as after running even the shortest distance I would feel like puking and like I was going to die. But what the heck, I thought, out of shape people can do this why not me? I can bicycle everyday 20 miles, why can I not run 3 miles?

I downloaded a couple of apps on my iPhone to help me keep track of my progress, or lack thereof. The app keeps track of the time, which is important in the beginning when you have to alternate between running and walking. I started the training in mid April. I stretched beforehand.  Week 1 Day 1 of the training program called for a 5-minute brisk walk for warm up (that was easy), and then 1 minute running and 1.5 minute walking (repeat 6 times). By the end of every 1-minute run I could hardly breathe. But I didn’t give up and I managed to complete the routine. By the end of the first week I was feeling stronger. Every training session is around 30 minutes long, including a 5-minute warm up and a 5-minute cool down.  Sometimes I had to deal with side stitches. I tried to figure out ways to phase those out. I realized that I shouldn’t eat anything for at least 4 hours before I went for a run, and I had to properly stretch my sides and torso. I also learned to avoid shallow breathing and tried for deeper breathing. Still, there were days when I would come home feeling like puking, and not be able to eat anything for hours afterwards. I generally trained on the bikepath. In the beginning my knees would hurt every time my feet would hit the pavement, but those aches wore off. I experimented with different angles of striking the ground, different angles of knee bends, different upper body posture. I tried a couple of different routes. The worst surface to run on is brick, the best dirt.

I found that overall I was doing well. Sometimes when the trainer’s voice in the app would say “start your cool down now” I would think “that was it?!”. The simple fact that some running training was easy for me and I could do more than what was required was both surprising and satisfying. It would put a smile on my face. Not every day went well. There was one day that I didn’t do well, I paused my running to walk when I shouldn’t have, I was feeling heavy and everything was difficult. The fact that it was pouring and I was dragging my rain-soaked cotton clothes was not of much help either. So I repeated that training routine the next day. The next day was dry and I managed to do it better and easier. Now I am in the 7th week, that is the penultimate week of the training. On Monday which was Day 1 of Week 7 I was supposed to jog for 25 minutes (or 2.5 miles) with no walking or stopping. I managed to do the 2.5 miles but my time was 30 minutes, so I need to improve my pace. But the fact that I jogged for 30 minutes with no walking or stopping feels awesome to me. Seven weeks ago I could hardly run for one minute straight.

That night my dreams were filled with scenes of me running. I was light on my feet, the terrain felt soft under my feet. I felt strong and happy. I could visualize new routes, turns, uphill, downhill stretches and everything was easy and possible. Back to reality, according to the training plan by the end of next week (week 8) I will be able to run 3.11 miles in 30 minutes. We shall see. But the truth is there is no possibility of failure. I will keep doing it until I get it right. I will keep doing it until I get a better time, until I do it smooth and graceful. I think I might be hooked on running.

I Stand Corrected

I’m at work listening to a discussion between two of my co-workers. I’m not part of the discussion, but they are outside my office, so I can’t help but hear what they say. Let’s call them C and M. C narrates what happened to a meeting last night, what decisions were made and how this affects M. She tells M “because you are in this position, based on what they decided on the meeting last night, this thing will happen to you.” M responds with a “yes”.

The thing is that everything C says about M is wrong: he is not in the position she says he is, so he will not be affected by the meeting’s decision the way she is describing. C talks like she really knows what she’s talking about. When C goes to another office and she’s out of earshot, I tell M: “What C says is wrong. You are not in that position. Nothing of what she just said will happen.” He laughs and says he knows.  “Why didn’t you tell her”, I ask. “Oh, because she thinks she’s right”, he responds.

And this is something I don’t like. M didn’t bother to correct C. Now C will go on and tell the same thing to other people  in the same confident manner. And possibly spread the same incorrect thoughts and conclusions to others. Why does one not bother to correct someone is something I can’t understand. I can’t stand quiet when someone says something I know for a fact is wrong. I will correct them. Not because I like correcting people, but because I like people to know the true facts.

We all have opinions, we all have perceptions. Some of them are right, some of them are wrong. For instance, I always thought the singer of Beach House is a man, because it sounded like a man to me. Once in a conversation, somebody referred to the singer as a “she”, which prompted a back and forth, “it’s a she”, “no, it’s a he!”. In the end I googled and turned out I was wrong. It is nice to now know the singer is a woman and not make a full fool of myself the next time I’m talking about Beach House.

There are people, though, who do not like to be corrected. They take corrections as arguments or negativity. When something is objective (e.g. if it is 9 a.m. it is morning, it cannot be night) as opposed to subjective (e.g. mornings are great or mornings suck) there is really no argument to be made. Correcting people is not an argument. It’s continuous education, it’s continuous learning. When I say something with the wrong accent or use the wrong preposition (by the way, why is it so hard for me to use the right preposition?) I want to be corrected. Because this is the only way I will learn how to say things right. This is how I will be a better person, this is how I will not sound ignorant or stupid. I want to improve, I want to be better. All corrections are welcome.

I Bore You With My Last Night’s Dream

Our dreams are boring to everyone but us. So let’s get the boring rolling with my last night’s dream:

I went to a bar that was supposedly owned by Jennifer Lopez. I ordered a beer that was on the list. The woman behind the bar was Trina of Trina’s Starlight. She entered the name of the beer in her iPhone, and said that it would take the delivery person one hour to get it to the bar.  “One hour?”,  I asked surprised. “Yes, one hour”, she said “because they make it in Waltham. ” I was trying to understand the concept, so I asked her “So, if it was a Harpoon it would take less time, because they would bring it from South Boston?” “Yes”, she replied.

I drank another beer that they had, and I paid for it. Trina apologized for not having the beer I had ordered first, and said the next one would be on them. Unfortunately, I had to leave. I tried to find my jacket, but the place was getting very busy, so they had moved it around. I got a little anxious trying to find my jacket, but I located it on a planter. The crowd was now women and men in their 40s-50s.

I got home and a little while later the phone rang. It was Jennifer Lopez’s mother saying that Jennifer would like to talk to me. I said sure. Jennifer came to the phone and said she was sorry that they didn’t have the beer I had ordered. She sounded like she had a cold. She said that they had recently opened the bar, so she was looking for feedback from the customers. I told her that it wasn’t a big deal really, I had ordered something else and was happy with it. She asked about the staff and I told her they were all very nice and helpful. She said that I could go back to the bar sometime next weekend, and my beer would be on them, as an apology. I thanked her and hang up. I don’t think she had asked my name, so I wondered how they would know at the bar, I was the person who got to have a beer on J-Lo.  And then I realized it was bizarre that I was on the phone was J-Lo and she was asking for my feedback. I couldn’t wait to tweet about it.

The only question I have now is how did J-Lo get my number.