Today I had to wait around my apartment for the yearly spraying for pests. Living in a warm tropical climate, various insects are a common nuisance, so my landlord sends someone out once every spring to do a preventative spray. So I had to dip out early on lunch with Rocky to rush home to meet the pest guy.
And what a creeper! He comes in and I'm polite enough, but my apartment... is pretty trashed. I forgot how messy my room was, and quickly ran to stuff my laundry into various drawers, closet, anywhere. As the pest guy gets situated, he comments how "You were doing the same exact thing when I came here last year, sitting in the same exact spot with the laptop and the television, watching some silly soap opera." Which first and foremost, I don't watch silly soap operas. Ever. And second of all, creepy much?
I nervously chuckled and commented that this is the technological age of multitasking and kind of trailed off. I mean, what the fuck does he expect me to be doing. I had to sit around and wait for him to come to let him into my apartment. He's going to be spraying, so should I be baking a fresh batch of cookies to present to him? Should I have been in my full workout gear, sweating to the oldies? I don't think it's that ludicrous that I am relaxing on my couch with my computer and television, but maybe that's just me. Way to make an uncomfortable and creepy observation, Pest Control guy. Do you make comments like that to all of your customers, or just the young single women?
Then, he goes to spray in my spare room, which is jokingly referred to as my "office" or "art studio" but in actuality is just my junk room. And while in there quips, "This room hasn't changed much." What the fuck? Did he keep a dossier of my apartment to revisit in the most creepy manner possible? Save the personal comments and critiques for someone else. The entire process took less than ten minutes, but the ripple effects of emotional scarring will surely haunt me for much longer. As he left, his parting words were, "Okay, I'll leave you to your... laptop." I didn't even know how to respond. I sort of muttered a "Yeah, see ya." and promptly locked the door behind him.
It's one thing to attempt small talk to be personable, but everything that he said was borderlining on stalkeriffic and judgmental. Sorry I didn't tidy the place up for you, or engage in more stimulating activity for the ten minutes we see each other a year. That shit rubbed me the wrong way, and I'm so thankful that I won't have to deal with him for another year.
And strictly on principle, I plan to be in the same spot again next year, tooling around on my laptop and watching TV.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
One last tumble in the Weeds
You would think that after the Trainwreck known as Super Bowl I would have washed my hands of Dandy completely. And if I were a sound person of logic, I would have. But, my emotions are my vulnerability as well as my willingness to fall for guys so easily got the best of me, as they always do.
At work I'd put up an icy front against Dandy. I figured that hateful glares combined with the silent treatment was my best course of action to follow. But it was hard. I'd really liked him, even though he was a druggie douche. Maybe it was more of a pride issue. I'd felt initially that I'd been "settling" with Dandy, and that I was out of his league, so despite the feelings I'd developed, it was almost embarrassing that I'd been dissed by someone whom I'd considered beneath me. Although I suppose that served as a wake-up call of sorts.
Slowly my hard exterior melted away until Dandy and I reached cordial terms. It was difficult to maintain an animosity when we worked so closely together and ran in the same social circles. Plus, for some reason, I've time and time again exhibited a weakness and vulnerability for the men who stomped on their hearts. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I tend to give multiple chances to men I'm emotionally connected to.
After a night at work, I went to our favorite dive bar, the scene of many of my past work-related sexual indiscretions, with my friends Wispy and Gay J. We laughed over cocktails and shots, singing to the likes of Eddie Money, when lo and behold, who should enter the bar but Dandy. My heart skipped a beat, as I hadn't expected to see him there. This was naive on my part as the bar was one of our favorite hangouts.
I was flanked by my two good friends, who were feeding into my ego, and building me up. I felt like I had the upper hand, I was looking fabulous, feeling good from all the cocktails, and Dandy was practically falling over himself flirting with me. In my mind, it was the perfect scenario. I was thinking that he realized how stupid he was to screw things up and wanted to make amends. I played it cool, and Gay J was my trusty sidekick, constantly chiming in to tell Dandy how hot and sexy I was and how utterly out of his league I was and how lucky he would be to go home with a girl like me.
The shots and cocktails were a-flowing throughout the rest of the night, and by last call I was sufficiently hammered. Definitely too drunk to drive. Never too drunk to fuck. Naturally I got Dandy to drive me home and with very little convincing, invited him to stay over. What are principles when there's a need to get laid? The next morning was like old times, nothing awkward, and we went back to get his car (he'd driven mine home) and that was that.
Apparently I learned nothing from the whole McRugby debacle. I was foolish enough to believe that things were turning out the way I wanted. That Dandy was finally cutting Fanga loose, and we were going to be together. Things went back to the way they were, he was full-on back with Fanga and we never spoke of that night after the bar. I guess he just wanted one last roll in the hay before returning to his girlfriend.
Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back on my whole "relationship" with Dandy, I went in with wholly unrealistic expectations. I romanticized our affair, and ignored the looming possibility that he was still with Fanga. But he was never 100% honest with me and I shouldn't blame myself for his lies, because I had no reason not to believe him. The irony of the situation was that I had truly believed that with Dandy I had found a nice, sweet guy. I'm starting to question whether or not such a thing exists...
At work I'd put up an icy front against Dandy. I figured that hateful glares combined with the silent treatment was my best course of action to follow. But it was hard. I'd really liked him, even though he was a druggie douche. Maybe it was more of a pride issue. I'd felt initially that I'd been "settling" with Dandy, and that I was out of his league, so despite the feelings I'd developed, it was almost embarrassing that I'd been dissed by someone whom I'd considered beneath me. Although I suppose that served as a wake-up call of sorts.
Slowly my hard exterior melted away until Dandy and I reached cordial terms. It was difficult to maintain an animosity when we worked so closely together and ran in the same social circles. Plus, for some reason, I've time and time again exhibited a weakness and vulnerability for the men who stomped on their hearts. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I tend to give multiple chances to men I'm emotionally connected to.
After a night at work, I went to our favorite dive bar, the scene of many of my past work-related sexual indiscretions, with my friends Wispy and Gay J. We laughed over cocktails and shots, singing to the likes of Eddie Money, when lo and behold, who should enter the bar but Dandy. My heart skipped a beat, as I hadn't expected to see him there. This was naive on my part as the bar was one of our favorite hangouts.
I was flanked by my two good friends, who were feeding into my ego, and building me up. I felt like I had the upper hand, I was looking fabulous, feeling good from all the cocktails, and Dandy was practically falling over himself flirting with me. In my mind, it was the perfect scenario. I was thinking that he realized how stupid he was to screw things up and wanted to make amends. I played it cool, and Gay J was my trusty sidekick, constantly chiming in to tell Dandy how hot and sexy I was and how utterly out of his league I was and how lucky he would be to go home with a girl like me.
The shots and cocktails were a-flowing throughout the rest of the night, and by last call I was sufficiently hammered. Definitely too drunk to drive. Never too drunk to fuck. Naturally I got Dandy to drive me home and with very little convincing, invited him to stay over. What are principles when there's a need to get laid? The next morning was like old times, nothing awkward, and we went back to get his car (he'd driven mine home) and that was that.
Apparently I learned nothing from the whole McRugby debacle. I was foolish enough to believe that things were turning out the way I wanted. That Dandy was finally cutting Fanga loose, and we were going to be together. Things went back to the way they were, he was full-on back with Fanga and we never spoke of that night after the bar. I guess he just wanted one last roll in the hay before returning to his girlfriend.
Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back on my whole "relationship" with Dandy, I went in with wholly unrealistic expectations. I romanticized our affair, and ignored the looming possibility that he was still with Fanga. But he was never 100% honest with me and I shouldn't blame myself for his lies, because I had no reason not to believe him. The irony of the situation was that I had truly believed that with Dandy I had found a nice, sweet guy. I'm starting to question whether or not such a thing exists...
