The Back Room of the Laundromat

I miss going to the laundromat.  While the burden of doing a weekly load, if not more, is relieved by having your own washer and dryer, the sights, sounds and people you encounter in public laundry facilities are for me, a joy.  I’ve encountered men who haphazardly mix washes together, women who seem to have ten times as much laundry to do as the men, and the children they bring along who are always playful or crankily bored.  Then there is the handful of people who tend to the laundromat or the locals who complain about it but don’t hesitate to use the vending machines there.  It is an eclectic group of people and if you’re lucky an interesting array of cultures.  And if you’re really lucky, as I was one day, you meet a girl doing laundry that absolutely steals the show.

            Two things always happen at the laundromat: I read while my clothes are cleaning, and I always got compliments on my folding.  People thought I was either in the military or worked in a clothing store because of the way I folded my clothes.  My folding prowess was merely a combination of having a good system and not being able to iron.  I always ironed more wrinkles into my clothes.

            I was folding my clothes one day when in walked this girl.  She was a fantastic specimen: long brown hair of different hints with waves at the ends, healthy curves, and glasses.  My heart began to beat a little faster when I was in her presence.  I continued to fold my clothes, pretending not to stare, as she placed her clothes needing to be dried in the dryers.  I noticed that her clothes were f a mixed gender, some men’s some women’s.  I tried to think of something to say to open up dialogue but came up empty.  I finished my folding and left. 

As I put my finished clothes into my car my heart began to beat faster.  The thought of walking away from this woman, probably forever, was sinking in and the feeling did not feel good.  So I grabbed my book and sat down on the bench outside the laundromat.  I sat and I thought.  I made a feeble attempt to actually read but the girl, along with the ruckus the children were making running about made that attempt futile.  I couldn’t concentrate.  So after a few minutes I decided to go back in.

             I re-entered the laundromat book in hand and no clothes to clean.  I approached the girl, who was now folding her clothes.  We were the only two in the room.

“So I’m outside trying to read,” I initiated. “But I can’t concentrate.” She looked at me and smiled.

“Because of all the noise?” She said, alluding to the loud children in the other room.

“Well no, actually… it’s because of you.” I offered.  She maintained her smile, but it was attached to a look of surprise now.  We chatted back and forth for a few minutes.  We exchanged compliments; mine a little more daring than hers.  I told her of my nervousness.  I told her of my accelerated heart beat upon her arrival, and the taking of my breath as I tried to concentrate on my clothes and my book.  I told her that I found her distractingly gorgeous and that I had to talk to her, lest I regret if for the rest of my life. 

 “Oh, well, thanks.” She said as she blushed and batted her eyes.  She continued to fold her clothes and then grabbed a pair of shorts that were blatantly not hers.  I had hoped that they were her brothers, or maybe a roommates or something.  I would have settled for anything other than a boyfriend but alas, they were her boyfriends’ shorts.  She was genuinely sad that she had hurt my feelings.  She was interested, but the boyfriend prevented her from doing so.  She thanked me and told me that my compliments were flattering.  I said good-bye and left.

But as I drove home the pit in my stomach remained and I thought again how I was never going to see her.  I thought to myself, “What if they break up tonight? What if they break up in a week?  If they break up, and she wants to pursue her interest but she has no way to do so what a shame that would be.”  I dropped my clothes off at home and walked back up. (I drive when I have clothes but it was only a block away.)

I re-entered the laundromat…again and found her almost done, but still folding.  She was surprised to see me again. 

“I can’t ask you for your phone number…that would be wrong.” I handed her a small piece of orange paper that I think was from a take-out menu on the floor of my apartment.  “But I can give you mine.” She opened the once folded paper, smiled and sighed.

“You just had to do that didn’t you?” She said as she looked up at me.  She said it not in a repercussive, ‘what have you done?’ kind of tone, but in a ‘do you feel better not that you got that off your chest,’ cathartic tone… with a beautiful smile.

