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" Vince had wanted to come pick me up at the hotel, but because I had just met him and I was in a strange town and Ted Bundy was also a charismatic, good-looking guy, I suggested we meet at Graceland instead. When I showed up, he was already there, leaning against his car in the parking lot in faded jeans and a leather jacket.  He gave me a sleepy smile and gestured toward the bus waiting to take us from the parking lot to the house.  &amp;quot;Your chariot awaits.&amp;quot;  As we walked, he put his arm around my waist. We didn&amp;#039;t really get a chance to talk on the bus, as the driver spent the scenic-route drive giving us little-known facts about Elvis. Did you know he was part Cherokee? Me either, but then again, I admit I don&amp;#039;t know all that much about Elvis.  The tour of Graceland was AMAZING. It was so kitschy and fun. My favorite was The Jungle Room, which was all 70s-looking, with heavy wood and animal print and fur everywhere.  &amp;quot;I want to live at Graceland,&amp;quot; I whispered to Vince as we walked through.  He laughed. &amp;quot;And you&amp;#039;re worried that I&amp;#039;M the weirdo in this scenario.&amp;quot;  After Graceland, we got into our respective cars and drove to Sun Studio. While Vince only tolerated the Graceland tour, he really came alive on this one, supplementing the information the guide gave us with his own whispered asides, much to the annoyance of some tourists from Miami who kept shushing him. After the tour, he suggested dinner at his favorite place in all of Memphis, a steak house that boasts private &amp;quot;rooms,&amp;quot; which are basically corner tables with curtains. I&amp;#039;m assuming one normally needs advance reservations for a private table on a Saturday night, but Vince seemed to know everyone who worked there and we got seated immediately.  Over dinner (the best steak I&amp;#039;ve ever eaten in my life), Vince and I sat entirely too close to each other and had typical first-date getting-to-know-you banter. He moved to Nashville from Connecticut after college, which explains his lack of accent. He went to school for music, and after failing in every possible way as a musician, realized he didn&amp;#039;t have to make music to love music, bought a struggling studio, and became a fixture on the rockabilly recording circuit. And here&amp;#039;s a shocker: he&amp;#039;s 39. I thought he was in his early 30s, max.  When the bill came, Vince took out his wallet.  &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s split it,&amp;quot; I suggested, remembering the steep prices on the menu and feeling uncomfortable with him spending so much when we barely knew each other and I was skipping town in the morning.  &amp;quot;No way.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Yes way.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;K., I barely pay for anything here. I recorded the owner&amp;#039;s brother&amp;#039;s album.&amp;quot;   He showed me the bill, and he was telling the truth, so I let him pay on the condition that he let me buy him a post-dinner drink.  After he settled up, we headed to a mostly-empty lounge and sank into a couch in the back. Now, I&amp;#039;m not normally one to make out with people in the middle of a bar, but I&amp;#039;ll admit there was some kissing. Vince had this way of looking at me that just about made me melt. I get the feeling that I&amp;#039;m not the first girl who&amp;#039;s gotten the steak-and-champagne-in-Memphis treatment, but he was so charming and adorable that I didn&amp;#039;t mind. We called it a night -- separately -- after a couple of hours, trading email addresses and longing looks, and promising to connect on Facebook. Ah, the joys of modern romance.  Sarah was right\u2026I should have spent my post-Brandon days (the first ones) having meaningless makeout sessions and fun dates, not being all tortured about Ed.  Next time. Not that I&amp;#039;m in a hurry for my next breakup or anything. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a8393/bedroom-blog-121009/>