Sunday, March 23, 2008
My Attempt at a Harem
Lately, I've been thinking that the best option for me is to establish a harem of men. This way, I can draw from it whenever I'm in the mood for a certain guy.
I've been dating two guys: the Cowboy and the Busker.
I met the Cowboy on an online dating site. He went to college in a state known for its population of cowboys, so he has a total cowboy accent and loves to wear cowboy hats and boots and stuff like that, but not so much in the city here -- mostly in college.
I like him a lot. He's cute, and our conversation is AWESOME. He's a really cool guy, and I love hanging out with him and talking with him. He's great.
The only problem is that I'm not sure that I feel attracted enough to him. We have tons of friendship chemistry but don't have much physical chemistry, which is a complete 180 from the Hott Waiter.
His height is a huge reason. I'm just about the average height for an American woman. His online dating profile said that he was two inches shorter than me. I should have known that ANY guy would exaggerate his height. He's actually exactly my height. EXACTLY. Which is tough for me. I wish it wasn't this way, but it's how it is.
He's also a year younger than me, so that's unusual for me as well. He still lives at home, too (yikes!) but will be moving out in a few months.
Now, the second guy is the Busker.
I was at a popular cafe in my neighborhood a few weeks ago with Miranda when we saw this attractive redheaded guy. I don't usually think redheaded guys are hot, but THIS guy was! I asked him if he was in line, he said no, and he moved back. He was with a girl, but they didn't seem to be together.
I joked to Miranda that we should put out a "missed connection" on Craigslist for him. Long story short, I did, and a week later, he responded. He didn't know who I was, but he said that he was in the cafe all the time. We exchanged several emails, I asked him details about himself, and they all matched up.
He busks for a career -- he plays his guitar and sings around our city, particularly in my neighborhood and surrounding neighborhoods. He also teaches lessons and does gigs at local bars, but he's mainly a busker. Sexy!
I was planning on going to a local bar last week, I told him, and he mentioned out of the blue that actually, he was supposed to play music there on that night.
Miranda and I went. It was AWESOME because we knew who he was and he had NO idea who I was!! WE HELD THE POWER!!!!
He texted me, telling me to finally show myself!
And then it happened.
He took off his hat.
He is completely bald on top.
DAMN IT DAMN IT DAMN IT.
Still, aside from that, he's very good-looking and I was attracted to him.
I went up to him at the very end of the night to talk to him. I had been drinking quite a bit.
Me: "Hi."
Busker: "Samantha?"
Perfect. He was thinking of me all night.
We talked for a while, and we said we could call, text, meet up, etc.
A week later -- a few hours ago! -- we got a cup of coffee.
He had his hat on. I'm definitely attracted to him. The problem? We only hung out for about 40 minutes, and STILL, tons of people came up to him because he's so well known in the area -- including two girls who TOTALLY hung all over him and flirted with me!
I tried to stay neutral, because nothing can be less attractive to a guy when you get jealous, but it's tough in that circumstance.
We ended things with a hug and plans to meet up again.
I'd just like to hook up with him on a regular basis, no strings attached, have him be one of the guys in my harem.
We'll see how it goes with both him and the Cowboy.
I've been dating two guys: the Cowboy and the Busker.
I met the Cowboy on an online dating site. He went to college in a state known for its population of cowboys, so he has a total cowboy accent and loves to wear cowboy hats and boots and stuff like that, but not so much in the city here -- mostly in college.
I like him a lot. He's cute, and our conversation is AWESOME. He's a really cool guy, and I love hanging out with him and talking with him. He's great.
The only problem is that I'm not sure that I feel attracted enough to him. We have tons of friendship chemistry but don't have much physical chemistry, which is a complete 180 from the Hott Waiter.
His height is a huge reason. I'm just about the average height for an American woman. His online dating profile said that he was two inches shorter than me. I should have known that ANY guy would exaggerate his height. He's actually exactly my height. EXACTLY. Which is tough for me. I wish it wasn't this way, but it's how it is.
He's also a year younger than me, so that's unusual for me as well. He still lives at home, too (yikes!) but will be moving out in a few months.
Now, the second guy is the Busker.
I was at a popular cafe in my neighborhood a few weeks ago with Miranda when we saw this attractive redheaded guy. I don't usually think redheaded guys are hot, but THIS guy was! I asked him if he was in line, he said no, and he moved back. He was with a girl, but they didn't seem to be together.
I joked to Miranda that we should put out a "missed connection" on Craigslist for him. Long story short, I did, and a week later, he responded. He didn't know who I was, but he said that he was in the cafe all the time. We exchanged several emails, I asked him details about himself, and they all matched up.
He busks for a career -- he plays his guitar and sings around our city, particularly in my neighborhood and surrounding neighborhoods. He also teaches lessons and does gigs at local bars, but he's mainly a busker. Sexy!
I was planning on going to a local bar last week, I told him, and he mentioned out of the blue that actually, he was supposed to play music there on that night.
Miranda and I went. It was AWESOME because we knew who he was and he had NO idea who I was!! WE HELD THE POWER!!!!
He texted me, telling me to finally show myself!
And then it happened.
He took off his hat.
He is completely bald on top.
DAMN IT DAMN IT DAMN IT.
Still, aside from that, he's very good-looking and I was attracted to him.
I went up to him at the very end of the night to talk to him. I had been drinking quite a bit.
Me: "Hi."
Busker: "Samantha?"
Perfect. He was thinking of me all night.
We talked for a while, and we said we could call, text, meet up, etc.
A week later -- a few hours ago! -- we got a cup of coffee.
He had his hat on. I'm definitely attracted to him. The problem? We only hung out for about 40 minutes, and STILL, tons of people came up to him because he's so well known in the area -- including two girls who TOTALLY hung all over him and flirted with me!
I tried to stay neutral, because nothing can be less attractive to a guy when you get jealous, but it's tough in that circumstance.
We ended things with a hug and plans to meet up again.
I'd just like to hook up with him on a regular basis, no strings attached, have him be one of the guys in my harem.
We'll see how it goes with both him and the Cowboy.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Introducing Alabaster
Back in October, I alluded to a strange attraction to someone. We hooked up a few times about a year ago.
I love this story, so I'd like to write about it.
I had a moderate flirtation with a coworker that had been going on for around a month. Perhaps "moderate" is too strong a word. We talked a lot, and I had the teeniest inkling of attraction to him -- but I have the teeniest inkling of attraction to anyone!
He's tall (good), and pretty thin (good), and he has dark hair (good), but he has the WHITEST skin you can imagine. Let's call him Alabaster for that reason. People rib him about it. He has a very young-looking face. (When he grew a goatee, another coworker told him he looked ten years older and could now pass for fourteen.)
Anyway, it was a late night at the office, and we finally got out at the same time. He asked me if I wanted to go get a drink with him and his friends in his neighborhood. (Alabaster lives in our city, but in a neighborhood about 20 minutes from me that is filled with college students.)
He had invited me a few times before, and I always tossed off the casual "No, no, no, no" that we girls employ so often, the polite initial refusal. But this time, I surprised myself.
"Sure."
I piled into his car with his friends. Miranda called me while en route to their house (which helpfully made it look like I was popular -- thanks, Mirand!). The whole time, my heart was beating rapidly. I wasn't friends with the rest of these guys -- only Alabaster. And, truth be told, I often have difficulty being the new person in a group of people who already know each other.
We got to his house and walked to the bar. I made sure to get enough money for a cab at the ATM. It was fun at the bar, especially as I began drinking those vodka tonics and loosened up. Alabaster and I flirted a tad, but I tried to make it seem like I didn't care.
Alabaster has a roommate who also worked with us. I'll call him Upstairs. Upstairs is not my type in the least -- big and black -- but he's a very smart and personable guy, and I like him. We spent a lot of the evening talking as Alabaster was off with his other friends, and then Upstairs started buying me drinks. Good ones. Belvedere, not that Absolut crap I was drinking before.