I turned halfway toward the exit and paused as we shared a last smile together.  I put my hand out, pointing to the paper which she was now putting in her back pocket.  “In case things change, you have it.  Or if you want to try something different.  Or if you just want to go have a drink sometime, then…” I was interrupted.

She smiled, nodded her head one time, blinked once slowly and gazed at me.  “I got it.”

I gazed back but then we parted.  I never heard from her again, and I never saw her around the laundromat after that.  But I still get the compliments.

Jess- Another Waitress I Know

A couple of friends and I had taken to frequenting a bar for a short period of time.  The male friend didn’t have proper identification to access a bar, so since we knew the proprietor of the establishment, it was naturally the place for us to go.  All of the waitresses were cute, but Jess caught my eye above the others.  It could have been her reddish brown hair, as always in a pony tail.  It could have been the flirting that occurred between us that drew me to her.  It could have been the tattoos on her arms that jutted out of the shortened black sleeves of her uniform or it could have been a combination of all of these, but Jess was my primary motivation for returning.

I decided that each time I went; I would do something to set myself apart from the rest of the patrons in her eyes.  The first couple of times it was the flirting and it was generally sarcastic in nature, but that has the tendency to border on confusing or offensive, especially when the bar is crowded and loud.   And at this point I still did not know her name nor her mine.  So I formulated a plan to extract her name.  One night, after she delivered the drinks to our table I put the plan into action.

“When you have a free minute I have a question for you.”  I told her.  With the nature of the question up to speculation, she was probably nervous, at the very least perturbed. 

“Ok.” She replied.  She looked left and then to her right.  She stuck one index finger up and said “I’ll be right back.”

I put my hand up, palm out in a passive manner and reiterated “When you have a minute.”

I turned back to my friends and her to the tables.  She walked hurriedly from point left to point right, doing her job at points in between.  She went to the bar, then to the tables, and then she turned in my direction.  She walked fast and replaced the last two steps of her approach with a hop.  Her arms slapped her thighs simultaneously as her walk stopped, and said to me “What’s up?”

I felt like she had taken care of the work she needed to and cleared a minute in her busy, karaoke-night schedule to listen to my question.

“So, I’ve noticed that waitresses don’t wear nametags anymore, at least not the ones here.” This was my question in disguise I suppose.

“That’s because we’re not that kind of place, that ‘TGI Fridays’ kind of place.  We’re trying to avoid that.”

“I see.” I nodded with understanding, and a small, seductive smile.  “Well, maybe you want to tell me your name?” The question had reared its head.

“Sure… I’m Jess.” She admitted.

“I’m Joe.”

“Nice to meet you.” She added, confused, and waiting for the real question to appear.

“That’s all.” I kept a calm, casual persona.

“Oh. Okay.”  She was relieved that the question was not more intense probably relieved that I didn’t ask her about her boyfriend, or ask her for her telephone number.  She was content with my question.  She smiled and went back to work.  I turned to my friends who I had ignored during this interaction and found them both staring at me. 

“That was god.” The female friend said.  She was genuinely helping in my attempts to find a girl and was a little impressed, and a little jealous.  But that was it for the night between Jess and I.

I returned to the establishment on another night.  I was alone and on a whim.  I did not know if Jess was working or not, but upon entering the bar I saw her doing her usual waitress routine.  The hostess approached me and proceeded to try to seat me.  I asked to be seated in a Jess’ section, and was accommodated.  Our interaction that night was similar to the others; light hearted flirting and banter at the start, a drink order and a drink received.  I asked Jess if I was starting to look familiar to which she affirmed.  I kept to myself during the consumption of my drink and when Jess asked if I wanted another I said no.  But I pleaded my case.

I complimented Jess in a few, small ways and asked if a meeting away from the bar between her and I was possible.  “Maybe coffee or a drink somewhere else…”  Again she paused looked around and told me she’d be right back.

Same as before, she tended her tables, got fresh drinks for people and then made time for me, this time without the hop. 

