My Before Sunrise

The roommate and I went out for a little karaoke jam session a couple of weekends ago where we met an adorable Australian boy and a German Danny Zuko, who came complete with a leather jacket and flawlessly lubed-up pompadour…“sommer loving, hat mich ein blast!”

I ended up spending the next 3 and a half days basically velcroed to the Australian’s side. What can I say? I got bitten by the smitten!

It all felt very Before Sunrise-ish. Except, I was a far less elegant and far more gauche version of Julie Delpy. And instead of Ethan Hawke, the slightly greasy philosterbater, there was Andrew, the electrical engineer, whose idea of foreplay involved sweet nothings on the inner ear and it’s semicircular canals (trust me, it was adorable).

The montage portion of our movie would run as follows:

-- GASLAMP - NIGHT 1 -- dinner at La Strada…mmm gnocchi in my belly -- post-dinner promenade by the pier with a little interdigitation -- “So this is what the inside of a Days Inn Motel room looks like…”

-- CORONADO - NIGHT 2 -- burgers and ice cream at the 50’s Beach n’ Diner -- moonlit romp along the beach -- 1 ceiling tile, 2 ceiling tiles…

-- FASHION VALLEY - NIGHT 3 -- shopping excursion for man-shaped clothing -- dinner at the glorious Cheesecake Factory -- oops, got a little sauced at Henry‘s -- 22 ceiling tiles, 23 ceiling tiles…

And then, unfortunately, our movie had to come to an end. Thursday morning, I escorted my adorable Australian from his hotel room to his taxi cab. Smooched him one last time, dropped a tear in his wineglass, and put a period at the end of my whirlwind romance with the thunder from down under.

I think I might actually miss him.