It gets a tad fuzzy at this point. We went to another bar. By now, Upstairs was hitting on me -- HARD. (Not literally hard. He was just hitting on me a lot.) But I was paying more attention to Alabaster, and he was paying attention to me. It got flirtatious. Very much so. We were holding hands by the time the bar closed.
Alabaster was cheap. As soon as he got home, he shotgunned 3 Bud Lights in a row.
For a few hours, we hung out in the kitchen. And that's when Upstairs started getting a little bit scary.
"All I'm saying," he told me, "Is that my bedroom is UPSTAIRS and ON THE LEFT. Upstairs and on the left. I'm just throwing it out there! That's all I'm saying! Upstairs and on the left! I mean, I'm just throwing it out there...." etc. etc. etc. On and on and on and on.
I joked back with him, hoping that he understood that I meant it as a joke. Apparently, that didn't work, and he tried to pull me into his room.
I fought back and told him firmly, without smiling, that no, I did not want to go upstairs with him.
It got more normal after that, even though Upstairs still believed that he had a sliver of a chance with me.
Earlier that evening, while at the second bar, I slurred to Alabaster, "Would you mind if I just crashed on your couch? I'll take the train home tomorrow morning." He told me that yeah, it was fine, no problem whatsoever.
Before long, there were three people left in the kitchen: me, Alabaster and Upstairs. Alabaster and I were standing on opposite sides of the table. Upstairs was seated at the table.
Eventually, Upstairs conceded defeat.
"Well, I guess I'll go to bed, then," he said. THANK GOD. It was about time. At this point, I think that both Alabaster and I were well aware that we wanted to hook up. We looked at each other. I waited until Upstairs had shuffled upstairs and on the left to his bedroom.
"So," I said casually, "Would you be up for any spooning tonight?"
"I would definitely be up for spooning tonight," he replied just as casually. "Spooning sounds like something that would be great."
"Great."
I went into his room and lay on his bed. Of course, I use the word "bed" loosely -- it was a twin-sized mattress on the floor with a single sheet on top of it.
I need to talk more about Alabaster. Everyone thinks he's a douchebag. That's probably the best way to describe him. People make fun of him. He tries to be cool. Yet he's pretty high up in the social hierarchy at work. People are friends with him, but they also mock him, most often to his face. It's tough to describe. He can be a jerk, but he's not malicious or mean.
That's why I found it so odd that I was attracted to him.
Anyway, he was in the bathroom. And he came back.
I was on the bed, on my side, facing away from the wall. In typical girl fashion, I tried to take up as little room as possible.
He turned out the light and came to the bed.
I assumed that he was just going to lie there, cuddle and spoon with me.
He lay down facing me.
We started wildly making out.
Oh, God, it was FANTASTIC. That's up there in one of my favorite first kisses. I just remember arms, and lips, and falling all over each other.
He wanted to do more than I was prepared to do (did I honestly think I'd be hooking up when I went to work that day?), so I wouldn't let him get beyond second base. (Heh.)
It was good. It was really good. And I don't want to write that much about it, because it was more about a feeling, a moment, that you couldn't describe through writing.
The next day, we cuddled and talked, and he drove me home. As soon as we got out of bed (or off mattress), it suddenly became awkward, and remained that way for the 20-minute drive home. We gave each other a quick smooch as I left.
Our next two hookups were strikingly similar. Fantastic making out, such chemistry, and then chilly awkwardness the next morning.
And after that, nothing ever again.
I love this story, so I'd like to write about it.
I had a moderate flirtation with a coworker that had been going on for around a month. Perhaps "moderate" is too strong a word. We talked a lot, and I had the teeniest inkling of attraction to him -- but I have the teeniest inkling of attraction to anyone!
He's tall (good), and pretty thin (good), and he has dark hair (good), but he has the WHITEST skin you can imagine. Let's call him Alabaster for that reason. People rib him about it. He has a very young-looking face. (When he grew a goatee, another coworker told him he looked ten years older and could now pass for fourteen.)
Anyway, it was a late night at the office, and we finally got out at the same time. He asked me if I wanted to go get a drink with him and his friends in his neighborhood. (Alabaster lives in our city, but in a neighborhood about 20 minutes from me that is filled with college students.)
He had invited me a few times before, and I always tossed off the casual "No, no, no, no" that we girls employ so often, the polite initial refusal. But this time, I surprised myself.
"Sure."
I piled into his car with his friends. Miranda called me while en route to their house (which helpfully made it look like I was popular -- thanks, Mirand!). The whole time, my heart was beating rapidly. I wasn't friends with the rest of these guys -- only Alabaster. And, truth be told, I often have difficulty being the new person in a group of people who already know each other.
We got to his house and walked to the bar. I made sure to get enough money for a cab at the ATM. It was fun at the bar, especially as I began drinking those vodka tonics and loosened up. Alabaster and I flirted a tad, but I tried to make it seem like I didn't care.
Alabaster has a roommate who also worked with us. I'll call him Upstairs. Upstairs is not my type in the least -- big and black -- but he's a very smart and personable guy, and I like him. We spent a lot of the evening talking as Alabaster was off with his other friends, and then Upstairs started buying me drinks. Good ones. Belvedere, not that Absolut crap I was drinking before.
It gets a tad fuzzy at this point. We went to another bar. By now, Upstairs was hitting on me -- HARD. (Not literally hard. He was just hitting on me a lot.) But I was paying more attention to Alabaster, and he was paying attention to me. It got flirtatious. Very much so. We were holding hands by the time the bar closed.
Alabaster was cheap. As soon as he got home, he shotgunned 3 Bud Lights in a row.
For a few hours, we hung out in the kitchen. And that's when Upstairs started getting a little bit scary.
"All I'm saying," he told me, "Is that my bedroom is UPSTAIRS and ON THE LEFT. Upstairs and on the left. I'm just throwing it out there! That's all I'm saying! Upstairs and on the left! I mean, I'm just throwing it out there...." etc. etc. etc. On and on and on and on.
I joked back with him, hoping that he understood that I meant it as a joke. Apparently, that didn't work, and he tried to pull me into his room.
I fought back and told him firmly, without smiling, that no, I did not want to go upstairs with him.
It got more normal after that, even though Upstairs still believed that he had a sliver of a chance with me.
Earlier that evening, while at the second bar, I slurred to Alabaster, "Would you mind if I just crashed on your couch? I'll take the train home tomorrow morning." He told me that yeah, it was fine, no problem whatsoever.
Before long, there were three people left in the kitchen: me, Alabaster and Upstairs. Alabaster and I were standing on opposite sides of the table. Upstairs was seated at the table.
Eventually, Upstairs conceded defeat.
"Well, I guess I'll go to bed, then," he said. THANK GOD. It was about time. At this point, I think that both Alabaster and I were well aware that we wanted to hook up. We looked at each other. I waited until Upstairs had shuffled upstairs and on the left to his bedroom.
"So," I said casually, "Would you be up for any spooning tonight?"
"I would definitely be up for spooning tonight," he replied just as casually. "Spooning sounds like something that would be great."
"Great."
I went into his room and lay on his bed. Of course, I use the word "bed" loosely -- it was a twin-sized mattress on the floor with a single sheet on top of it.
I need to talk more about Alabaster. Everyone thinks he's a douchebag. That's probably the best way to describe him. People make fun of him. He tries to be cool. Yet he's pretty high up in the social hierarchy at work. People are friends with him, but they also mock him, most often to his face. It's tough to describe. He can be a jerk, but he's not malicious or mean.
That's why I found it so odd that I was attracted to him.
Anyway, he was in the bathroom. And he came back.
I was on the bed, on my side, facing away from the wall. In typical girl fashion, I tried to take up as little room as possible.
He turned out the light and came to the bed.
I assumed that he was just going to lie there, cuddle and spoon with me.
