I can't believe I'm actually doing this!

I just bought plane tickets for my trip!

Who's excited?

Me!

"Zay Bye Bye Cuticlez!"

It was a first for me.

A gay man held my hand tonight.

After getting off work at a decent hour, I decided a trip to the mall was in order. My fall and winter wardrobe was looking really drab, so I figured some new pants for work and a couple of sweaters were totally deserved.

On the second floor, I struck out in New York and Company, Charlotte Russe and the Gap -- my three favorites -- but decided to head down to the new Macy's. As I traveled down the escalator, a gentleman manning a kiosk had a bottle of lotion in his hands. With two steps to go on the stairway, I decided to skip them and get to the landing quickly in order to avoid him. Those people at the kiosks are creepy.

Damn it. It was too late. He saw me coming, and I was blocked in.

"Doo zee vant to try zee lowzion?" he asked. I giggling at his thick accent, hoping to head on my way to Macy's for a pant-trying-on extravaganza.

As I smiled, shook my head no and waved my hand goodbye, he took my hand and looked at my nails. "Oh oh oh oh oh!," he gasped, his mouth hanging open. "Here! Zou must come!" he cried, pulling me over to his kiosk. With his other arm, he flamboyantly unveiled a station full of salon-type lotions and nail products. "Voila!" he exclaimed. I politely stood there, smiling and waiting for the sales pitch.

"You have zee natural nailz, no?" I politely shook my head yes, and he reached for a nail buffer on the counter. "Vell! Here! Vatch! Zee ridgez in nailz? Zey vill dizappear after zis!" He grabbed my hand, pulled it toward him, and buffed at my thumb. "Zis magic, no?"

"Oh, okay," I said uncomfortably. "That's great. Thanks." As I squirmed under the nail buffer, I couldn't help but think how many germy hands and nails he had already used this contraption on already today. I cringed and tried to wiggle my hand away.

"But vee are not done mizz!" he said, grabbing my hand tighter. "Vee have only juzt started!"

Oh that's super.

"Zee next step," he said, turning over the nail buffer, "iz to shine zee nail!," he stopped buffing. "Zoo have beauuuuutivul eyes, ma'am."

I smiled politely. This was really making me uncomfortable. Plus I'm not stupid. I'm in marketing. I know how this works. Butter up the poor naive girl, hoping she'll buy a damn nail buffer. Well forget it. I'm not biting.

"Time iz almost up, but firzt, it iz time for zee pop quiz!" he exclaimed with a creepy smile on his face. "How many timez vould you zay you do zee nailz? Ehhh, hardly never? Beahh, hardly never? Ceyyy, hardly never? Or deahh, hardly never?"

I glared at him. My nails are very well kept, thankyouverrrrymuch. I trim and file them weekly and even push back my cuticles on a regular basis. However, I never paint them because they always chip and, quite frankly, chipped polish just looks tacky.

"How about E, every once in a while." I said rudely. He laughed, thinking all of this was very humorous, and he reached for a bottle of oil. "How long do zee zink dee nail vill stay shiny like ziz?" he asked.

Before I even had time to answer, he had dropped this oil on my nail and rubbed it around. "Look how zee nail shinez!" he exclaimed. He really must be into this job. He is getting excited about a damn shiny nail for crying out loud.

The next thing you know, he grabs another bottle and squirts two drops onto my cuticles. "Zis oil vill make zee cuticlez dizappear!" he cried. "Zay bye bye cuticlez!"

He paused and looked at me, smiling widely.

I stared back.

"I zaid, 'Zay bye bye cuticles!" he repeated, looking down at my nail.

Oh, you are kidding me. "Zay bye bye cuticles!" he said again, waving at my nails, wanting me to do the same.

That was it. I was done being polite. This dude was weirding me out.

"Thank you sir. This was all very fascinating, but I have to run!" I pulled my hand out of his reach. He followed me protesting, but I beelined it for Macy's. As I got a ways down the isle, I turned around, and he had found another unsuspecting victim. Whew.

No one is going to tell me I don't have nice nails! I have perfectly fine looking nails!, I thought to myself as I tried on slacks in the dressing room of the department store.

But what did I do when I got home?

I trimmed and filed my nails. I even pushed back the cuticles.

If only I could remember where that nail buffer was.

Didn't I tell you I was a mass murderer?

Sometimes I think I really should just sabotage the date.

You know. Like tell them I'm going through rehab. Or was just released from prison. Or better yet, tell them I'm married.

Don't get me wrong. The bowling was fun. But the highly competitive nature of my date was just about all I could handle. He bowls on a league. I didn't know this. "If I get three more strikes, I'll be 60 points ahead of you!" he cheered.

Excuse me? Chill out. This is supposed to be fun. It's called a game.

The conversation was nice. That is, if you like your date to talk all the freaking time. And when I tried to enter something into the conversation, he would interrupt me and finish my sentences.

It was like a race for me to get my words out before he would start talking again.