“I have a boyfriend.” She said.  “And I’m not just saying that, I actually do have a boyfriend.”  My heart sank, but my face stayed calm.  “Thank you though, if I didn’t have a boyfriend I would.” I felt this was a genuine response, no smoke.

“Ok, well, if things change, I know Gus (the proprietor) and he has my number.  Feel free to give me a call.”

She smiled and nodded. “Ok.” She said. “So, no drink?”

“No. Thank you.  I’m good.” A pause came between us, but it was time for me to leave. “Good bye Jess, maybe we’ll talk again.”

I never heard from Jess, and haven’t seen her around the bar, though I go less frequently now that my friend obtained proper identification.  Maybe I should go talk to Gus, and discuss Jess’ whereabouts?

Whitney Among the Seniors

               The adage of a wedding being a good place to meet single women is, in my estimation, not existent.  I have been to a number of weddings and found the number of women that attend with boyfriends, husbands, or significant others vastly outweigh the number of women who are proverbially overcome with the romantic and emotional innuendos of the marriage ritual.   That has never stopped me, however, from trying. 

                It was in this setting that I along with everyone else at the wedding laid eyes on Whitney, men out of lust, and women out of a jealous dislike.  Whitney had a pair of really long legs that protruded from the end of her little black dress (I know, red flag), and a tattoo that was slightly covered by the straps of her black high heels that wrapped around her ankles like a vine of ivy climbing a trellis .  She had reddish brown hair, clipped at the top with what I’m guessing was a burette so that it drooped down onto her shoulders at two decisive lengths, and a face that was as cute as it was naughty.  I could not take my eyes off of her, which eventually became detrimental to conversations.  I glanced intermittently at her all throughout dinner, and then she was gone.  I saw out of the corner of my eye Whitney leaving and I grew anxious.  But even a hurried race to the door after her would have failed due to lack of space.

                She was gone and I didn’t know a thing about her except her ravishing good looks, but I knew someone who did; the bride and groom.  After consulting them I decided that Whitney was in a relationship, the man not present, and that the nature of that relationship was susceptible to suggestion.  I got one piece of information that I could exploit in another effort to meet Whitney then I let the subject go for the evening.  I saw no need to occupy the happy newlyweds with matchmaking.

                Whitney worked at a restaurant, and I decided to pay here a visit one day.  A lot of thought went into planning when exactly to go.  I chose a Saturday afternoon around four o’clock in the afternoon.  There would be some people there, but not enough that I would burden her, or that she would be too busy to talk.  Little did I know that the ‘family’ restaurant was a popular place for senior citizens and at four o’clock in the afternoon the place was packed!

                I found a seat at the counter where Whitney happened to be working and ordered lemonade.  As Jerry Seinfeld said “I’m not force feeding myself at four o’clock in the afternoon to save a few bucks on the early bird special.” I grabbed Whitney’s attention when she had a minute to stand and look at the television and asked her if I looked familiar.  She answered in the negative.  I told her the story of the wedding, how she left before I could introduce myself, and how her beauty captivated my.

                “Which is what brings me here today.” I continued. “I was wondering if we could talk again sometime, when you’re not busy working?”

                “I’m married.” She replied.  Now,I knew what that answer meant, and forgive me for being a bit of a cad… but it did not answer my question.

                “So, is that a no?” I asked again, a bit deviously.

                Whitney thought for a moment, took a deep breath and then nodded her head one time.  “That’s a no… for now.”  She was interested, and I found out in post operation discussions with the aforementioned groom that they had broken up before. 

                “I can live with that.” I said with a sly, little smile.  I’m not going to ask a married women for her phone number with romantic implications attached, that I feel is wrong.  I did however write my phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter to her where she accepted it.  “It’s there if you want it.”

                “Ok.” She replied as she picked up the folded piece of paper and opened it up to have a look.  I smiled at her, she smiled at me and with one final line we parted.

                “I hope to hear from you again Whitney.”  But I never did.  Let’s hope it’s because she is happily married and living ever after. 