He lay down facing me.
We started wildly making out.
Oh, God, it was FANTASTIC. That's up there in one of my favorite first kisses. I just remember arms, and lips, and falling all over each other.
He wanted to do more than I was prepared to do (did I honestly think I'd be hooking up when I went to work that day?), so I wouldn't let him get beyond second base. (Heh.)
It was good. It was really good. And I don't want to write that much about it, because it was more about a feeling, a moment, that you couldn't describe through writing.
The next day, we cuddled and talked, and he drove me home. As soon as we got out of bed (or off mattress), it suddenly became awkward, and remained that way for the 20-minute drive home. We gave each other a quick smooch as I left.
Our next two hookups were strikingly similar. Fantastic making out, such chemistry, and then chilly awkwardness the next morning.
And after that, nothing ever again.
It's over.
My relationship with the Hott Waiter ended nearly three weeks ago.
It ended in a very ugly way, and for that reason, I don't want to write about it.
It ended in a very ugly way, and for that reason, I don't want to write about it.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
The Accidental "I Love You"
Yesterday, I went to a New Year's gathering at the home of the Hott Waiter's good friend from work. It turns out that he had been talking about me so much that his friend, Daughtry (looks just like him -- but improved!), insisted on throwing a party so he could get to meet me.
Squee.
I knew that it would take me a while to warm up to them and actually start talking, which is something I wish that were easier for me to do. I'm fine after some time -- especially when alcohol is involved, THAT loosens me up! -- but I need time to relax.
And I wish I could have been more relaxed earlier in the night. The Hott Waiter kept asking me if I was okay. Grah. I'm going to try to be better at it. It's just that I like this guy so much and he's so great, he makes me nervous about him!!!!
Anyway, the night went on, and the guys hung out together while I bonded with the girls. Which was much easier for me to do and went much more smoothly. I really liked Daughtry's fiancee.
Later in the night, I was sitting in a big poofy chair, kind of sideways, and he sat on the arm of the chair and slid back onto my lap jokingly. At this point, we had each had around three or four drinks -- enough to be slightly intoxicated but not totally gone.
I teased him for his bony shoulder blades, he grabbed my hand (as he always does) and got cuddly with me. He is so damn affectionate and romantic at every given moment!!!!
We talked a bit -- I can't remember what about -- and then he randomly said, "I love you, babe."
It was casual; it was offhand. He wasn't looking into my eyes when he said it. I know it's not supposed to mean anything.
But he said it, and the fact that he said it made my entire body go crazy -- my stomach flipped and I could feel my heart beating everywhere from my crotch up to my throat to my fingertips.
I just smiled and didn't say anything.
I know it means nothing -- we've only been dating a month! Still, though, it was nice.
Squee.
I knew that it would take me a while to warm up to them and actually start talking, which is something I wish that were easier for me to do. I'm fine after some time -- especially when alcohol is involved, THAT loosens me up! -- but I need time to relax.
And I wish I could have been more relaxed earlier in the night. The Hott Waiter kept asking me if I was okay. Grah. I'm going to try to be better at it. It's just that I like this guy so much and he's so great, he makes me nervous about him!!!!
Anyway, the night went on, and the guys hung out together while I bonded with the girls. Which was much easier for me to do and went much more smoothly. I really liked Daughtry's fiancee.
Later in the night, I was sitting in a big poofy chair, kind of sideways, and he sat on the arm of the chair and slid back onto my lap jokingly. At this point, we had each had around three or four drinks -- enough to be slightly intoxicated but not totally gone.
I teased him for his bony shoulder blades, he grabbed my hand (as he always does) and got cuddly with me. He is so damn affectionate and romantic at every given moment!!!!
We talked a bit -- I can't remember what about -- and then he randomly said, "I love you, babe."
It was casual; it was offhand. He wasn't looking into my eyes when he said it. I know it's not supposed to mean anything.
But he said it, and the fact that he said it made my entire body go crazy -- my stomach flipped and I could feel my heart beating everywhere from my crotch up to my throat to my fingertips.
I just smiled and didn't say anything.
I know it means nothing -- we've only been dating a month! Still, though, it was nice.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Food and Sex: One Uncontrollable Urge
My Hott Waiter and I have been dating for almost a month. The sex has been fantastic. Last time we did it, we went at it for two full hours and I came three times in a row. After, I realized we had shot the bolts out of my bed.
But I digress.
I've always considered myself a foodie, but my Hott Waiter is a REAL foodie. He's very sensual -- really into food and wine, very knowledgeable and particular. It's nice to be with a guy who actually eats his dessert little by little, savoring each bite, rather than shoving bite after bite in his mouth.
The way a guy eats dessert IS representative of his skills between the sheets.
He talks about food passionately, and I've been finding that it turns me on. I'm serious! I find myself becoming aroused when he talks about the nuances of a wine, the accoutrements to a dish, or how tuna is just barely seared....God, I love tuna, the rarer the better....
The first time we had sex, I was blown away by how great a night it was overall. The sex was wonderful -- and since that first time, it has grown and evolved and morphed into FANTASTIC! Dare I say it? The Hott Waiter has given me the best sex of my LIFE! Each time is better than the last!
Anyway, on that first night, the weather was really bad -- we had a major storm, and most people were holed up inside. After having sex, we realized we were hungry, he had no food in his fridge, and we might as well go out.
We ended up at a really trendy place -- a painfully, ridiculously trendy place in our city's trendiest dining neighborhood, the neighborhood that includes his restaurant. This restaurant is open late (which it was) and the food is WONDERFUL and the prices are suprisingly low! We blissfully ate our food, smooched, fed each other across the table, played footsie....that's how he rolls. And I love it.
Since then, almost every time we've had sex, we've gone for food afterward. It's so natural -- you get so tired and hungry after sex that you need to replenish yourself -- and your metabolism is already up, so why not?
Whether expensive or cheap, it's always been good food. We've gone to Wendy's for chicken sandwiches, IHOP for pancakes, and an all-night brasserie in one of the nice hotels downtown.
It's become natural. Sex, then food. After the sex, I want the food!
Funnily enough, last night, he took me out for an incredible dinner -- a seven-course extravaganza and a fantastic bottle of wine. (His best friend is a manager there.)
Did we have sex?
Are you kidding? We couldn't even move!
Sex, then food. It should never be any other way.
But I digress.
I've always considered myself a foodie, but my Hott Waiter is a REAL foodie. He's very sensual -- really into food and wine, very knowledgeable and particular. It's nice to be with a guy who actually eats his dessert little by little, savoring each bite, rather than shoving bite after bite in his mouth.
The way a guy eats dessert IS representative of his skills between the sheets.
He talks about food passionately, and I've been finding that it turns me on. I'm serious! I find myself becoming aroused when he talks about the nuances of a wine, the accoutrements to a dish, or how tuna is just barely seared....God, I love tuna, the rarer the better....
The first time we had sex, I was blown away by how great a night it was overall. The sex was wonderful -- and since that first time, it has grown and evolved and morphed into FANTASTIC! Dare I say it? The Hott Waiter has given me the best sex of my LIFE! Each time is better than the last!
Anyway, on that first night, the weather was really bad -- we had a major storm, and most people were holed up inside. After having sex, we realized we were hungry, he had no food in his fridge, and we might as well go out.
We ended up at a really trendy place -- a painfully, ridiculously trendy place in our city's trendiest dining neighborhood, the neighborhood that includes his restaurant. This restaurant is open late (which it was) and the food is WONDERFUL and the prices are suprisingly low! We blissfully ate our food, smooched, fed each other across the table, played footsie....that's how he rolls. And I love it.
Since then, almost every time we've had sex, we've gone for food afterward. It's so natural -- you get so tired and hungry after sex that you need to replenish yourself -- and your metabolism is already up, so why not?
Whether expensive or cheap, it's always been good food. We've gone to Wendy's for chicken sandwiches, IHOP for pancakes, and an all-night brasserie in one of the nice hotels downtown.
