Batter Up!

There couldn't be a better time of year to be on the dating scene. The temperature is rising, the sun is finally coming out of hibernation, and that familiar, warm summer wind is seeping through the city streets, luring all the single people out of their sky caves to the beer gardens, beaches and bike paths. It's ON!

So what better way to get things poppin’ then to step back up to the dating plate. Let me get you up to speed on what’s happened in my love life in the past few weeks:…………nothing. While some of you thought I was busy seeing someone, I in fact was busy seeing something. Something called Operation New Job. I was like the Bond of the job boards and kids, I’m pleased to say, mission: accomplished.

And with this wonderful turn of events has come a wonderful turn of the seasons, and I’ve hit the dating ground running. And although April showers have come and gone, in my world it’s apparently raining men. Well, maybe it’s more like sprinkling men. Whatever. There’s precipitation.

First we have a gentleman who lives in the city and is an engineer. More like enginerd! Jk. He’s tall with glasses and has a sarcastic sense of humor (hey now!) and I have agreed to hang out sometime soon. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend, so if he ends up being a total weirdo and I excuse myself to the restroom and flee through the window, I won’t have to worry about offending my friend. It’s always nice to have a mutual friend, because it’s like having a reference. An instant background check.

Anyway, Lex Luthor* asked me to drinks next week. I just hope he doesn’t show up with three phones, a Bluetooth and his iPad. And a pocket protector.

As for my elevator beau Heaven on Seven, sigh, I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Alas, I fear our hero has perhaps moved on to newer high rises and roomier elevators. But apparently my building has no shortage of cute men, because I got on last night to find two tall drinks of water speaking to each other in French. FRENCH GUYS!!! Then I heard one say, “basketball.” MANLY FRENCH GUYS!!! That’s like the holy grail.

Five minutes after our rendezvous (although it was really more like me trying to interpret what they were discussing), I got a text from a major blast from the past. Does the Traveling Salesman ring a bell? The man who thought our first date should involve beers and a hot tub.

I haven’t spoken to that man since last July, and he leads with, “What up?”

What up?? Who says that to someone they a.) hardly know, and b.) haven’t spoken to in almost a year?

What up is you looking for a booty call. Homey don’t play that. Delete.

There is another gentleman who I met via the world of Internet dating a few months ago, but he has been one state away finishing up his MBA program and will be moving here in a few weeks. So we’ve never met in person. I’m like one of those women who write to men in prison.

Anyway, after investigating his Facebook profile and partaking in several Gchats, I’ve found him seemingly adorable and intelligent. And totally cute. And he’s asked me to help decorate his apartment. So he’s a strong candidate.

But we’re still taking applications.

 *Nickname courtesy of my big bro who, conveniently, is a computer engineer and speaks fluent Nerd. Today’s lesson: Lex Luthor is the ultimate evil engineer and recently won Best Engineer in Comic Books of All Time.

A Little Slice of Heaven

So I ended up working a bit late last night, and got home about an hour before my date a la web cam with Julia Roberts. I was waiting for the elevator, holding my phone with one shoulder talking to my mother while opening a Comcast bill, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the front door open.

I turned my head and looked up to see Heaven on Seven in all of his fine blonde glory. Wearing a baby pink button down, dark jeans and wool coat, he was tilting his head to the side and looking at me curiously and somewhat amused. I did a semi-wave/smile combo and he smiled and disappeared around the corner to get his mail.

So now Mom's talking about baby carrots, and I see him come back around the corner, so I tell her I need to get going. The elevator arrives, and we both step in, as my mother asks what I'm making for dinner. I quietly mumble, "I don't know." She couldn't hear me because I may as well have mimed it, so I said it louder. And at that moment, the elevator dings and I look up to see we've arrived on his floor.

We exchanged a quick closed-mouthed kiss smile and away he went. Leaving me still wondering what his NAME is, what he deems his favorite flavor of ice cream, and if he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.

Next time I see Seven, I'll just introduce myself. Easy enough...right?