Kerry- The Semantics of Lunch

I recently returned to college after a large hiatus.  I put myself into an environment in which I knew absolutely no one.  My compositions professor said “I chose these topics (for papers) to get the kids out of their comfort zone.”  I excelled at these assignments because as I told him…

            “I have no comfort zone.”

            The first step in his editing process is to have the class divide themselves into small groups and engage in a ‘peer-edit,’ with the groups being limited to three or four students.  A student in my row initiated that our row of four would suffice as a group and we started to exchange papers.  I noticed that two attractive young ladies had convened, and were calling themselves a group, breaking the ‘three or four’ rule. 

            “Nothing personal,” I said to the group as I excused myself, got up from my seat and joined the smaller group consisting of only females.  “I noticed you don’t have three, hi, I’m Joe.” I initiated.

            “Emily.” The first one said with a glance.

            “I’m Kerry.” Said the other and offered her hand in a formal hand-shaking fashion.

 I sat, we exchanged papers, and we read.  We were all a little generous with the reviews as no one wanted to start off a relationship negatively. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the feelings of the first two names I had learned at that school.  Not to mention I didn’t feel I was any reliable source, at the time, for critiquing anybody’s writing, as the semester went on… that changed.

We got our papers back about a week later, after a few more personal edits and rewrites, and I decided to use this as an opportunity to talk to someone outside of class.  I caught up to Kerry a few meters outside the building; her face buried in her graded paper and asked how she did.  We walked and talked about our grades for a bit, and then I inquired as to her schedule for the day in a very broad, unassuming way.

“I’m done for the day.” She said.

“So now what?” I said a bit prying, but still casual and still walking.

“I usually meet some friends and we have lunch.” She answered.  

“Well maybe sometime we could grab some lunch?” Lunch to me is the most unassuming plan one can make. I offered a question that clearly she wasn’t expecting, but wasted little time in answering.

“Yeah, ok…sure.”

            I kept my reaction very loose and casual.  I left plan decision of when up to her, and she offered next Friday (one week) as the time and place for my socialization at that school to commence. 

            “That works,” I replied. I took a step in a perpendicular direction as I had to go to my car, stopped and said as I walked “And I have a car so we don’t have to keep it local if you don’t want. I know a lot of really good places to eat.”

            We parted for the weekend, me very happy, her very confused I’m sure.  She didn’t know exactly how old I was, but she knew I was older.  I let that slip inadvertently in class one day, never to be done again.  When class let out on Monday, I walked by Kerry at the foot of the steps leading out of the building.  She was engaged in a conversation with a young man.  Jealousy was not even a twinkle in my eye; I smiled and passed a silent wave good bye never breaking stride.  I ascended the steps and greeted the air outside the hall where class was located.  This time somebody hurriedly snuck up on me. It was Kerry.

            “About our lunch,” this was not good, “I was caught off guard when you asked me to lunch on Friday, and I was hoping that we could keep our relationship… academic.”

            My stomach sank.  I had not attached any romantic assumptions to our lunch; it was merely a jumping off point for socialization, clearly she had.  But I had to be as cool, if not cooler than when I requested lunch in the first place. After all, it was a long semester and we had a lot more of each other’s papers to read. 

            “No worries,” I offered with a single swipe of my hand.  “But hey, let’s consider it an open invitation.  If you change your mind…let me know.”

            “Ok.” She said, and then we parted. 

            I felt this pit in my stomach, because everything had been misconstrued.  I attached only small romantic aspirations to the lunch with Kerry as she was cute, but not assumptions.  I am older, she is young.  I was new at school, she was established.  I just wanted to talk, have a bite, and then who knows, one step at a time.  I felt like I wanted to clarify this to her, but after thinking about her ‘academic’ response I averted.  She obviously spent the weekend planning what to say to get her out of her obligation, so I let it go at ‘no worries.’

            The semester went on, we read each other’s papers like nothing had happened, critiqued each other with a little more bias and both got good grades (as did the third member of our peer edit group).  I have not encountered Kerry since class ended, which I thought was bound to happen at some point on campus, but if I do, I’ll make sure to tell her “the lunch offer still stands.”