It's become natural. Sex, then food. After the sex, I want the food!
Funnily enough, last night, he took me out for an incredible dinner -- a seven-course extravaganza and a fantastic bottle of wine. (His best friend is a manager there.)
Did we have sex?
Are you kidding? We couldn't even move!
Sex, then food. It should never be any other way.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Hott Waiter: Who is he?
Every guy I date has been compared to a guy on Sex and the City.
So who is the Hott Waiter?
There's no question that we met just the way that Samantha and Smith met. But that's where the similarities end.
And he's a waiter while I'm a young professional. Sounds like Miranda and Steve.
But in terms of how he acts, if only limited to the episodes preceding the finale, you know who he is? PETROVSKY! Intensely romantic to the point of blowing me away, sensual beyond all belief, opening me to a new world, and just impressive.
And also....we haven't been laughing together as often as I'd like. It's still very new, but....let's hope we can change that.
So who is the Hott Waiter?
There's no question that we met just the way that Samantha and Smith met. But that's where the similarities end.
And he's a waiter while I'm a young professional. Sounds like Miranda and Steve.
But in terms of how he acts, if only limited to the episodes preceding the finale, you know who he is? PETROVSKY! Intensely romantic to the point of blowing me away, sensual beyond all belief, opening me to a new world, and just impressive.
And also....we haven't been laughing together as often as I'd like. It's still very new, but....let's hope we can change that.
Whirlwind Romance with the Hott Waiter
It's been two weeks, and it has been fantastic.
In fact, I feel as if I don't want to write about it -- not in too much detail, anyway. I like holding it close to me, feeling like it's something special. I keep it special because I don't reveal too much.
Well, in the past two weeks, the Hott Waiter and I had our pivotal first date, we spontaneously met up at clubs twice, and we spent time at each other's places after that....
Here are a few things that struck me:
He is intensely, openly romantic. On our first date, he was holding my hand before we were halfway down the street. His arms were around me, he was actually playing footsie, and he was holding my hand across the dinner table.
I should have loved it, but it freaked me out!
"Listen," I said apologetically, him holding my hand across the dinner table, "I'm just not used to this."
"Do you want me to tone it down? I can stop--"
"No, no, no. It's good." I smiled. "I like it....I'm just not used to it. I need to relax." And I did relaxed. As time has gone on with us, I've gotten used to it, and I love it now.
There are so many other things. He won't let me walk over so much as a puddle -- he will pick me up and carry me across. He has no qualms about randomly feeding me in the middle of a restaurant, about reaching over to wipe something off my lips, about singing along with insanely romantic song lyrics while grinning at me.
It blows me away. There are times when I can't even breathe.
That is what's most notable about the Hott Waiter.
What's also notable is that, strangely enough, I've never dated a guy to whom I was really, really attracted. In fact, the majority of my relationships have been with guys who blindly adored me -- and while I loved the attention, I honestly wasn't attracted to them.
This is new. Because I am so attracted to the Hott Waiter, I am crazy nervous when I'm with him, and I completely clam up! It almost works out because he never stops talking. (Interestingly enough, my roommate just told me that maybe he talks that much because HE is nervous, too!)
It's weird. Because I'm so nervous, I feel like I can't fully be myself. At my most genuine self, I'm the crazy storyteller, making people laugh. I rack and rack my brain when I'm with him, and I can't think of any stories to tell.
I get paranoid when I'm not with him. I'll be nonchalant, but on the inside, I start freaking out and thinking, "NOW it's it. NOW he won't want to see me again. NOW he'll think I'm weird; NOW he'll think we'll be through."
But each time, we get together again and have an amazing time nonetheless.
Particularly these past two evenings. (My roommates are going to kill me.)
Am I setting myself up for failure? Am I trying to get myself to expect something bad because even if it fails, I can turn to myself and acknowledge that at least I was right all along?
I need to relax....
In fact, I feel as if I don't want to write about it -- not in too much detail, anyway. I like holding it close to me, feeling like it's something special. I keep it special because I don't reveal too much.
Well, in the past two weeks, the Hott Waiter and I had our pivotal first date, we spontaneously met up at clubs twice, and we spent time at each other's places after that....
Here are a few things that struck me:
He is intensely, openly romantic. On our first date, he was holding my hand before we were halfway down the street. His arms were around me, he was actually playing footsie, and he was holding my hand across the dinner table.
I should have loved it, but it freaked me out!
"Listen," I said apologetically, him holding my hand across the dinner table, "I'm just not used to this."
"Do you want me to tone it down? I can stop--"
"No, no, no. It's good." I smiled. "I like it....I'm just not used to it. I need to relax." And I did relaxed. As time has gone on with us, I've gotten used to it, and I love it now.
There are so many other things. He won't let me walk over so much as a puddle -- he will pick me up and carry me across. He has no qualms about randomly feeding me in the middle of a restaurant, about reaching over to wipe something off my lips, about singing along with insanely romantic song lyrics while grinning at me.
It blows me away. There are times when I can't even breathe.
That is what's most notable about the Hott Waiter.
What's also notable is that, strangely enough, I've never dated a guy to whom I was really, really attracted. In fact, the majority of my relationships have been with guys who blindly adored me -- and while I loved the attention, I honestly wasn't attracted to them.
This is new. Because I am so attracted to the Hott Waiter, I am crazy nervous when I'm with him, and I completely clam up! It almost works out because he never stops talking. (Interestingly enough, my roommate just told me that maybe he talks that much because HE is nervous, too!)
It's weird. Because I'm so nervous, I feel like I can't fully be myself. At my most genuine self, I'm the crazy storyteller, making people laugh. I rack and rack my brain when I'm with him, and I can't think of any stories to tell.
I get paranoid when I'm not with him. I'll be nonchalant, but on the inside, I start freaking out and thinking, "NOW it's it. NOW he won't want to see me again. NOW he'll think I'm weird; NOW he'll think we'll be through."
But each time, we get together again and have an amazing time nonetheless.
Particularly these past two evenings. (My roommates are going to kill me.)
Am I setting myself up for failure? Am I trying to get myself to expect something bad because even if it fails, I can turn to myself and acknowledge that at least I was right all along?
I need to relax....
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Trainwreck Known as Superbowl
Superbowl Sunday has always been a most important holiday to me, near and dear to my heart. Even when I was too young to fully understand the rules of the game, I'd been captivated by this yearly clash of the gridiron titans.
Dandy had mentioned that he was planning on having a Superbowl Party for the big day, so I immediately requested it off, and mentioned to Dandy that he might want to do the same. He eventually got around to it and when the schedule was about to come out, my manager told me that I needed someone to cover the shift for me, otherwise I'd be working. I found someone to do it, and when the schedule was posted I had my coveted Sunday off!
Dandy didn't.
In fact, not only did he not have it off, he was scheduled to close.
To clarify, most nights, when cover counts are low, you have the chance of being cut from the shift. When you close, you are absolutely guaranteed to work.
I was incensed. Both of us had requested the night off, and even if they couldn't schedule him off, why would they place him in a position where there wasn't any chance he could get it off? I felt horrible, like I had somehow stolen the night off from him, and riddled with guilt, I went on a mission to get his shift covered from him.
So I sought out Born-Again Billy, the creepy 34 year old supposed pious Christian who happened to be the only other person to have the night off without requesting it. After much swindling and finaging, he managed to squeeze $50 out of me in agreement to relieve Dandy of his closing duties.
A few days later, I caught wind of Born-Again Billy telling Dandy he was willing to pick up his closing shift... in exchange for a small fee. I was livid, and immediately went to management to report his attempted extortion. Finally after much argument, the matter was resolved, and Billy was only paid the firstly agreed upon $50.
