Magic man and I ventured to Green Papaya last night, for some vietnamese action. Our first date.

Conversation flowed perfectly, both of us genuinely laughing at the other's tales, and every once in awhile I found myself sucked into his ridiculously amazing green eyes. If our date had been a sci-fi flick, his eyes would've been tractor beams. Or mysterious vortexes of wonder. Or maybe Stargates -- but without the concrete rings or Richard Dean Anderson.

We munched on our curry-spiced and coconut-milk flavored cuisines until ours was the only table left on the patio... neither of us had noticed Jorge's table-removing prep to close the patio. We had sipped our domestic beer -- his from the bottle, mine from a glass ('cause I'm fancy like that, y'all) -- he insisted on paying, so I thanked him and implied my interest in a second date by insisting "I'd get it next time" (Practically a baby's ass with all my smoothness).

Our walk to the parking lot was slow, although it wasn't but 40 yards from the restaurant. We stood between our vehicles, gazing without interruption, but speaking steadily. Kinda like our brains, mouths and ears were one thing, but our eyes had started their own club. We planned another get together for Sunday, since both our schedules were a little crowded and his dad would be in town all weekend. We shook hands, and turned to our respective vehicles, though both hanging on to our grins.

This one's a good one.