This will not end well.

I wish I had updated about Alabaster. Maybe I will, someday; maybe I won't. At any rate, he came over, we hooked up, it was great, and it faded into nothing, much as it had before.

Quite a bit has happened recently.

I quit my job. Because of that, there's a good chance that I won't see Alabaster again. We'll see what happens.

Anyways, I like my new job.

After a few days at my new job, I knew the truth: I would not do anybody here.

That made me so happy! That door cah-lozes! I wouldn't have to worry about work awkwardness.

That was, until this week. He's not a part of our office. He's one of our clients. We work together, but we don't.

Um....

If you find someone cute....and you guys make plans to hit the clubs together....do you think that you would be able to control yourself?

I don't know.

I don't trust myself. I've never trusted myself. I know myself, and I know that as soon as I have a few drinks in me, I will throw myself at him. He has a girlfriend. Either something unforgivable will happen or I'll end up embarrassed. THIS WILL NOT END WELL.

The Hott Waiter: Part III

The Hott Waiter had told me when his days off were, so I was prepared. We went last Tuesday: me and two of my friends, Windy and Blondie. Miranda was supposed to come, but it ended up being just the three of us. Blondie made the reservation and requested the Hott Waiter in advance.

Windy was there first, and she had spent about 10 minutes chatting with the Hott Waiter. He wasn't there when we sat down, and he returned to the table. "Oh," he said, simply (but not rudely, even if it sounds like that!), when he saw me. "I didn't recognize the name on the reservation. How are you?"

That began the most memorable night of all.

We talked and giggled. Both Windy and Blondie agreed that he was gorgeous.

I asked him how his birthday was. It was great, and he had been celebrating for several days. He was also about to go to one of my favorite artist of all time's concert nearby.

Next time he dropped by, he looked at me and said, "[Jones], right?" "Yes," I gasped. I couldn't believe he remembered. A face is one thing -- a last name is something else altogether.

(Break. Eating food.)

Later on, we started talking about movies, and I think the Hott Waiter mentioned that he was about to see one, and Blondie asked him about what kinds of movies he liked. He said that he liked horror movies, and I winced to myself, since I hate scary movies. Windy told him the last horror movie she had seen was Scary Movie, and that's it.

Blondie suggested another movie to him, and the Hott Waiter said, "Well, maybe I could take [Samantha]," and went on talking about something else without missing a beat. Squeal.


(Break. Eating food.)

Now, this is where it got weird. The Hott Waiter was talking about animals with us (he has cats, and I teased him for being a "crazy cat man") and mentioned that he used to date "a person" in a city about six hours away who had a dog. Now, you may believe that to be an innocuous statement.

Given my paranoia, I decided that that could mean he was gay and said "person" because he couldn't say girl!!!!

That brought forward the possibility that he was gay and had been flirting with me for one of the following reasons: 1) boredom/entertainment 2) sadism/wanting to make fun of me 3) (most likely) trying to get a new regular and therefore more money.

I didn't want him to be gay, but I had to prepare myself for the possibility that he didn't like me. I did not want to invest too much in this guy and get hurt again.

Suddenly, I felt hands on my shoulders. The Hott Waiter was GIVING ME A BACKRUB. I turned around. "You looked tense," he said. (Well, I kind of have this habit of sticking out my collarbones because I think the more they stick out, the skinnier and therefore more attractive I look....so that's probably why I looked more tense.)

Later on, he brought us our dessert menus. He handed them to Windy and Blondie, then kept inching his hand forward and handing it to me, then pulling it away whenever I got close. You girls know that stuff like that ANNOYS ME TO NO AVAIL.

"Okay," I said, "the last person who did that to me got HURT."

"Well, that's not such a bad thing," he replied.

I went to the bathroom a bit later, and for the first time, I opened the door on my own. When I got back, the girls told me that he hadn't said anything about me when I was away from the table.

And then he pulled out his book.

And inside of it was the card that I had filled out last time.

I knew he probably hadn't kept it since the last time, and he had probably just swiped it from the desk. Still, though....