Superbowl Sunday finally rolled around and my most hated team, the Colts, were contenders. I was a band-wagon Bears fan that night. I spent more than a few hours selecting my outfit. Not only was this party going to be a gathering of Dandy's friends, but his parents, whom I'd never met before, were also going to be in attendance. I wanted a nice balance of sporty casual yet still alluring and attractive. I settled on a pair of nice jeans and a 3/4 sleeve gray and green striped top that displayed my breasts quite nicely. I called him while I was driving over to ask if there was anything I should pick up. He suggested I get my preference of beer because I might not like the selection he had available, and also asked if I could pick him up some cigarettes. Being the most excellent pseudo-girlfriend, I agreed.
I arrived, gave Dandy his cigarettes and a kiss and we shared a smoke and then went inside for some beers, app's and football. I was immediately settled in, embraced by friends and family, engaging them all in conversation and jokes. The Bears returned the kickoff back for a touchdown and I was easing into what seemed like was going to be a most enjoyable Superbowl Sunday. Dandy's mother sat beside me and told me all the wonderful things she'd heard about me and how happy she was that a girl like me was seeing her son. Perfect.
This perfect evening came to a screeching halt as the second quarter began. The door opened and the game was interrupted by the loud obnoxious laughter and stumbling of three drunk girls. Three underage and skankily dressed drunk girls. And the ringleader of this triumvirate of annoyance? None other than Dandy's "ex-girlfriend" Fanga*. My stomach tightened, then dropped. I sent a confused look over at Dandy, who was conveniently avoiding my gaze. The duration of the first half was tainted by those idiotic girls chattering away, slurring about the game and not even being aware of the quarterback of either team, let alone what teams were competing.
My blood was boiling and by halftime, I knew I needed to get away from there. So I asked Dandy's best friend Chi-Town, to join me outside for a much-needed cigarette. We walked around to the front of the house and I lost it. I yelled, "What the fuck is she doing here? I thought they broke up!!" Chi-Town just looked at me sadly and earnestly replied that he had no idea what was going on. Eventually Dandy showed himself and Chi-Town excused himself to return back to the game. All I could do was look at Dandy, there were no words.
For about a minute. Then all of the anger and emotion came flooding out with a vengeance. And I let him have it. In a stream of venom laced with obscenities, I told Dandy that he was a pussy ass piece of shit who tried to make me look like a fool and I was fucking done. And folks, that's the watered down version of what I said. My senses were numbed by the rage I felt and much of what transpired was a haze of white hot anger and burning hatred. I concluded my tirade with two punches, one to the gut and the other a straight kidney shot. Despite the physical and verbal abuse, Dandy pleaded with me to stay til the end of the game and for some unknown reason, I obliged. Maybe I did it to stick it to Fanga, maybe I did it so I could "save face" in front of his friends and family. Either way, I went back inside for the duration of that abysmal game, and Dandy herded Fanga into his bedroom and I didn't see either of them for the rest of the night.
The game ended, I politely said my goodbye's to my friends and family and called one of my friends from work, Hippie. I burst into tears after holding it in for so long and she told me to come over. I made it to her house and imagine my surprise when I saw none other than Rocky in her living room on the couch. Normally I'd be completely against letting Rocky see my vulnerable side, but I was just too far gone that I just let it out. They cheered me up with hugs and copious amounts of weed, leaving my eyes puffy and squinted from all the tears and THC. I made it home pretty late that night to curl up against my pillow and lament in the fact that I'd been made such a fool and allowed myself to care so deeply for such a degenerate.
*Fanga's name is derived from the fact that while stoned on 4/20, she flipped her car over reaching for a rogue chicken finger that her fat greasiness couldn't do without. No. Seriously. That actually happened.
Dandy had mentioned that he was planning on having a Superbowl Party for the big day, so I immediately requested it off, and mentioned to Dandy that he might want to do the same. He eventually got around to it and when the schedule was about to come out, my manager told me that I needed someone to cover the shift for me, otherwise I'd be working. I found someone to do it, and when the schedule was posted I had my coveted Sunday off!
Dandy didn't.
In fact, not only did he not have it off, he was scheduled to close.
To clarify, most nights, when cover counts are low, you have the chance of being cut from the shift. When you close, you are absolutely guaranteed to work.
I was incensed. Both of us had requested the night off, and even if they couldn't schedule him off, why would they place him in a position where there wasn't any chance he could get it off? I felt horrible, like I had somehow stolen the night off from him, and riddled with guilt, I went on a mission to get his shift covered from him.
So I sought out Born-Again Billy, the creepy 34 year old supposed pious Christian who happened to be the only other person to have the night off without requesting it. After much swindling and finaging, he managed to squeeze $50 out of me in agreement to relieve Dandy of his closing duties.
A few days later, I caught wind of Born-Again Billy telling Dandy he was willing to pick up his closing shift... in exchange for a small fee. I was livid, and immediately went to management to report his attempted extortion. Finally after much argument, the matter was resolved, and Billy was only paid the firstly agreed upon $50.
Superbowl Sunday finally rolled around and my most hated team, the Colts, were contenders. I was a band-wagon Bears fan that night. I spent more than a few hours selecting my outfit. Not only was this party going to be a gathering of Dandy's friends, but his parents, whom I'd never met before, were also going to be in attendance. I wanted a nice balance of sporty casual yet still alluring and attractive. I settled on a pair of nice jeans and a 3/4 sleeve gray and green striped top that displayed my breasts quite nicely. I called him while I was driving over to ask if there was anything I should pick up. He suggested I get my preference of beer because I might not like the selection he had available, and also asked if I could pick him up some cigarettes. Being the most excellent pseudo-girlfriend, I agreed.
I arrived, gave Dandy his cigarettes and a kiss and we shared a smoke and then went inside for some beers, app's and football. I was immediately settled in, embraced by friends and family, engaging them all in conversation and jokes. The Bears returned the kickoff back for a touchdown and I was easing into what seemed like was going to be a most enjoyable Superbowl Sunday. Dandy's mother sat beside me and told me all the wonderful things she'd heard about me and how happy she was that a girl like me was seeing her son. Perfect.
This perfect evening came to a screeching halt as the second quarter began. The door opened and the game was interrupted by the loud obnoxious laughter and stumbling of three drunk girls. Three underage and skankily dressed drunk girls. And the ringleader of this triumvirate of annoyance? None other than Dandy's "ex-girlfriend" Fanga*. My stomach tightened, then dropped. I sent a confused look over at Dandy, who was conveniently avoiding my gaze. The duration of the first half was tainted by those idiotic girls chattering away, slurring about the game and not even being aware of the quarterback of either team, let alone what teams were competing.
My blood was boiling and by halftime, I knew I needed to get away from there. So I asked Dandy's best friend Chi-Town, to join me outside for a much-needed cigarette. We walked around to the front of the house and I lost it. I yelled, "What the fuck is she doing here? I thought they broke up!!" Chi-Town just looked at me sadly and earnestly replied that he had no idea what was going on. Eventually Dandy showed himself and Chi-Town excused himself to return back to the game. All I could do was look at Dandy, there were no words.
For about a minute. Then all of the anger and emotion came flooding out with a vengeance. And I let him have it. In a stream of venom laced with obscenities, I told Dandy that he was a pussy ass piece of shit who tried to make me look like a fool and I was fucking done. And folks, that's the watered down version of what I said. My senses were numbed by the rage I felt and much of what transpired was a haze of white hot anger and burning hatred. I concluded my tirade with two punches, one to the gut and the other a straight kidney shot. Despite the physical and verbal abuse, Dandy pleaded with me to stay til the end of the game and for some unknown reason, I obliged. Maybe I did it to stick it to Fanga, maybe I did it so I could "save face" in front of his friends and family. Either way, I went back inside for the duration of that abysmal game, and Dandy herded Fanga into his bedroom and I didn't see either of them for the rest of the night.
