Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Nick and Run

Used to be when a woman met a man he would ask for her phone number, call to ask her out and then court her with dates, flowers and other chivalrous actions. These days the getting to know you phase is cut short thanks to Facebook and other networking sites through which someone feels they can scroll through your profile and instantly know you. Up until now, I haven't hesitated if a guy asked if I'm on Facebook (duh!) in order to friend me. What they do from that point forward though more often than not, sadly, falls under something I refer to as a Hit and Run: they friend me and then drop off the face of the earth, leaving me wondering where they went and if the women are really all that much hotter there. Or maybe just easier. There seem to be two types of Hit and Runs - the ones who never post a hello on my wall yet continue to invite me by group email to their art shows, screening, improv showcases, etc., and the ones like Nick, the guy I met the other night - the ones who lurk... text text text... and then disappear. The Quickie Hit and Run.

Nick is a smart and hottie who owns my new local bar (Hello Alex! I'll take Double Jeopardy for $800 please!) A friend and I went over there to catch up over a drink. At one utterly 2010 moment, she and I were both on our iPhones at the same time when he came over and chastised us for being so unsocial. He promptly sat down and never left. Three beers and two sweet lips later we seemed to have arrived at a mutually attracted place. I decided to quit while I was ahead and said goodnight, exchanging numbers with him. [Editor's note: January requests that we mention how proud she is for this action, as saying goodnight to two sweet lips attached to one hot man is not easily done. We wish to express that this opinion is solely that of the author and we have no way to verify her remark.] So the next day, Nick texted me. Yay! And then texted me some more. And then asked how he could find me on Facebook. I told him how. He friended me. And then -- nothing. Nada. No follow-up text. No message via Facebook saying how cute I look in the baby picture with my mom. Nothing. I was left thinking am I too ____ for him? Square? Lame? Normal? Should I edge-up my Facebook page?? I immediately posted a pic and came up with a catchy title for it. Still, nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have used a pic of St. Xavier that I took recently when visiting an old mission church. Maybe I'm too religious for him? What if he doesn't call?! What if he never gets to know that I'm actually a hot tamale! That I'm pious AND dirty - the perfect Catholic schoolgirl combo! What - and - but - if -

And then I slapped myself and got back to a normal status update. ("Two Words: Nathan Fillion. One Gratuitous Sound Effect: Mmmmm") I felt better immediately, like I'd regained control of the road after being struck by a hit and run driver. He might slam into me, but he hasn't got me down!

By the way, interesting little illustration of a hit and run, don't you think? I found the artist's choice of car positioning rather... arresting. I'll say!

This morning I woke up with a text message waiting on my phone. "I'm at the bar if you want to come by." Nick sent it around midnight, when I was fast asleep. I guess he doesn't count as a Hit and Run guy anymore, then. Just a Nick and Run.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

The Greatest of All Time

Oh, to have my laptop right now and be sitting in bed, comfy and warm, typing away on my travails. And to have internet – I haven’t got an internet connection here. I moved to a new place a few weeks ago and am still sans web. So in fact I am writing this at 12:50 am on 3/28/10 and Lord knows when I will be able to post it. Fingers crossed someone will have an unlocked wifi connection and I’ll be able to hop on for a few to put this up…

My travails. Oh, how dramatic. What the heck is eating at me? [Sigh] I just came home from a date. Cool guy. Very relaxed, nice, confident, gentlemanly, serious arms from his hobby, boxing… umm, did I mention his arms? And his hot arms. BOTH OF THEM. I’ll call him Cassius. What’s the dilemma? He’s 26. Come on, people!!!! WTF? I specifically decided a few months back that I’m done with dating younger guys. I set a 5 year rule (and that was being generous! Really I’d like to keep them no more than 3 years younger). Last weekend I was out furniture shopping with a friend and this fella and I met, chatting over the furniture store we’d both been perusing. One thing led to another and I gave him my card – and he texted me from the next furniture store – and subsequently asked me out. Smooth operator and very sure of himself. I really wasn’t thinking too much of his age (or lack thereof), kind of figuring I’d play it by ear and could always tell him on the date that he was too young for me, and that’d be the end of it. But not this guy. Oh, no. Cassius likes older women. He told me the last women he dated were between 40 and 47! All I could think was, Cougars!!! But then I realized that would make me in very least, a Puma. So I tried not to think about it. He was so smooth… until his second beer. After that he had to pee three times within 20 minutes (twice during the movie) and was so darn hand-holding cuddly that he rested his head on my shoulder. Again, I ask you: WTF? These little things managed to pull me out of his arms’ gravitational pull long enough that I remembered my rule again and after the movie I was a bit more reserved and less touchy-feely than before. As he walked me to my car I told him the age thing was a problem, not because there’s anything wrong with the years between us but because we’re in different places in our lives. That’s not the same thing, right? He told me I think too much while THEY wrapped around me and his lips settled in on mine. Oh Lord, give me strength. Remind me of what I really want in this life. And extinguish the fire that just lit up down below… oh my, he’s got a great body -

Hey! You, January! Snap out of it!

I am now left with a very persistent young man whose arms knock me out without lifting a fist at my disposal… The question is, will I dispose of him? Or will I go another round??

[Editor's note: January successfully hopped on to some unsuspecting and unsecured neighbor's wireless signal. Editor takes no responsibility for theft of any kind committed by January while in the course of writing this blog.]