Julie & The Tortellini

It was interesting meeting Julie for the first time because I already knew her.  We went to the same school for a brief time and I knew who she was.  I thought she was very pretty, but our activities and friends never put us close enough to associate.  It’s safe to say that when my friend hung up the phone and said “Julie’s comin’ through…” I was a little nervous.

Julie was an athletically built girl; curvy yet fit.  She had black hair past her shoulders, a scar cutting through her right eyebrow which hovered above her big, beautiful, blue eyes.  And a fantastically full lower lip.  She was gorgeous.

The car door shut and Julie joined my friend and I on my front porch, we were awaiting her arrival.  The greetings between us superseded the awkward and she progressed right into the small dramas of her day at work.  We went inside and I fixed us all a drink.

Over the next few hours we all hung out, with no expectations.  Jokes were made, people were picked on and the fact that we all should have known each other better than we did was completely ignored.  No one cared.  Then someone got hungry.

The three of us packed into my car and headed to the convenient store open at the hour to fulfill the need not to be hungry anymore.  I didn’t find anything that looked appetizing, but Julie and Eric barreled about, grabbing one item after another, replacing the one in hand with one that drew the next appeal.  I grew antsy.  I found the two of them staring at beverages.  Julie shoved bottle of water in my face whose description, drawing inference to a famous rapper of the time, got a laugh out of all three of us

“If you want,” I interrupted, “I got an idea for some bangin’ munchies.  But we’re not gonna find it here. “ 

“Oh yeah, what?” Julie asked, intriguingly.

“It’s a recipe I have for tortellini.” I replied.  Julie’s intrigue grew. 

She put her bag of chips down on the first shelf she could find and excitedly but confidently said “let’s go.” 

So the three of us were now wandering the aisles of the all night supermarket.  I had a basket and lead the way. Julie watched my shopping with anticipation as the contents would make up the food she would soon eat.  And Eric, well Eric was looking for a bathroom.  (Whether or not he found one is debatable, but after a while he no longer searched.)

Back at my apartment Eric occupied himself with contraband, Julie occupied us with friendly chatter and I chopped garlic.  Banter went back and forth between Julie and I; light hearted banter about my cooking, the shape of my apartment.  It was a very jovial mood.  The meal, one of my favorites, won them over, and the prosciutto was a big success.  Especially with Julie because as Eric put it in the store, “Be careful with prosciutto, you’re cooking for an Italian girl.”  We ate and watched TV.

The night drew to an end, partly because Eric was asleep, partly because I was getting there, and partly because it was morning.  Julie announced her departure and I walked her out.  I was incredibly attracted to Julie and got the feeling that she felt the same.  On our way out she thanked me again for cooking and reiterated how nice it was of me.  I made an offer to her. 

“You should let me cook for you again sometime.” I said.

“I’d like that.” She replied with a smile.  The only problem, as she drove off, was that she didn’t have my phone number nor I hers.  But I knew someone who did… I couldn’t ask Eric for her number because I think he held out hopes that Julie would be interested in him.  If he did, he didn’t show it, to me or her.  Either way, I just couldn’t ask him.  I could however open his mobile phone as he slept and take it… which I did.

The next day (later on that day) all I could think about was Julie.  She literally worked her way into every aspect of my day by occupying my brain.  I asked some friends, a couple, if it was too soon or too much to call the next day.  The man emphatically said yes and the woman said that it all depends on the girl.  I thought that was the perfect answer.  I felt like talking to Julie, and I felt like she wanted me to call her, so on my way home I did.

Julie didn’t answer initially but called me back within minutes.  We chatted for a bit then decided to get together when she got off work that night.  I was ecstatic.  She began to ramble about what we should do, where to meet, what to drink and things when I cut her off and said “Why don’t we just talk about it when I get there?”

A silent pause came over the phone and surprisingly Julie asked “You’re coming here?”

“If that’s ok?” I added.

“Sure.”

