I don't know how it happened. I wasn't looking for it, to be sure. But then again, that's when everyone says it's supposed to happen. Hell, that's when I've said it's supposed to happen. It all started Friday night...
I was dragged, kicking and screaming of course, out on the town Friday. We were supposed to wander around the Farmer's Market, pick up ingredients for dinner, and then go to someone's place to cook. Naturally since there are several fine establishments downtown, we'd stop in for a happy hour along the way. As per usual, plans quickly shifted, and after the happy hour we went to Altitude's for dinner.
Later that evening, we hit the Buckhorn for one drink. Then Tommy's for a martini. By this time, some of us were decidedly intoxi-fi-mi-cated. I know...shocking, right? The group split and I diligently followed my designated driver and crew to the 3rd Street Cowboy. Being the social butterfly that I am, I ran into several folks I know. Rob, Doug, and Devon. Todd. And someone I hadn't seen since a karaoke night a while back. Someone I've always thought was cute (we'll just call him J for now), but never gave me a second glance. Or so I thought. That's when I felt the pat on the ass. Or did I imagine it? I was pretty liquored by this point, after all. Maybe it's just my wishful thinking, imagination, or the large quantities of vodka.
Half my crew went out to the patio, and soon J was there too. And we talked. And flirted a bit. And texted. We both agreed that we were interested, but wanted to be adult and find out what the expectations were for each other. And that it was a conversation best held when less tanked. So I was told to call him on Saturday, and we parted. (And texted more before finally giving in to booze and exhaustion and sleeping.) All in all, a great night.
Saturday ended up dedicated to manual labor, in the form of moving a friend into a new apartment. Hot, sticky, sweaty, and sore. Needless to say I didn't get a phone call made. But I did get a text sent off Sunday morning. Which Verizon decided not to deliver. *grumble* So I called Monday evening, and after several rings J picked up. He was on his way to a poker tournament at Altitudes, and invited me to come. I deferred, as poker's not really my thing. I've played before and can have a lot of fun, but organized, public poker? Not so much. I told him to call me when got done.
And so it was that at 8:30pm on Monday, my phone rang. And I agreed to go out for dinner and a drink at Chili's. As I walked out the door I realized...shit...this might be a date! Am I ready to date? Am I wanting to date? What does he want? What do I want? SHIT SHIT SHIT. I activated a phone tree or two to obtain any info my spies might have about J, just to make sure there wasn't some history of mental illness, dickishness, or a secret boyfriend I didn't know about. Green light on all counts. So there I was, getting into a car, headed for a date (or at least pre-date), with no real notice/planning/preparation. SHIT SHIT SHIT. Inhale, exhale, repeat as needed.
We had a great time at dinner. Talked for an hour and half. Laughed. Found a lot in common. Smiled a lot. And went to the Library for a night cap, as neither of us was quite ready for the night to end. We talked some more, and laughed some more, and found more in common. And had a great night. I'm heading up the mountain tonight to have dinner with Chuck and Jerry, but think I'll have an escort to Jazz Night for tomorrow. And at midnight when this Cinder-fella turned into a pumpkin, there was a good night kiss. A good one. And then another.
As I was in bed ready to fall asleep last night, we texted a bit more. And will be talking more. As I woke up this morning I realized: yup, that was a date. How in the hell did that happen? But I'm glad it did. We'll see where this goes. I'll keep you all posted, though remember: patience is a virtue. I'm not posting his name to 1) protect his privacy and 2) to avoid jinxing something that could become something. Ladies and gentlemen...please hold on to the bar.