The game ended, I politely said my goodbye's to my friends and family and called one of my friends from work, Hippie. I burst into tears after holding it in for so long and she told me to come over. I made it to her house and imagine my surprise when I saw none other than Rocky in her living room on the couch. Normally I'd be completely against letting Rocky see my vulnerable side, but I was just too far gone that I just let it out. They cheered me up with hugs and copious amounts of weed, leaving my eyes puffy and squinted from all the tears and THC. I made it home pretty late that night to curl up against my pillow and lament in the fact that I'd been made such a fool and allowed myself to care so deeply for such a degenerate.
*Fanga's name is derived from the fact that while stoned on 4/20, she flipped her car over reaching for a rogue chicken finger that her fat greasiness couldn't do without. No. Seriously. That actually happened.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Hott Waiter: Part IV
When I last left off, I had just received my email from the Hott Waiter. I was trying not to get my hopes up, so it was a delicious surprise.
He had asked me if there were a better way to get in touch with me, and I joked with him and gave him my email.
I didn't hear from him for a few days. (This was over Thanksgiving.)
While at work on Friday, I received a text. The message read roughly as follows:
What's up - it's the Hott Waiter. thought i would say hi and maybe we could arrange that private show for you really soon.
I let out a shriek.
"What is it?" my co-worker Holly asked from a few desks away.
I threw my cell phone at her.
She grabbed it, read the text and started squealing. She then proceded to ask me, yet again, if he had a friend or a brother or SOMEONE for her!
I decided to play it cool to the Hott Waiter, responding, "I'd like that," later in the evening, but I didn't have to. He beat me to it.
By about 6:00 PM, I had received a call from him and hadn't even realized it -- I was probably in the shower.
His message, roughly:
"Hey, it's the Hott Waiter. Hope all is well, hope we get to talk soon. My number is [555-555-5555]. Well, have a great night!"
YAY. YAY. YAY.
I played it for my friends when they came over. Heh.
I called him back but couldn't get hold of him, so I left him a message that was a tad long and rambling, and I hope he found it funny or at least charming. This is not the time to be boring. He will never remember me if I'm boring.
He called me back today, leaving another message (I swear I have to take my phone off vibrate!) and I called him back right after.
We proceeded to talk for well over an hour.
It was great! The conversation had a great speed and agility to it, if that makes sense. He definitely did most of the talking, and the only low points were when I said something that didn't quite gel right, but then we shifted back into something normal. I'm still really nervous when talking to him and trying to say the right thing.
Here are some tidbits of the conversation:
--He lives alone in a three-bedroom apartment in a city that's a tad far from mine, but easy to get to via public transit. (I can drive, too.) I didn't ask whether he rented or owned.
--He is a RELATIONSHIP GUY! Wow. He was with his last girlfriend for 3 years. She was crazy and jealous, especially since he's the (hott) lead singer of a band and has girls all over him, but he's definitely a one-girl man. He's been single for 9 months.
--I learned all about his siblings, his hometown and where he went to high school (it's that prominent all-boys Catholic school in our city).
--He gets hit on all the time at the restaurant, including by guys, including one very awkward time when an old guy came up to him and kiss his neck.
--His three cats all have gay names, and he acknowledges that people think so, but he's very secure with himself. I told him that Windy thinks he's gay. He laughed and said he knows one thing he can do to prove her otherwise....but he won't do that....except that, well, he WANTS to! We laughed. I was blushing like crazy over the phone.
--This is the most important part: the reason why he kept giving me those cards to fill out was so I would "get the hint" and give him my number!!! I told him to take MY hint by emailing me!!! We laughed about that. He asked if I brought Windy and Blondie there a few days later so they could check him out, and I kind of jokingly evaded the question, but told him that they approved, though Windy thought he was gay.
Anyway, here's the major thing:
WE ARE GOING OUT ON OUR FIRST DATE ON THURSDAY.
SQUEAL!!!!
I have no idea what we're going to do or what's going to happen, but I am SO EXCITED!!! He briefly (and jokingly) floated the idea of me coming over to watch a movie, but I'd never do that for a first date. We'll see....
He had asked me if there were a better way to get in touch with me, and I joked with him and gave him my email.
I didn't hear from him for a few days. (This was over Thanksgiving.)
While at work on Friday, I received a text. The message read roughly as follows:
What's up - it's the Hott Waiter. thought i would say hi and maybe we could arrange that private show for you really soon.
I let out a shriek.
"What is it?" my co-worker Holly asked from a few desks away.
I threw my cell phone at her.
She grabbed it, read the text and started squealing. She then proceded to ask me, yet again, if he had a friend or a brother or SOMEONE for her!
I decided to play it cool to the Hott Waiter, responding, "I'd like that," later in the evening, but I didn't have to. He beat me to it.
By about 6:00 PM, I had received a call from him and hadn't even realized it -- I was probably in the shower.
His message, roughly:
"Hey, it's the Hott Waiter. Hope all is well, hope we get to talk soon. My number is [555-555-5555]. Well, have a great night!"
YAY. YAY. YAY.
I played it for my friends when they came over. Heh.
I called him back but couldn't get hold of him, so I left him a message that was a tad long and rambling, and I hope he found it funny or at least charming. This is not the time to be boring. He will never remember me if I'm boring.
He called me back today, leaving another message (I swear I have to take my phone off vibrate!) and I called him back right after.
We proceeded to talk for well over an hour.
It was great! The conversation had a great speed and agility to it, if that makes sense. He definitely did most of the talking, and the only low points were when I said something that didn't quite gel right, but then we shifted back into something normal. I'm still really nervous when talking to him and trying to say the right thing.
Here are some tidbits of the conversation:
--He lives alone in a three-bedroom apartment in a city that's a tad far from mine, but easy to get to via public transit. (I can drive, too.) I didn't ask whether he rented or owned.
--He is a RELATIONSHIP GUY! Wow. He was with his last girlfriend for 3 years. She was crazy and jealous, especially since he's the (hott) lead singer of a band and has girls all over him, but he's definitely a one-girl man. He's been single for 9 months.
--I learned all about his siblings, his hometown and where he went to high school (it's that prominent all-boys Catholic school in our city).
--He gets hit on all the time at the restaurant, including by guys, including one very awkward time when an old guy came up to him and kiss his neck.
--His three cats all have gay names, and he acknowledges that people think so, but he's very secure with himself. I told him that Windy thinks he's gay. He laughed and said he knows one thing he can do to prove her otherwise....but he won't do that....except that, well, he WANTS to! We laughed. I was blushing like crazy over the phone.
--This is the most important part: the reason why he kept giving me those cards to fill out was so I would "get the hint" and give him my number!!! I told him to take MY hint by emailing me!!! We laughed about that. He asked if I brought Windy and Blondie there a few days later so they could check him out, and I kind of jokingly evaded the question, but told him that they approved, though Windy thought he was gay.
Anyway, here's the major thing:
WE ARE GOING OUT ON OUR FIRST DATE ON THURSDAY.
SQUEAL!!!!
I have no idea what we're going to do or what's going to happen, but I am SO EXCITED!!! He briefly (and jokingly) floated the idea of me coming over to watch a movie, but I'd never do that for a first date. We'll see....
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Holiday Party
At work there had been a lot of talk about a potential Christmas party. But, unfortunately, with an unmotivated group of restaurant people, plans were moving at a snail's pace and the date ultimately set for the party was in late January, nearly a month after Christmas. The theme was Ugly Christmas Sweater, and the prize that went to the ugliest sweater were two plane tickets courtesy of Jet Blue to anywhere they fly out to. I was determined to win and went on the hunt for the ugliest sweater and then purchased a bunch of tacky decorations from a craft store to further tack it up.
Dandy wasn't motivated enough to make a sweater of his own but he made my heart skip a beat when one day we were hanging out at his house and he commented how nice it would be if I won and we could fly up to my home state together. He said he'd never been there before and he thought it would be fun. Proposing a trip together? If that didn't insinuate a desire to move forward in a relationship I don't know what did.