After two games, I had pretty much had enough, but he wanted to know if I wanted anything to eat. "Where were you wanting to go?" I asked. He wanted to eat at the bowling alley.

Now I'm not above bowling alley food, but it's not the healthiest thing the world, so I told him I wasn't hungry. Plus I just wanted to go home.

"I ate lunch. I'm good," I said. And he acted like he had never heard anyone who had skipped a meal. "You haven't eaten since lunch?" he said. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! And not to mention very unhealthy to skip meals like that. I hope you don't do that all the time!"

Yes, I do skip meals all the time, thankyouverrrrymuch.

He got something to eat anyway.

Did I mention that he picked me up? At my house? This was the first time for him to do this with me. And he brought bottles of wine. I mean, I thought it was nice, but awfully presumptuous. It just looked like he was inviting himself into my house after the bowling.

And that he did. "Let's go in and drink that wine and watch tv," he said.

WHY AM I SO FREAKIN' NICE?! I said yes. I don't know why I said yes, but I did.

We had some nice conversation. Wait. He had some nice conversation, and I did my best to stay awake and listen to him drone on and on and on. That was more like it.

By 11:20, I am just about asleep on the couch. I told him I was getting tired, and said he should probably go.

"Oh, but the Seinfeld reruns come on in 10 minutes! Let's wait and watch that first," he said.

Ah yes. Why didn't I sabotage the date again?

I think I'm going to tell him I'm gay.

Bowling

I guess the Weatherman had a good time afterall. He sent me an e-mail the day after our first date:

"Hope your day is going well. I had a good time last night. I hope you didn't get too cold out by the lake! But, at least it didn't rain the whole time. If you would like to get together again then maybe we could later on this week or weekend. I hope to hear from you soon."

We are seeing one another again tonight. He wants to go bowling.

That's perfect because those navy and red bowling shoes really bring out my eyes.

The Date was Mostly Sunny with the Possibility of Showers

Seven-thirty had arrived.

I stepped into the restaurant and looked around. I asked the hostess if she had seen a tall, blonde-haired man come in by himself.

"No ma'am," she replied, so I excused myself to sit in the waiting area for him.

Seven-thirty became 7:35, which quickly became 7:45. We hadn't exchanged phone numbers, so I couldn't call him to make sure he wasn't in a ditch somewhere. I patiently waited.

Just then, the door opened, and I saw him.

He was cute! Actually cuter than his picture, which is completely unheard of! Tonight might not be so bad afterall, I thought. Donning a polo shirt -- tucked in, mind you -- jeans and hiking boots, I was glad I hadn't dressed up much more that I had. I was wearing some bowling shoe-type sneakers, a corduroy jacket and jeans.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "I got a little turned around out by one of the docks." I laughed and said I'm glad he made it, and we shook hands. The hostess led us to the table.

We got to talking, and I could tell he was nervous. He hardly looked at me while he answered my questions. I started to recommend the Bloody Mary and get going with our drink orders, but he said, "I'm hungry. How about you?"

"Um," I hesitated. Sure I was hungry, but when you skip drinks and go right to the meal, you have to worry about who pays. And I hate that part. "Um. I could eat, but I had a pretty big lunch, so I won't get too much."

"Well, I'd like to get something to eat if that's all right," he said. I was cool with that, but I apologized for choosing such an expensive restaurant. "I had no idea if we'd want to eat or not," I said. He said it wasn't a problem. We ordered beer. Then he got shrimp and I got soup, figuring if he pays, I wouldn't be getting something too expensive.

We dove into the conversation. And conversate he did. Maaaan, he was Mr. Chatty McChatterson. But that was fine with me -- I don't like being the talkative one all the time. He told me all about his job. His family. His interesting college choices -- University of Hawaii for an oceanography degree and Florida State University for his masters in meteorology.

He certainly was smart. That wasn't an issue. But my next question was: Did he have personality? He made a comment about his working with people in Japan and how he was glad they spoke English. I don't know if it was the way he said it or if it just struck me as funny, but I thought it was hilarious. Definitely a dry sense of humor but had personality none-the-less.

After dinner, he said: "Would you like to get dessert?" I took that as a good sign that he wanted to keep the date going. He ordered, and again asked me if I wanted anything. I said no, but the waitress brought out two spoons. He offered me some, and I took him up on it. And it was really delicious.

The check came, and he didn't hesitate to pick it up, which I thought was really nice. I didn't ever offer, but I thanked him. As he was signing the bill, Uncomfortable Moment Number 1 occurred:

Me: "You know, sometimes first dates are like pulling teeth, but this was really enjoyable."
Him: Makes a scrunched up face like "What the hell are you talking about?"

Awwwwkward.

He quickly changed the subject to how much I thought he should leave as the tip. I said maybe 15 percent. He figured it out, in his head, in about 10 seconds. And I'm not gonna lie. It was totally hot. What can I say? I go for the nerds.

