Fun With Numbers, by Doris

Earlier this week, I was sent a one-line message that did not contain proper grammar. Normally, that is a dealbreaker, but I liked the thumbnail picture of the guy's face so I clicked on it.

Hello, Six-Pack.

As I tend to go for the underfed hipster with just enough tummy to love type, I was intrigued. After Rock confirmed that the pictures were definitely not Photoshopped, I sent Six-Pack a message saying what's up. We agreed to meet for a drink Saturday at my favorite neighborhood dive bar.

I was fully intending to vet him and make sure he wasn't a serial killer (I've watched way too much 48 Hours, aka Don't Be a Single Woman Who Enjoys Sex Or YOU WILL DIE), and then take him home with me. Even if I got a weird feeling, I was probably at least going to make out with him at the bar. I arranged for a friend to call at midnight and make sure everything was okay.

I got there at 9, our designated meeting time. At 9:15, I knew he wasn't coming.

Now, to be fair, I'm not sure what happened. On Thursday night after we'd decided on a date and time, I messaged him asking for his cell phone number. I'm not a big phone person, but I like to have this before a date so I can call or text if I'm running late (which I usually am). Never heard back. Granted, I just moved, as did half of my city, and I don't yet have Internet at home: in fact, I had to send this last message from Rock's computer. It could very well be he's in the same situation and only has sporadic access to OKCupid. Maybe something did happen and he had no way of getting ahold of me.

Or maybe he's just a jackass who got a better offer.

Either way, I decided to wait another 15 minutes, as I was enjoying sitting around and drinking a beer.

Then, a very cute guy walked into the bar. He was alone, and appeared to be waiting for someone. I was pretty sure it wasn't Six-Pack, but there was a little resemblance, and sometimes people look different from their pictures. And if it really was Six-Pack, maybe he hadn't seen me yet.

A year ago this totally wouldn't have happened. Last night, I took a chance.

I took myself and my beer to the stool next to him.

"Excuse me," I said, "but has anyone ever told you, you look like Hunter Parrish?"

(He totally did, by the way.)

So it wasn't Six-Pack. But HP was a nice guy who is an artist and has three other jobs, who had just come from a concert and was waiting for his (male) friend. We had a fun little conversation (during which the word "girlfriend" didn't come up at all), and after he got a text from his friend asking him to meet elsewhere, I decided to walk out with him. I didn't tell HP my exact situation, just that I was waiting for someone too and I didn't think they were going to show.

Before we parted ways, he gave me his card.

And those weren't the only digits I scored yesterday.

Besides seeing each other at work, Jim Berger and I have been emailing back and forth for over a week. Just little things: our weekend plans, joking/bitching about work, etc. He contacted me yesterday, recommending a play, and saying he should have asked me to join him as he had a free ticket and his friend bailed at the last minute.

Seeing my opening, I emailed back: "For next time, or if you find yourself stranded at the movies: [my phone number]."

Less than two hours later, I get a reply: "Your number is now in my phone, so expect calls if I'm stranded. Or otherwise." Also, his number.

I have no idea where this is going.

I can't wait to find out.

The Safety Dance, by Doris

So The Hair and I are scheduled to go out tomorrow night, have a glass of wine and maybe see a movie. Between working long hours (with more to come this weekend!) and preparing to move apartments, I am suspecting a glass or two of wine may be all I can handle. We'll see. I'd be very surprised if a third date comes of this--he's really nice, but I just can't get all that excited--but I am trying to keep an open mind.

I'm also messaging with a guy I'll call Wings because he and I both enjoy eating wings. The messages are very looong so I'm hoping we'll meet up soon.

And in the meantime...

Remember my friend's ex, who's also my friend, for whom I've had feelings in the past?

Let's call him Jim Berger. Jim as in Jim and Pam from The Office, because he works with me (though not in the same department). Berger as in Jack Berger from Sex and the City, because he is a writer (though to my knowledge, he has not dumped anyone via Post-It).

Can you tell Rock and I like TV?

So he's a quiet guy, laid-back, sweet. I've known him for several years but have gotten to know him better in the past year when we worked on a couple of projects together and he started dating my friend (also a coworker). We're both writers, like the theatre and movies, have stuff in common.

He's always been very complimentary of my writing--not this blog, which he doesn't know exists, but some of my other stuff on the Web. And he's an excellent writer and has a nice little freelance career going, so I value those compliments. He's said my writing style makes him want to improve his own, which, WOW. He's also trying to help me score some freelance gigs of my own, which is really nice considering how competitive the market can be.

And lately...there's been this energy between us.

Nothing too drastic. Just more chatting, some Facebook messaging, emails back and forth. Shy smiles. That sort of thing. Just a wee bit more than friendly.

I'm not delusional. I don't think this is going to lead to anything. I think we are both stressed out about various life-y things right now, and feel comfortable with each other.

And sometimes that's enough.

Energy manifests in different ways. I mean, Rock and I had energy from day one. Not a romantic energy, but it led to a friendship going on eleven years. Having energy with someone doesn't mean you're going to sleep with them. Or that you even want to. (Okay, I wouldn't be opposed in this case. But anyway...)

I'm not going to stop dating people or pine away for this dude. But I'm going to enjoy what we've got.

'Cause I don't know what Jim Berger's opinion is, but I think this is damn nice.