Charming, but single

“That guy, sitting behind you, is cute,” I told my married friend. We’d settled into a table and in the group sitting nearby was a guy I’d spotted at the crowded bar earlier. He was most decidedly my physical type, which is so certain that my friends could point to the men I’m checking out at any given moment in any given situation. He was tall, broad-shouldered and stocky with dark hair.

She glanced over her shoulder and spied an older man. I shook my head no and talked her through the crowd until her gaze landed on the gentleman of the hour.

She nodded in agreement as I straightened up in my chair and coyly played with a section of my hair, trying to casually make eye contact and draw his attention.

A few minutes into this game of me silently willing him to notice me — a technique that I have much hope for, though it has been largely unsuccessful thus far — he stood up and left his table. As he walked by, my friend’s husband leaned over to me and interrupted my thoughts, which at this point consisted of if I could trip this guy and make it look like an accident so that he would notice me and fall madly in love.

“See that guy walking by?”

“Yes …” I answered, planning to continue with, “Isn’t he hot!”

My friend’s husband interrupted me, “That guy, he is a total ASS.”

I slumped back into my seat and shook my head, my dreams of innocent injury causing love halted by cruel reality.

“Of course he is.”

“Well, THAT was an experience,” the Older Woman said as she exited the stall in the subpar restroom facilities of the dive bar where I was Friday night.

For some crazy reason, a singer of Rat Pack-style music that we adore plays his yearly Christmas show at this hole-in-the-wall joint. The show attracts an odd mix of revelers – groups of people in their mid 20s, couples in their thirties and forties and gray-haired folks who like to relive their past days by dancing circles around us young whippersnappers.

“Yes, the restrooms leave something to be desired,” I said, as I ran my fingers through my hair.

“Well, I guess I can’t complain. I’m 65. Back in the day we went into the mens’ room in bars because the line was shorter.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that now. A lot of bars only have troughs,” I said, smiling.

“Really!”

“Yes.”

“May I ask how old you are?”

“Almost 27,” I said. I had moved from hair to lipstick.

“Honey, I have two children, 32 and 19. I’ve lived all of the stages of your lives.”

“It only gets better, right?”

“Oh yeah, honey, it only gets better,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. She didn’t look many days over 50. She was wearing plum denim slacks and a tan jacket and her hair showed no gray.

I straightened the straps of the camisole that peaked out from under my wrap-style top.

“That’s a very nice shirt,” she said. “It looks pretty on you.”

“Thank you,” I said as I continued my adjustments. “But the camisole doesn’t stay in place and then it dips down too low.”

“Well, honey, that’s because oh … you know …” she trailed off as she motioned to her chest.

“And as someone who never really had much in that department, I must say, they are nice,” she continued.

I was floored. I managed to stammer a “thank you” before heading out of the door.

I sat down at my table and turned to my friends.

“A 65-year-old woman in the bathroom just told me I have a nice rack,” I announced to my friends, who were equally floored that a stranger would compliment my breasts in the womens’ restroom.

“Did she use those exact words?” A friend’s husband asked.

“Not those words exactly. But close enough.” I said.

“On the bright side, at least if I got hit on by someone tonight.”

On Saturday night, after my social plans fell through and I’d watched my fill of football and grumbled about different BCS scenarios, I had considerable time to myself to think about my current dating status. (I was a pensive mood, not in a “woe is single me for being home alone on a Saturday night” mood, because, truthfully, a belly full of gumbo and beer makes cuddling under blankets on a cold and windy Saturday night that much nicer.)

Things with On Paper, well, are disappointing. And I think this is because I we have varying expectations. This is completely my fault – he wanted to date me back in June and I freaked out about his pending divorce and broke things off after a bad experience with him. And then I remembered how much he liked me when I saw him out one night and text messaged him late one evening after being rebuffed by The Nurse. (And while we’re talking about The Nurse, I got an instant message from him the other day that said, “Want to find your match? Visit this site” and gave some URL. Before I could think twice, I’d responded with an “Excuse me?” because the fact that he’d send me THAT message or all messages made my blood boil. It took me about a minute to realize it was IM spam and that he must’ve had a virus. This whole experience confirmed my suspicions that when he decided he didn’t want to see me anymore, he blocked me on his friends list so I couldn’t see when he was online, which makes him the least mature person I’ve ever dated as an adult.)

But back to On Paper. Since that fateful night where we met for a late night drink and then went back to his place under the guise of watching a movie, I have hung out with him twice. Once we met up for a drink and nightcap and then two weeks ago we went on an actual date – a movie, James Bond – and I had a really good time.

And so when he called to apologize for not calling and we discussed hanging out this weekend, I’d assumed he wanted to move back to the dating track. And despite some concerns of my own, I was ready to do this as well.

Which brings me back to being alone on Saturday night when he rebuffed my suggestion that we get a drink because he had to clean his house for company the next day. And it was like someone let the air out of my tires – a man opted for chores over Charming? Not good for my self-esteem.

Of course I understand why he would think I was only interested in seeing him casually. Until recently I couldn’t see him as much more than a late-night phone call. But something made me want to give it a go, perhaps because he’s so polite and can be the perfect date. He even won me a teddy bear from one of those claw vending machines.

Seriously. A teddy bear. That is so cute I that I think I might vomit.

You’ll notice that I removed the NaNoWriMo button. I didn’t finish. I think I wrote 2,000 words. I couldn’t focus. I obviously wasn’t ready to commit to that much writing.

Congrats to those who were.

I was pleasantly surprised to have a message from On Paper* last night. He was genuinely apologetic for not returning a text message I sent last week. (We’d gone on a movie date two weekends ago.)

I returned his call and we had a quick conversation where he apologized again for not calling – “It was sweet of you to call and I was in a grumpy mood so I didn’t call back. I’m sorry.”

We didn’t make formal plans for the weekend, but we did talk about possibly hanging out. I just want to do something low-key, and I’m thinking of suggesting a movie in, away from the cold and the wind.

I relayed this via e-mail to College Roommate this morning.

“Don’t let him off so easily,” she warned. “How convenient that he calls right before the weekend.”

Sigh.

* On Paper = the man formerly known as The Crier.