Proves Me Right.

Do you believe in Serendipity?

Because I do.

But then, you would know that, wouldn't you.

Dearlings, I am not a "relationship" kind of girl. It's not that I don't want to be in one, I just figured that when the right boy came along, it would just happen. But I'm also a romantic, so in keeping myself open to the possibility of Magic, I have had some crazy encounters with the opposite sex.

There's the atheist I met at the rock gym. He asked me out and I thought, "why judge? I can be open-minded!" Fast-forward to the unforgettable line, "I'll buy dinner. You buy drinks. I'll have a Grey Goose Martini." (immediate succession of thoughts: ...um, is it archaic to think that YOU asked ME out, so YOU should be buying? I can't believe you just ordered a $12 martini. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST ORDERED A $12 MARTINI IN A DIVE BAR AND THEN SENT IT BACK BECAUSE IT WASN'T MADE RIGHT. Oh dear heavens....)

This was the night that not one, but two separate barkeeps, at two separate establishments, both gave vocal reinforcement. Barkeep 1: "Is this a blind date? Because that guy is horrible. Someone owes you, bigtime, for going out with him."

Barkeep 2: "You want me to make you a coke that looks like a whiskey and coke so that he doesn't know you're trying to sober up? Sure thing, sweetie. I can call you a cab and cover for you while you make a break for it. No? Well, good luck."

On the up-side, I learned this night that my long legs and winning looks was what made me dateable for this boy... because he doesn't usually like dating Catholics. (...ass.) Then (idiot that I am) I let him drive me home. I think he had too much to drink, because he was driving like a lunatic. And all my analytical mind could think was: "This is unbelievable. When I drive like a maniac, at least I believe in a Hereafter, a Heavenly Reward, if something horrible happens and I kill myself. This boy is putting my life at risk believing that earthly tenure is all we've got. WHAT AN ASS!"

I think this is going to be a long post. Because I just got started.

There was Sweetest Guy Ever, who had physical stats to beat the band- 6'4", 195, and shoulders and arms that must have been on loan from Adonis. And he was unbelievably nice. So nice. So nice that he drove 2 hours with flowers for me from his home-town florist in his back seat...

...even though he was horribly allergic and arrived at my doorstep with tears streaming down his face. Darling boy. That was when I discovered that, Adonis-be-damned, I needed wit in a man. And a lot of it.

Coffeeshop Canadian was a trip-

I agreed to go out to dinner with a boy I met in a coffeeshop here in Boulder. I realized only too late that this is not the town to find sweet gentlemen. He liked my face, and he even liked my mind, but we were on the market for completely different things. Enough said.

Then there's Hanes His Way, another boy I spotted in a coffee shop.

He left before I could scrounge up the courage to say hi, so I asked his friend what his name was. In a matter of hours, we where having witty banter over text messaging, and then facebook. I was over-the-moon! Cute boy, copy-writer for a living, grew up back east, was active and fun... And then, no joke, he sent me a picture of himself in his underwear. (My mother's gonna die when she finds out I posted this for all the world to see...). No. Honestly. A text-message image arrived of this boy in his boxer-briefs. POSING. You know that sound the needle makes on the LP when it scrapes off to the side? Yes. That is what happened in my head. "Wow. I'm really glad your self-esteem is so...substantial. Let's be friends?"

There's TurkeyFest/Blind Date from Hell boy...

Another perfectly charming gentleman. Not my physical type, but quick to smile and very nice. He came from money and was in law school. He was also a pilot (which is, 3 times out of 4, a warning sign. Yes. I just made a blanket statement about pilots. I worked for an airline. I can do that.) TF/BDfH invited me to a Thanksgiving Feast at his friend's place. We had never met before, but were being set up by a darling dear friend, so I figured, "Hey, Carpe Turkey, shall we!" Oh. Good. Lord. This boy took being "amenable" to an outrageous extent. I'm not big on compliments. I'm big on banter. I want a little mental push-back, a little give-and-take, some minor disagreements that lead to intellectual conversation. I don't care if you agree with me. I want you to respect my mind, and demand the same from me. This boy, bless his heart, felt more like a lackey than a date. He loved that I was Catholic. He loved that I sang. He loved my Arts Major. He loved that I'd never done drugs. He loved that I have no tattoos (and made some sort of asinine comment about "girls who have tattoos are loose." Yes, I realize I made an asinine comment about pilots... but still...). He loved that I liked Heidegger and could do without Descartes. Etc., etc., etc. And he kept TELLING me so. I make mental check-lists about prospective romances, as well. But I don't provide a play-by-play, you're-my-ideal-date commentary! All that would have made for a bland date. But the kicker was when I ordered a Coke (I had to drive downtown, and I wasn't drinking with this boy). Because he ordered a Diet Coke. Okay, yes. I made a snap judgement. You invite me out. You take me to a bar after dinner. Where you order... a Diet Coke. With lemon. Alone, it would have been a benign move. But after hours of seeing no mental or physical signs of strength or acuity... I was done. Oh. That, and, he loved loved loved that I was a Catholic, because he was a Catholic, and he really wanted to date a girl who understood Catholicism... But he didn't know what Transubstantiation was... and that's kind of a biggie... and when I told him what it was... he had that completely-understandable look of doubt on his face. You're looking for a knowledgeable practicing Catholic... but you aren't a knowledgeable practicing Catholic? ruh-roah...