When I got there the smile on Julie’s face was as big as mine.  I think they call it ‘ear to ear.’ Julie got me a drink and I waited off by myself.  We threw glances at each other of different meanings as she passed by me waiting tables.  When we got a chance to talk we both admitted that we’d been thinking about one another all day, and that we’d both been caught by someone else, in a smile.

Julie and I dated for a few weeks, got to the point where we were calling each other ‘boyfriend and girlfriend,’ and were, for the briefest of moments, head over heels in love.  But it did not work out.  Neither of us was ready for what the other had to offer so we went our separate ways.

I saw Julie make a post a few years later on a social network, mutual friend page and requested a connection.  It was denied.  I didn’t let that bother me, but a few months later when the same thing happened I sent another request, this time with a message…

“I understand if you don’t want to be ‘friends’ with me but know this… I think about you from time to time.”

She accepted this request and has since grown into one of my favorite connections.  We interact on a personal level and it is always in good fun, even at times one on one.  Julie has proved my theory that I adopted from a quote (the name of the movie or TV show eludes me),

“When you truly love someone, a part of you always will.”

p.s. On the first night we hung out alone after her work, Julie shocked me, hours, days, even weeks before I expected it… she kissed me.  It was an electric kiss that has scarred me to this day.  It is a scar that I brag about.  I offer a quote from a letter I wrote to Julie on her birthday, “I am proud to have, at one point, had you call me your boyfriend.”  Julie… I’m still proud.

The Little Black Dress

Roland Park is an interesting place.  It has baseball diamonds, a beach volleyball court, a playground whose size rivals some homes in the area, walking trails, and a full twenty seven hole frisbee golf course.  My friends and I frequent the park for the latter reason. Roland Park also has a gazebo and a manmade lake that sometimes, when the weather is nice, provides a backdrop for the occasional outdoor wedding.  The worlds of weddings and frisbees collide on the final hole of the course when the golfer has to throw across the lake.

We were playing there one summer afternoon and of course found ourselves playing alongside a wedding ceremony.  I, at this point, was topless, wearing my ‘Panama Jack’ Titleist golf hat and throwing my frisbee  across nervously across the lake.  Nervous because after the throw, we had to walk dangerously close to the wedding pictures that were being taken no more than twenty yards away and we would be in the background.  They would most certainly stop, notice us, share an uncomfortable moment with us and let us, nay endure us crossing.  To quell the awkwardness I spoke.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed when the bride caught sight of me.  I found the groom amongst the crowd, pointed at him and offered him “my condolences.” This was followed by some chortle from the crowd.  One of the amused was this fantastic young lady who was one of the bridesmaids, and wearing a little black dress, a young lady whose pheromones were swept up in a breeze and shoved in my face. She was what I like to call “smokin’ hot.”

They went back to the photographs, and we played on, but I made sure to keep an eye on my little black dress.  They had progressed into the ‘candid’ picture part of the chore, and the photographer was asking them to jump and flail their arms in a jubilant fashion to show extreme enjoyment.  I watched them do this twice and after the second I hoped, maybe one could call it a prayer either way I thought in my mind a devious little thought of how nice it would be if, even just for a moment, that little black dress would lose control of itself and give me a little peek.  And on jump number three, my dream had came true and that bridesmaid gave me a beautiful mental photograph of just how exquisite  a healthy young lady is supposed to look.  It is an image that is with me to this day.  I alerted my friends to the possibility of it happening again, but jump number four was just like the first two.  That picture was mine, and mine only.

The three of us had finished playing and were back at our cars rambling about the game we just played; who won, who did what well, who did what wrong, etc. but all I could do was look in the direction of the wedding which was now starting to disperse.  I gave myself two options; let them disperse and never see the little black dress again, or I could go discuss it with somebody.  I marched across the open field watching the last group of stragglers watch me approach.    

“Excuse me, Hi.” I initiated.  The four people I found trying to get in their vehicle looked perturbed.  The women didn’t want to be approached, and the men did not want their women approached, but I pursued.  “Does anyone know the bridesmaids?”