At 9:45, I thought that was going to be the end of the date. "Would you like to take a walk around the lake?" he asked. Oh. I took that as another good sign. "It might be a little chilly out for a walk, don't you think?" I asked.

"Nah. You can wear my jacket if you'd like," he said.

Hmm. Let's recap. Smart. Cute. Personable. Gentlemanly. That's cool.

"That's awfully nice of you. I might take you up on that," I said as we stood up and headed to the door. We stepped outside and walked around by the dock and the boats. We joked around a little and talked our favorite Seinfeld episodes and family vacations. And my hands were jammed into my pockets, I was so cold.

"How about that jacket?" as he took his coat off and put it on me.

About 10:30, I mentioned I was getting a bit sleepy, so I asked if we could call it a night. He said sure and walked me to my car.

I gave him his jacket back, and Uncomfortable Moment Number 2 occurred:

Me: "I had a very nice time. I hope we can do it again soon!"
Him: "Yes, we'll be in touch."

Whaaa? I was a litle offended, but then I remembered we hadn't exchanged phone numbers. Maybe that's why he said that? I guess I will e-mail him tomorrow telling him I had fun and give him my number.

On the chance that I don't ever hear from this meteorologist again, I would say the date was mostly sunny with a chance of showers.

Tomorrow's Forecast: Drinks with a Chance of Hitting It Off

Drinks tomorrow with the meteorologist.

I suggested that because I didn't have the heart to tell him I haven't ridden a bike in a while.

Besides, it's supposed to rain.

But he probably already knew that.

Short Stories

The Situation went a little sumpin' like this:

"Sandra Dee! You just need to call him!" my friend said after she called me.

"What did he say to you?" I said.

"He wanted to know all about you," she said. "He said: 'I haven't talked to her in years. What's she doing nowadays?' So I told him about your job and where you were living. Stuff like that. Sandra Dee -- he even had the t-shirt from a date party that you all went to!"

Oh. Well then. It must be fate. Of course.

I don't know, y'all. My friend gave me his phone number. I've been thinking about calling him, but just to catch up. Nothing more.

To be continued.

***

The jinx is cured.

I am meeting the meteorologist sometime next week. No set date yet. He suggested a bike ride and then dinner.

I'm afraid to tell him that the last time I rode my bike, I was about 16.

The lawyer finally written me back and sent his picture. He's cute. I don't care that he's 5'10". He's good looking, and he's a lawyer. And is quite polite in his e-mails, with his calling me "madam" an all.

The Air Force Academy guy? Disappeared. Fine with me.

I say two outta three ain't bad.

***

Last night was spent hanging out with some new friends. We went to a comedy club, and maaaaan, that was some funny stuff.

However, these friends were friends from church. And the comedians were totally raunchy.

Thaaaat was awkward.

We laughed about that afterwards. It's nice to know they're not so high and mighty as to not enjoy a beer and some off-color humor every now and then, eh?

***

Whenever someone asks me what my favorite season is, I always tell them it's football season.

I know I've got a Longhorn fan and a Sooner fan out there, but I'm here to tell you that I'm pulling for Texas.

Me being a Cowpoke and all. And my boys better bring it against K-State, too. Gah.

If only I had a nice brewskie to enjoy with the football this weekend.

Perhaps a trip to the gas station is in order?

The First Love Situation

Saturday morning, I bounded out of bed for a community-wide rowing competition. No, I wasn't competiting. (Sorry Jamy! Hopefully you'll enjoy the story anyway!) Instead, because my friend was the volunteer coordinator for the event, I had volunteered to run the VIP tent for the special fancy-schmancy donors.

After parking and signing in, I headed to the tent. And guess who was there. Remember the unexpected friend from a few weeks back? Yup. And guess how did he greeted me. With a huge smile and a hug. I really had forgotten about him and how adorable he is.

We didn't get to work the entire time together because he was scheduled to leave just about after I got there. But it was really nice seeing a friend. And his hug didn't hurt things.

In other news, I think my blogging about the online prospects may have jinxed it. I have not heard back from one guy. This online deal is for the birds, I tell you. I would much rather focus on the in-person variety for a while.

Speaking of the in-person variety, I know many of you would like to know more about The First Love Situation, as I like to call it. The Bible study is tomorrow. And I'm so nervous I can hardly talk about it.

I'm nervous that he might have some hateful things to say about me. I'm nervous that he might have some wonderful things to say about me. I'm nervous that he might not want to catch up with one another. I'm nervous that we decided to catch up, and my feelings for him come back. I'm nervous that the feelings don't come back.

Or what if I secretly want the feelings to come back? But do I want him? Or do I just like the cutesy story that it would make? And am I ready to leave my life as a single gal and enter relationship land again?

It was five years ago. He and I are completely different people now Or at least I certainly am. And I'm scared that he might like and remember the girl from five years ago and not the mature woman I am today.

Gah. I am a worry wart.