Smiley Steve

24 04 2009


I dialed and hoped for voicemail.  A tune played as my call was connecting… SilverSun Pickups.  One of my favorite tunes… the kind of detail that makes you wonder if he could be someone important.  The sort of thing that makes you doubt your decision to cancel a date. Curious about all the unknown potentials.  I can hear the smile in his voice as he states his name and unavailability…

“Hi Steve.  It’s Lynne.  I hope you’re having a good Friday.  I’m going to have to cancel our drinks this evening. Things have moved forward with someone else, and so the timing’s not great.  It was nice talking with you this week.  I’m sure we’ll be running into each other again soon.”

CB049377From the measly half hour’s worth of conversation I have exchanged with this stranger, I only know that he is nice, gives off an interesting, potentially compattible vibe, and has a great smile.  This week, he called me for the first time after meeting him 2 months ago.  Right away, he said he had a really good reason for not calling, which left me curious.  More curious about his timely entrance into my first week of being ready to mingle.  He explained that when he first met me, he was in a relationship which ended mutually a month ago.  Interesting timing.  Interesting that we would remember each other that long ago in the crazy pace of these days.  Merely momentary thoughts…initial excitement and intrigue easily wears off.

I think of the man I am most interested in and how perfect it feels when we are spending time together.  I think of how much I enjoy his smile, because I know I have a part in it, and because I know  he is experiencing the same happy feeling when we are sharing time together.  It is more than a momentary feeling.  I feel it even when we are apart.

My phone buzzes with a text message.  Smiley Steve thinks I’m chickening out and doesn’t believe me about “the other person.”  I’ve already downgraded his Crush Status, so at this point, I’m glad that he’s “not calling it a date.”  He seems like a cool dude to grab a beer with.  Internal confusion.


Elevator Crush

23 04 2009

I ran into the Elevator Crush for the second time in two days. Totally unfazed by the whole thing. We exchanged smiles and small talk.  He sounded busy as usual.  Too busy for a girlfriend.  Too busy to even consider it.  His shirt was untucked unkindly.  His hair was longer than the last time I saw him.  My hair is shorter, but amess.  I thought of the last time we kissed, maybe a year ago.  He was never a great kisser.  I never missed that.

He had a great apartment by Piedmont Park.  A giant glass desk and lots of design books.  He had a small gap in his teeth that I never minded.  I remember watching him while he primped in the morning.  He gave me the play-by-play everytime he had to switch razors, combs, and gels.  We never played pool, just had long great conversations about people, business, love, being spies.  He would have made a terrific spy, and from the moment I realized this, I decided that “being a good spy” was goint to be an essential requirement for a suitable partner.

I am putting this to rest. Retiring this crush I have been harbouring for months.  The timing had never been right, and he was never a great kisser.  He’s about himself, and I’m about growing into a couple.  There was never any room in his life for a girl like me, and after months of elevator encounters and spontaneous lunch dates, I can watch him walk away without wondering whether he’ll walk back into my life again.  Letting go never felt so good.

Intimate distance

31 03 2009


I hear the spray of the shower and the smell of a clean man wafts through the house.   It is one of my favorite smells.  I hear the footsteps leave the shower, and then buckles and zippers as my roomate gets dressed.  I hear him stuff a backpack and jiggle the lock as he steps out.  It is 10:30 pm on a Monday.   I am curious, wondering if he forgot something in his car parked outside.  A few minutes pass without his return.  I wonder if he’s going to check on a lab experiment or pull an all-nighter sitting in a diner booth.  Maybe he’s going to answer a booty call.  I like that last answer best, and I return my mind to the NCIDQ flashcards on my lap.

I have 5 days to go before I can resume my social life, regain free time, and chill out.  I stare at my flash cards.  Public distance:  12 feet and beyond.  People watching distance.  I love people wathcing.  I wanderlust about the well-kept men in my office building.  Social distance:  4 to 12 feet.  Close enough to exchange smiles and hellos.  Close enough to walk by pretending not to notice how handsome he is.  Close enough to know he’s watching you walk away. Personal distance:  4 feet to 18 inches.  Sitting next to a handsome accquaintance over lunch, exchanging laughs and smiles.  Close enough to smell his cologne.  Intimate distance:  6 to 18 inches.  Close enough to feel his body heat in a crowded elevator.  Close enough to feel his whisper in your ear.

Intimate distance.  Sigh.  I can’t wait till I can focus on social/personal/intimate distance.  My roomate is still gone.  I find myself jealous, wishing I could also have some romance in my life.  I drag through the last few flashcards.  I am distracted by the  handsome stangers I’ve put on hold while studying for this exam.

I think of one of my favorite prospects, and wish we could meet up for drinks.  He makes me laugh and smile till it hurts my cheeks.  I want him to be the real deal.  But he reminds me of my last boyfriend, who was also a workaholic.  I try not to get attached to the idea of someone who in the past has admitted that he enjoys the single life.  I am hoping his mind has changed.  I am not hoping to change his mind myself.  That’s too much work and risk and heartbreak.  I hope he’ll come to his own senses.  I think we’d be really compattible, mentally and personality.  We have alot of common interests and goals and perspectives.  He would get along great with my friends and family.  I love a man with a big, genuine smile.

I hear my roomate re-enter the  house.  He went to buy beer. Typical.  He laughs when I explain the booty call theory.