“Which one?” I got an answer when they realized it was not them I was after.  The bridesmaids all had different hairstyles which made pointing out my little black dress easy.

“Kind of, why?” the woman inquired.

“Well I was wondering if she…” I was interrupted.

“Has a boyfriend?”  The group began to get restless and the background noise picked up. 

“Well, is she accepting applications?”  I countered.  The women began to take an interest in playing matchmaker, and the men grew jealous.  One of them chimed in with something irrelevant in hopes of admonishing my attempt.

“I think she’s bisexual.” He said.

“I pass no judgments on anyone before I meet them.”  I was not deterred.

One of the women took control of the situation as the time for them to depart was passing. “We’re all going to dinner right now, she’ll be there.  I can talk to her her.”   The car engine sounded and all but one of the car doors shut.

“But how…” I was interrupted again.

“Here’s my card (realtor).  Call me in a few days and I’ll let you know what I come up with.” My hope was now a possibility. 

I thanked her, bid them all a fond farewell and walked back to my car, ecstatic and totally over-hopeful.  I was overcome with a feeling, one that I feel a lot of in these situations; accomplishment.  I brushed fear aside, put myself in a very vulnerable position walked away with a hope, a hope of more romantic accomplishments to come.

I called the realtor a few days later and left a message.  After a few more days I realized that my theme had reared its ugly head and I never heard from her or the little black dress again.

Operation Pridefest

     After the admission fee was paid, I thanked the gentleman for the ticket and proceeded towards the festivities.  The sun had turned the late afternoon in the park golden, but had not been out long enough to dry up the puddles from the showers earlier that morning.
     Here was a man walking alone, not knowing a soul around him. Walking confident, yet nervous, confident in his dress, confident in his sexuality, confident as he always was... in life.  Nervous, not because he was walking into a gay pride festival, but because he hardly knew the person he was looking for.  What if he didn't find him? What if he did?  All the questions he had prior to entering the festival, not to mention all the questions that get aroused at a gay pride festival paled in comparison to the question that occupied him now, 'who was that gorgeous girl in that booth over there?'
     I walked a few laps around the mud soaked park, genuinely trying to find my friends brother, who had said he would "be around."  After the first lap I expanded my search to include any familiar face to no avail.  So I took in the happenings.  I looked at the booths people had set up; crafts and jewelry and such.  I signed a petition or two then decided, as evening drew near that it was time to go.  But first, it was time to get dangerously close to the woman that had caught my attention.  It was time for an investigation.
     "Wet Basement?" the sign proclaimed.  "Sign up and enter to win a $25,000 basement refinishing."  If fate were to bring about such good fortune as to place an attractive, thin, yet curvy female with long, semi-wavy black hair who could solve my wet basement problem I would be indebted. 
     She stood in the doorway of the trailer/booth that the company had established on the outskirts of the festivities.  She watched the crowd, waiting to see if anyone needed welcomed.  Waited but didn't solicit which gave me my first bit of information... she's not gay.  And so I approached the booth.
     The chatter started about basements naturally.  She was not alone in the trailer.  There was a male co-worker sitting on a chair tucked in the back of the trailers interior, possibly on break, possibly bored.  I alerted her to my query of not finding the person I was looking for and then was handed a clipboard with an application for the 'wet basement contest.'  I bowed my head and began to fill it out.  I racked my brain thinking of something to say.  But first a clarification, as I feel the situation warranted.
     "I support the cause; I am not a part of the cause."  I picked my head up just enough to see if she picked up on this subtle admission of my heterosexuality.  I don't think she got it.  I put the pen down and handed it along with the application back to this incredibly cute girl whose name escapes me and asked "So, if I win, are you gonna be the one who calls me?"
     Obliviously she answered "Yeah, me or somebody else will call you."
     "Well my number is there, you can just call me if you want."
     She opened her mouth to say something and then what had just happened hit her.  Her mouth stayed open in standard gasp form for a moment but no words came out.  The curves of her lips then stretched into a smile as her mouth closed.  She looked at the man in the chair who was speechless.  She started to breathe again, looked back at me and engaged me in a stare.  Still smiling she said "Um, yeah ok...maybe."  I joined her in a smile.
     I walked around the festival in one last attempt to find my friend, but did not.  The summer afternoon had turned orange with beginning of sunset and it was time to go.  I walked past the booth again but kept my distance.  I looked and waved, she looked and waved.
    I never heard from her again.  I did however get a call from someone about a week later, wanting to give me an estimate on my basement.