And now we come to my favorite. The Inspiration of The Barking Cat Theatre, one of Philadelphia's newest theatre companies. I have to preface by saying: I love this boy. I hold him in my heart, and he has become a darling, darling friend. But just to show you what I can get myself into:

Mutual theatre friendships led to some gee-this-guy-is-really-great moments. And then we had the Barking Cat night, in which darling darling friend drank a leeetle too much, so I drove him back to my place. On the way, we listened to The Last Five Years soundtrack (Sherie Rene Scott and Norbert Leo Butz, I heart you.) It was his car, his cd (he was a theatre guy... I loved that he had Broadway in his car). But then he shushed me when I started singing the Girl Parts, so that he could sing them. (Don't ever, ever shush a girl when she's singing in the car...). When we got home, I directed him to the couch. He was allergic to cats, so I scooped up my Sadie to lock her in my room for the night. "Can't I cuddle with the puppy," he said. Sigh. I told this boy goodnight, and headed to my room. About 5 minutes later, I had that Something's Wrong sensation, sat up, and looked out the window. And there is boy, opening his car door. Of course, I figure, "I'm going to have to run into the street and throw my pajama'd body across his windshield so he doesn't drive drunk." But then he shuts the door, and walks toward the houses. Not toward MY house, mind you, but up the sidewalk, and into my neighbor's yard. And not just any neighbor...but the one with a police record, a drinking problem, a German Shepherd, and probably a shotgun. I race down two flights of stairs and stop short at the door- Before barging into a stranger's house to retrieve a drunken boy, I dial said boy's phone number.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Where are you?"

"I'm asleep on your couch."

"No. I'm looking at my couch. And you're not on it. Where are you?"

"No, I'm asleep on your... your neighbor's couch..."

"Don't say anything else. Don't say a word. Just get up, and leave."

"How did I get in here?"

"Stop talking. Walk out the door."

"Oh! I hear the cat. The cat's barking at me."

"Out the DOOR, NOW."

I flipped on my front porch light so he could see where he was headed. He arrives on my doorstep. "The cat bit me."

No joke. I couldn't make that up.

"The cat bit me."

Considering it wasn't the nicest German Shepherd I'd ever met, he'd come off pretty lucky. No bleeding, thank God.

In the morning, all was forgotten. At least by him. For me, it was a marvelous story. We bonded over that night, and became good friends. Not exactly a winning first-impression in pursuit of a romantical relationship, but pretty good fodder for a friendship.

If you're in Philly, and you're going to the Fringe Festival, look up the Barking Cat Theatre Company, and tell the actors that Chesley sent you.

So...that was fun.

See, it's not that I don't put myself out there. I'm romantic enough to believe that magic can happen anywhere, you just need to stay open to the possibilities. I'm sensible enough to know that it can't happen ALL the time. And I've proved myself right.

But I kept waiting for the exception to prove the rule. And that happened last Saturday.

"I will never meet a good man in a bar."

If you have ever said this, turn around three times, spit over your left shoulder, cross yourself, and say "Googly Googly Googly" three times fast. Because it happens.

Last Saturday, in Atlanta, I swept up my friend Tracy to head to Virginia Highlands as two girls on the town. To meet boys. To talk to boys. To have fun. To get someone to buy us drinks and then go home. Accomplished. Accomplished. Accomplished. Accomplished. Accomplished. And then some. And in the next post...I shall tell you that story.

photos: Believe by *UnaObsesion at deviantART, image by Eugenio Recuenco / Vogue Novias,Careful Not to Spill Your Martini While Changing Gears by Marcus Lam, A Wildflower Bouquet by Nancy L. Stockdale, Leaf Dance tapestry from art.com, One More Cup of Coffeefrom photo.net, Turkey image from Texas Parks and Wildlife, German Shepherd image from "We Love Our Puppy . Com", image from polyvore.com, To Be Continued text image from photobucket.com