Drive Me Crazy

I'm as happy as a lark. By the way, who came up with that phrase? Who decided the lark was happy? Did anyone ask the lark? Is the lark never allowed to have a case of the Mondays?

Anyway, I've been rolling through a field of PMA lately and it's quite fun. And it's delightful. First there's Julia Roberts. We've been exchanging emails for a few days and I like what I've seen thus far. He's nice and I'm thinking he's a funny guy because he mentioned his friends want him to try out for Second City. So he has to be at least a little bit funny. Telling someone to join an improv troupe is a lot different than a pity laugh at your lame joke.

So I just replied to his latest email about plans for St. Patrick's Day and told him I'm not sure what I'm doing yet. But I refuse to meet up with him on the one Saturday of the year where to entire city is at the bar. That's a recipe for disaster so I'll just stay out of that kitchen.

Then we have a slew of new faces, including a 34-year-old surgeon who's very tall and very cute, and a salesman with dark brown hair and olive skin who is training for a triathlon in his spare time.

And that's just on the internet. Last night, I was walking home carrying a few grocery bags, when I stopped at my building's front door to try and find my keys while holding said bags. Before I could open my purse, a deep voice from behind me said, "I got it."

I turned around and looked up to find a very cute blonde man in a grey wool dress coat pulling out his keys to open the door. He held it open for me, and, wanting to get another look at this gentleman, I looked into his eyes and smiled and said, "Thanks." So smooth.

Then we both walked to the mailboxes, and in silence opened our boxes. I felt like we should be having a conversation since we'd sort of interacted already, but instead I just reached in to find zero mail. But he was still going through his pile and blocking the doorway so instead of saying excuse me, I bent down and looked into my mailbox like there was something in the very back. There wasn't and I had nothing to pull out and feign interest in opening, so I just slowly stood up and took way too long to close and lock the box.

I stood there awkwardly for 5 seconds, and then he closed his mailbox and started to walk toward the elevators. We got on the same one and he asked what floor I was on. I told him and thanked him again. Then we stood in silence, waiting for the elevator to move. Finally he muttered, "I hate how slow this elevator is."

I laughed and said, "I know." Say something else! Keep the conversation going!

So I came back with, "I thought they were supposed to replace this one." That's half true. I did hear rumblings.

"Oh really? That would be fantastic."

"Yeah I know. It's the worst on the weekends when people are moving in."

"Yeah, last Sunday was terrible. I think half the building was moving."

I laughed even though it wasn't funny, but I needed to fill the silence with some sort of sound. All the while trying to play it cool and not let on that I thought he was adorable. But our convo was so vanilla, I wasn't going to read into anything. Except the fact that he was quite the gentleman.

We reached his floor, and he walked out and turned and said, "Well, have a good night."

I smiled and told him to do the same. With that the door closed on our love. And I would've smiled and sunk to the floor like Kate Hudson does in her movies after she meets the cute neighbor who volunteers at an animal shelter and loves his mother, but the doorman doesn't need to watch a chick flick on the security camera.

So we'll see what happens next. I'm like a bus driver swerving through the streets of Singleville. I don't know who's getting on next, who's getting off (hey now) or where my route will take me.

But I am certainly enjoying the ride.