Apparently I forgot to tell you all about my date. oops! Sorry.
It was a nice date. Not a raging hormones, boiling chemistry kind of date. It was more of a hanging out kind of date. But it was a date. I think.
I had a moment of panic when I arrived at the club to find a long line of people snaking down the street, but no Facebook Guy. At 6'4" he's hard to miss, so that sent the little hamster in my brain into overdrive as I started to convince myself that he'd changed his mind and stood me up, leaving me to wander aimlessly downtown in my hot-ass jeans and 3 inch red patent peeptoes. I knew he wasn't really standing me up, but after the second time walking down that long line of talking, laughing people, people who were clearly with somebody, it was harder to hold that neurotic little hamster in check. And then I saw him lounging against a doorway eating a sandwich and all was well.
You know how Jerry Maguire had that solo mom at hello? Facebook Guy had me at "would you like to pop by the comic shop before the doors open?" His stock only rose higher as he stood there patiently while I geeked out about variant covers, upcoming story arcs, and new writers with the comicbook guy. Honestly, for me, if the evening had ended there, it would have been perfect.
But it didn't end there. From there we went to get in line for the club, since the doors were due to open any moment. And then waited. And waited. And waited. In my 3" heels. On a cobblestone street. Charming to look at, but hell on heels. The club opened 2 hours after the scheduled time, and by then, I was in agony. Not that I wasn't enjoying having a get to know you conversation while surrounded by a couple hundred restless alternative music fans, but my feet were killing me and I was desperately looking forward to sitting down at a table. So, when I walked into the club and found that all the tables had been removed to make room for the crowd, I nearly cried at the thought of spending another two hours standing on concrete.
Ok, yes, he did tell me it was a sneakers type event. And I could have listened to that, worn my adorable ballet flat sneakers and been infinitely comfortable. But did I mention that he's 6'4"? And that I am....not? Trust me when I tell you that awkward conversations are only made more awkward by the participants' need to either squat or stand on tiptoe in order to facilitate the exchange. So, I made the strategic choice to wear the heels. And while my feet may regret it, I don't; it was easier to talk when not engaged in some strange stretch and bend ballet. And I looked super cute.
The music? enh. There was some, and I didn't hate it. That's about as much as I can say, but then again, that's about all I have to say about most music. I'm neutral on music; it's a by product of growing up as the youngest child, I think. With four older brothers always in charge of the stereo, you learn to adapt and to accept/enjoy pretty much everything. What you don't do--well not if you're me anyway--is develop your own musical personality. I mean, there's stuff I like more than other stuff, and stuff I just don't get (that whole Because of You song, for example. Seriously, someone explain that to me because I do not get it. And I have a degree in English. I can read poetry.), but mostly I'm just willing to go with the musical flow.
And the company was....nice. Pleasant. Enjoyable, even. A good thing, on a date, I think.
And then the clock struck midnight and this Cinderella turned back into a pumpkin. With a screaming banshee daughter instead of a wicked stepmother to bring her back to reality.
*ok, I want to go on record here stating that I do not now, nor have I ever smoked. Not even in highschool. But the title just seemed so perfectly highschool that I couldn't resist using it.