Calling St. Jude

OK, so what a difference a day makes. I got an email on Saturday from someone a friend had suggested I meet as she thought we'd be a good match. Of course, a year had gone by since then, as we both moved on to other relationships and never met up. But now the earth and stars were aligned and we went out for dinner Sunday night and we really hit it off.

So now I am dating a most unlikely gentleman by the name of Francois. And in case you haven't figured it out, he is Chinese.

Kidding, he is FRENCH. A real Frenchman, with a French accent, the whole nine yards. He's an American however and has been for about 20 years.

When I got home at 1 in the morning after our date last night, I Googled him. Now I am totally intimidated. Professionally speaking, I have been merrily writing junk mail and spam for the last 20 years, while he has been (no shit) unraveling the human genome.


His last job title was "Chief Scientist" and got his (two) degrees from the University of London.


He is currently self-employed and is living comfortably off what I can only surmise is the massive profits of selling off the last business he co-founded. I think he created the search engine, or a search engine that other search engines use. Yeah, that's it. Christ, I can't even explain what he does - he's THAT smart.


I can only guess he is hanging out with me for comic relief. He lives in the town where I went to college, so I know he knows my decidedly blue collar background. Yet he called back, so I guess it's all good.


It must be my eyeglasses - what Chief Scientist can resist the "sexy librarian" look.


And unlike the fools of yore from this blog, he a) insisted on picking up the tab b) did not talk incessantly about his ex or his mother and c) did not take me to a strip club on our first date.

I hate to be hopeful. I hate that I hate to be hopeful. But I'm going to be, just a little bit for now. Even St. Jude catches a break now and again.