Nonetheless, this time, he handed me yet another card to fill out. I filled it out, and this time I put my actual address. (Hillary had received a thank you card from the restaurant after filling out her actual address.) I drew a curvy arrow next to my address and wrote, "Only so I can receive the card in the mail!

I then made Blondie and Windy add a few lines, so they added "[the Hott Waiter] was wonderful!" and stuff like that.

We left. He helped Blondie with her coat, but he had to go by the time they got my coat out of the closet.

I didn't expect to hear from him. I figured that he had had his fun, and he was probably gay, and this was all a game to him.

Five days later -- last night -- I received an email from him.

Hey, what's going on? It's [the Hott Waiter] from [the restaurant]. Here's my band's myspace, I know you said you were interested. So, do you have a better way to get ahold of you? I might even play some songs for you myself. Hope to talk to you soon.

YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES.

Miranda called it the sexiest email she had ever seen.

After much deliberation, I responded nearly 24 hours later, teasing him a bit but also giving my phone number.

What happens next?

We'll have to wait and see.

Oh, God, I hope this works out!!!!

The Hott Waiter: Part II

Why did it take me so long to return to the restaurant? Even though I loved it dearly, it was three months later and I hadn't yet returned. Although Miranda and I talked about it all the time, amongst ourselves and with our other friends, I assumed that nobody would want to spend the money.

After talking with a few friends from work, however, three of us ended up there about a week and a half ago. After arriving with my friends "Hillary" and "Nadia," I noticed, with dismay, that the Hott Waiter would not be our waiter that evening.

I had told Hillary and Nadia all about the Hott Waiter beforehand, so they immediately started asking me if he was in the restaurant. I looked around and spotted him. He was still as good-looking as ever, with that thick, dark hair, those intense, dark eyes, and those sideburns -- haha, I loved the sideburns! I loved his butt, too, which was definitely checkouttable.

The waiter who we had was nice, friendly and awesome -- I absolutely LOVE the servers there! -- and we settled into our night, ordering martinis and appetizers.

Then the Hott Waiter walked by.

I caught his eye. And held it.

He stared back, looking over his shoulder as he walked by.

It felt like 30 seconds -- but it was probably less than two.

As soon as he was out of sight, I leaned into my friends and held my martini to my mouth, much like George Costanza when he didn't want the deaf girl to read his lips. "I just made eye contact with him," I told them, my heart jumping all over the place.

Come on. I never get like this. I was acting like I was in middle school again!

A few minutes later, the Hott Waiter came to our table.

"I remember you," he said.

I was ECSTATIC. I tried to keep only a tiny smile on my face, but I could feel myself blushing like mad.

"I was here in August," I said. "I had you." He didn't react. "I was with my friend. I sat over at that table." No recognition. "We asked you to show us where [that sports star] ate when he came in."

"Oh, yeah," he said. YES.

"I hear your name is [the Hott Waiter]," Nadia said. I wanted to kill her, but I continued smiling. We chatted with the Hott Waiter about our meals for a few minutes, and he left to take care of his tables. He had a few large parties that night.

I couldn't get over the fact that he remembered me! It had been months!

My friends kept encouraging and encouraging me, saying that he was soooo cute. The Hott Waiter was very busy that night (and, according to the amount of alcohol he served, he must have made a killing), but he occasionally dropped by our table. We learned that he was celebrating his birthday later in the week (turning 26 -- a Scorpio!) and he sang in a band. I told him about how I used to sing in college. He told me the days that he worked.

I got up to go to the bathroom. Just like before, I ran into him right in front of the door, and just like before, he held the door open for me to let me in. There was a paper towel on the floor, and he said, "Let me get that for you," and picked it up. Again, it was awkward. But oh, what I really wanted to do was grab him and pull him into the stall with me, where we could freely make out up against the sink.

Later, Hilary and Nadia went to the bathroom together, despite there only being two single-stall bathrooms, to give me a chance to have some alone time with the Hott Waiter, if he ever did come around again. He didn't. He looked busy, though.