Finally the party rolled around and I had created a most fugly sweater. I thought I was a sure thing for the win.
I wasn't.
An older woman in her 50s was instead awarded the prize. As soon as I saw that she had dressed up, I knew she'd win. She was the mother figure of the workplace, so when I saw her, I said to Dandy, "Well, I'm fucked."
They announced the winner, it wasn't me, so I hit the bar.
Dandy and I got hammered. I proceeded to dance, and I don't dance. Then I pulled Dandy onto the dance floor. Now, I know that I said I don't dance, but Dandy? REALLY doesn't dance. Dandy proceeded to awkwardly gyrated his hips to the amusement of every single person we work with. Eventually we tired of making asses of ourselves on the dancefloor and after a few more beers/cocktails/shots, we cozied up in a booth and proceeded to passionately make out again to the amusement of all of our co-workers. We kissed and grabbed and whispered how we couldn't wait to rush home to bed. Drunken horny talk is sooooo sexy.
Our time at the place rented for the party drew to a close, but everyone wanted to keep the party going. Neither of us had drove, so our DD escorted us to a downtown bar where Dandy just barely made it inside. He ordered a double tall Jack and Coke and proceeded to down it and pass out sitting up in a chair. Countless people kept coming over and asking if he was alright. I knew that my night just got a whole lot more exciting. Now I got to baby-sit! Eventually the bar closed and we went outside to our DD's car. On the way, Dandy, who was wearing heavy soled shoes, managed to drunkenly stomp onto my foot, I was wearing flip flops. The full force of his body weight shattered my toe. My toenail split and a piece chipped off as it began bleeding. I limped to the car, dragging Dandy behind me, and we crawled into the backseat as I swallowed and hoped the immense amount of alcohol I'd consumed would numb the pain.
When the DD pulled up to Dandy's house, I practically threw out my back pulling Dandy to his feet. Thankfully he never locks his front door, so I pushed it open and then locked it behind me as I tried to guide his stumbling drunk ass to his bedroom. Somehow, he managed to disrobe down to his boxers and flopped facedown diagnally across the bed. I grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from his dresser drawer and crawled into bed, pushing his unconscious body aside.
One thing was for sure, as the pain in my foot came rushing back to me, as I watched Dandy sleep, snoring loudly with drool puddling around his mouth, I wasn't going to be having any sex tonight.
The next day, I woke up way before Dandy. This was typical. Even though I'm hardly what you'd call a morning person, I can't ever sleep in late when I'm away from my own bed. So I had previously located all of the books in Dandy's room, and would sit up and read until he got up. Currently I was making my way through "A Million Little Pieces" the partially-fabricated memoir of James Frey. Exaggerated or not, it was a good read. Dandy eventually woke up with a hellacious hangover and very little recollection of the tail end of the party. He didn't even remember that we had moved to a second location for an after party and was puzzled as to how we got home. Suffice it to say he didn't remember crushing my toe, and I showed him by damaged bloody toenail. He cringed.
We laughed it off and got into my car to go retrieve Dandy's vehicle from the parking lot of the bar that hosted our Holiday Party. I had already been given that night off of work thanks to the Gods of scheduling, and Dandy was in sorry shape, so he immediately was on the phone to the Bossman to beg for the cut. He sounded pathetic enough that he was given the night off, so we headed over to the local fried chicken chain down the road (Classy I know). Dandy was going to pay but naturally, he didn't have enough money and I ended up paying. Needless to say, this was not exactly Dandy's finest hour. At least the cashier totally called him out for not paying for his lady's lunch. I added an "Amen, sistah." We ate, made tentative plans for that evening (dinner, which he would actually pay for... for real) and a movie. We finished up our greasy lunches and each went home, ending the ordeal that was our work Holiday party.
Dandy wasn't motivated enough to make a sweater of his own but he made my heart skip a beat when one day we were hanging out at his house and he commented how nice it would be if I won and we could fly up to my home state together. He said he'd never been there before and he thought it would be fun. Proposing a trip together? If that didn't insinuate a desire to move forward in a relationship I don't know what did.
Finally the party rolled around and I had created a most fugly sweater. I thought I was a sure thing for the win.
I wasn't.
An older woman in her 50s was instead awarded the prize. As soon as I saw that she had dressed up, I knew she'd win. She was the mother figure of the workplace, so when I saw her, I said to Dandy, "Well, I'm fucked."
They announced the winner, it wasn't me, so I hit the bar.
Dandy and I got hammered. I proceeded to dance, and I don't dance. Then I pulled Dandy onto the dance floor. Now, I know that I said I don't dance, but Dandy? REALLY doesn't dance. Dandy proceeded to awkwardly gyrated his hips to the amusement of every single person we work with. Eventually we tired of making asses of ourselves on the dancefloor and after a few more beers/cocktails/shots, we cozied up in a booth and proceeded to passionately make out again to the amusement of all of our co-workers. We kissed and grabbed and whispered how we couldn't wait to rush home to bed. Drunken horny talk is sooooo sexy.
Our time at the place rented for the party drew to a close, but everyone wanted to keep the party going. Neither of us had drove, so our DD escorted us to a downtown bar where Dandy just barely made it inside. He ordered a double tall Jack and Coke and proceeded to down it and pass out sitting up in a chair. Countless people kept coming over and asking if he was alright. I knew that my night just got a whole lot more exciting. Now I got to baby-sit! Eventually the bar closed and we went outside to our DD's car. On the way, Dandy, who was wearing heavy soled shoes, managed to drunkenly stomp onto my foot, I was wearing flip flops. The full force of his body weight shattered my toe. My toenail split and a piece chipped off as it began bleeding. I limped to the car, dragging Dandy behind me, and we crawled into the backseat as I swallowed and hoped the immense amount of alcohol I'd consumed would numb the pain.
When the DD pulled up to Dandy's house, I practically threw out my back pulling Dandy to his feet. Thankfully he never locks his front door, so I pushed it open and then locked it behind me as I tried to guide his stumbling drunk ass to his bedroom. Somehow, he managed to disrobe down to his boxers and flopped facedown diagnally across the bed. I grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from his dresser drawer and crawled into bed, pushing his unconscious body aside.
One thing was for sure, as the pain in my foot came rushing back to me, as I watched Dandy sleep, snoring loudly with drool puddling around his mouth, I wasn't going to be having any sex tonight.
The next day, I woke up way before Dandy. This was typical. Even though I'm hardly what you'd call a morning person, I can't ever sleep in late when I'm away from my own bed. So I had previously located all of the books in Dandy's room, and would sit up and read until he got up. Currently I was making my way through "A Million Little Pieces" the partially-fabricated memoir of James Frey. Exaggerated or not, it was a good read. Dandy eventually woke up with a hellacious hangover and very little recollection of the tail end of the party. He didn't even remember that we had moved to a second location for an after party and was puzzled as to how we got home. Suffice it to say he didn't remember crushing my toe, and I showed him by damaged bloody toenail. He cringed.
We laughed it off and got into my car to go retrieve Dandy's vehicle from the parking lot of the bar that hosted our Holiday Party. I had already been given that night off of work thanks to the Gods of scheduling, and Dandy was in sorry shape, so he immediately was on the phone to the Bossman to beg for the cut. He sounded pathetic enough that he was given the night off, so we headed over to the local fried chicken chain down the road (Classy I know). Dandy was going to pay but naturally, he didn't have enough money and I ended up paying. Needless to say, this was not exactly Dandy's finest hour. At least the cashier totally called him out for not paying for his lady's lunch. I added an "Amen, sistah." We ate, made tentative plans for that evening (dinner, which he would actually pay for... for real) and a movie. We finished up our greasy lunches and each went home, ending the ordeal that was our work Holiday party.
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!!!!
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!!!!
Monday, November 19, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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