The Reader

Last night I was shopping at my local CVS, picking up some new hair ties and the like, when I looked up and there Heaven on Seven was, in his dark grey wool coat, floating by on a cloud of hearts. And he was carrying a very thick black book. Which piqued my interest, because it looked identical to the fourth Twilight novel. (Team Edward 4 Life.)

So now I had to know if my superfine neighbor was a studious scholar or a Stephanie Meyer fan. Sink or swim time, man. I can't date a guy who spends his evenings quietly turning the pages of a teenage/vampire romance novel.

Hair ties in hand, I sauntered toward the register where he was checking out. He still didn't know I was behind him, and I don't know his name, so I had to be that creepy girl just standing behind him. Naturally I took advantage of this time to try and see the title of his book. But he set it on the counter when he went to pay and I couldn't see anything!!

Twilight or not?! Manly man or total wimp?!

Heaven on Seven picked up his bag and slowly turned to go, when he noticed someone was behind him. He did a double take and said, "What's up?" He pulled the book up under his arm, and all I could see was the shiny black jacket. Stop moving your book!

My heart was pounding at this point as I casually replied, "Not much, how are you?"

I could feel my face get hot and the room seemed to disappear. Gone were the two girls in line behind me buying wine, away went the tired-looking cashier who was probably close to his break. It was just me and him. And the mystery novel.

"Good, good. Ready for the weekend."

"Yeah, me too. Long week," I replied.

"I hear ya. Well have a good night!" he said.

"You too." And call me. And make me breakfast in bed. And flash me another one of your contagious smiles.

He smiled and walked out, and I was out of the Heaven haze and back in CVS. I scrambled to see if I could get another glimpse at his book, as I handed my hair ties to Walter. No luck. And now I'll never know. But my head was spinning from the endorphins. If I was in high school, I'd go home and stare at his picture in my yearbook.

But I don't even know his name. So that's probably should be the priority at this point. The problem is that once you start running into someone and you never actually introduce yourselves, it starts to get super awkward. You know each other but you don't know each other.
So that's the next step. Introduce myself. Oh boy. Deep breath.

Why can't we all wear name tags? That should be a law. People would be much friendlier. Can you imagine how much nicer the world would be if you needed to get around someone on the street and could say, "Excuse me, Dawn"? Or if that homeless woman who lives on the corner by my train stop said, "Hey Julie, got any change?" I might feel more compelled to give her the 3 quarters in my purse.

And Heaven on Seven would be Dave or Kevin or Luke. But for now he's just the cute guy on the 7th floor who may or may not read Twilight.

I need to know more.

Going Up!

Oh me, oh my. So I ran into my building boyfriend from the 7th floor again. You guys, he's so cute.

It was Saturday, early evening. I was returning from the bar after a few St. Patrick's Day brewha's, quite pleased with the work that was put in at the bar that afternoon, and decided to grab my mail. Then I turned the corner,and the elevator was starting to close, when an arm reached out to hold it for me.

I stepped on the car and looked up to see all 6'3"ish of him, looking like a joyous leprechaun had just exploded all over him. Before I could thank him, he said, in an I've-been-at-the-bar-too-long volume, "Heyyyyyyy!" and held up his hand to high five me.

I laughed at him and he said, "Don't leave me hangin' now." So I gave Heaven on Seven a high five and smiled at him.

"Alright," he said, drunkenly smiling and nodding. It was hilarious. And it was nice to see that he was a happy drunk. You can tell how your past, present and future will be with a guy by his attitude after a few adult beverages. Alcohol is like the Magic 8 ball of dating.

"You have fun today?" he asked, still smiling at me.

"Yeah, I had a lot of fun. You?" I replied, half laughing at his infectious happiness.

"Oh yes ma'am. Great day. Great, great day. Good times," he said, still smiling.

At this point, in our deepest conversation to date, we got to his floor.

He started walking off and said, "Well see ya later," smiled and wandered off.

Um, heck yes. I will see you later. You delicious green monster.

Me and Heaven on Seven?

I-rish.

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.