(When the girls came back, he said to all of us, "I was supposed to come and talk to her, wasn't I?" I became a tomato again, as I had been all night.)

At the end of the night, instead of our waiter, the Hott Waiter brought by the usual cards to fill out. He handed one to Hillary. And then he handed one to me. "You should fill this one out," he told me.

YAY!

I filled it out, but again, did not put my actual address. I included my email, wrote down the usual fawning compliments, and added a note: "I would love to learn more about [the Hott Waiter's] purpotedly amazing band" and drew a curvy arrow toward my email address.

That's most of what I remember.

Days later, I debated like crazy with Hillary and Nadia over whether he was actually interested in me. Hillary is an eternal optimist, so she kept asking me to find out whether he had a brother for her once we started going out! Nadia encouraged me to go for it.

But I held back. What if they were wrong? What if I ended up hurt and embarrassed and unable to return to my favorite restaurant?

So I decided to come back the following week.

The Hott Waiter: Part I

In August, Miranda and I decided to check out a restaurant in the city where we live. This restaurant is in the trendiest dining neighborhood, features New American cuisine, and it's the favorite restaurant of one of our city's most beloved professional athletes (of whom Miranda is a very big fan).

We had an early reservation, and there weren't too many people in the restaurant. We were seated and took a look at the menus.

Then our waiter arrived.

Tall. Dark. Young George Clooney-esque.

I couldn't stop staring.

Miranda couldn't stop laughing.

Miranda has a bit of a problem -- she tends to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate moments. This was one of them. He just came over and he was so handsome....also, I'm usually fine -- I just blush like crazy -- but when Miranda starts going, I can't help it and join in with the giggles.

In between bringing us our drinks, bread and appetizers, we started getting to know our waiter. Miranda asked him to point out everywhere in the restaurant that our city's famous athlete had sat. The Hott Waiter pointed out all of them and told stories. Miranda was delighted.

I was delighted, too, but in a different way. When I really like someone, REALLY like him, I become an introvert. Maybe it's because when something's important, I don't want anyone else to know. It's primal. If it's just a guy on the street, I'll catcall along with my friends, but this time, it was serious.

A word about this restaurant: it's the kind of restaurant that's impossible to hate. It's classy -- trendy enough to be good for a special night out, but relaxed enough to make it a frequent destination. The prices are high, but not sky-high, especially for our city. The menu features plenty of creative and varied choices, but plenty of more normal options for less adventurous palates. It's no wonder its clientele consists largely of regulars.

And the service. I've been there a few times (as I'll explain later) and what I love about the servers there is that they're so open, and friendly, and real. Often in fine dining restaurants, the servers are overly formal and robotic, and that doesn't put you at ease. After a night out at this restaurant, you and your server know so much about each other, and you're probably on your way to becoming friends!

The Hott Waiter was like that. He spent a lot of time just hanging out and chatting with us, and we loved it. At the end of the night, we filled out cards with our names and addresses on them. I didn't include my actual address, but the rest of the information, including my email, was true.

At one point, I got up to go to the bathroom. The bathrooms there are single stalls. I walked past the bathroom, and he opened the door (which opened into the stall, so he was literally standing inside it), said "Miss," and opened the door for me. It was a tad awkward.

Before leaving, Miranda and I told the Hott Waiter our real names (we already knew his) and left the restaurant, still giggling away, saying that we absolutely HAD to return as soon as possible.

Strange Attraction

I am feeling an UNBELIEVABLE attraction to a guy I know. We had a bit of a thing this past winter. We didn't go very far, but it was really, really enjoyable. Unfortunately, it fizzled out -- or veered out of control, the way you look at it.

I'll be writing on that later.

First of all, his type is....different.

I have a type: tall, dark and skinny. And, of course, I like guys to be good-looking.

This guy is pretty good-looking. Not like a model or anything, but average-to-nice, and nice. As for my three specific criteria, two of these things he fulfills well. The other could not be FURTHER from the word.

Any guesses?