Amy- Aren't We Cousins?

     I decided to join two friends at a bar to watch a basketball game.  My two friends also had two friends, neither of whom I knew. We all sat in a line at the bar.  One of them was a 'bookie' and really soured the mood.  The game we were watching was causing him to hemmorage money to most of his betters, except one; my friend.  Time and time again he would remind all of us that my friend was losing; it was very distracting and immature.  It was not so distracting that I didn't notice the group next them that consisted of a few attractive young ladies. 
     The night progressed, the drinks continued and the socialization got less basketball oriented.  Something I couldn't have been happier about because without basketball there was no need to talk about betting on basketball.  I had pulled my two friends dangerously close to the group that had grabbed my attention earlier.  So close that some random interactions were being had.  Connections were vague, and acquaintances were sparse until one of the young ladies looked at my friend and exclaimed "This may sound weird but aren't we cousins?" The conversation was now personal. 
     After the game was over my two friends packed their bags and left, but I had a hankerin' to stick around.  I realize of course that it is dangerous to initiate a conversation with a woman in a group, when you are alone and have no one to fall back on.  If she dosen't want to talk to you, then you are just out there.  But I like to live on the edge from time to time, so I stayed. 
    I prepared a question or two for my friends' second or third cousin twice removed or something like that, they weren't closely related.  The questions assured my being invited into the conversation.  I can't quote them but they were designed to provoke her in reference to what she was going to school for.  At some point in the conversation the word 'boyfriend' came up, followed by some dismay on my part.  That’s when the cousin said to me in a tone not to far from annoyance "Why don't you go talk to Amy." So I did.
     Amy was a little more intoxicated than the rest, and didn't notice that my attention up to this point had been solely on the cousin.  Amy and I talked for a while, we laughed, I bought her a drink or two.  Her male friends would pop in and out of conversations and I embraced them.  We were hitting it off.  After a bit, I asked and Amy made it clear that she was "completely single."  In hind sight, the addition and emphasis on 'completely' played a huge role.  It was a clear indication that she had not been single all that long...
    Amy and I agreed to meet again, and exchanged phone numbers.  Soon after that I decided rather than being 'some guy hanging around' I would get the heck out of there.  So I retired to my home, happy to have met Amy. I was happy to have had a successful launch, happy to be, at some point, talking to Amy again. 
     I called Amy once or twice in the next week, and left a message.  As I was leaving the gay pride festival a week or so later (you will be reading about the festival soon) I received a call from Amy.  She told me that she had an on-again-off-again boyfriend and they were now on.  When we talked they were off.  She apologized and so did I.  I thought it was nice of her to call me, in person and tell me this.  I left her with these words, "You have my number, keep it.  If things change, or you ever want to have a drink... give me a call."
     I never heard from her again.

Holly and the Cop Block

     I call this town a 'small town trying to be a big city.'  I call it this for a number of reasons, one of which being nightlife.  If you're in a part of town where there are no bars it gets awfully quiet at night.  The cars disappear, and the people retire from there poarch stoops to there houses.  Which is why when I left the parking lot of my friends house to drive home, the car sitting there in the middle of the street with it's four-way flashers on was such a supprise.  A welcomed suprise was the girl leaning on the car talking on her mobile phone... Holly.
     At closer inspection, the front of her car was mangled.  She had been in an accident and the person on the other end of the phone was the police.  I parked my car in the middle of the street to draw other vehicular attention to the scene so people would be careful, put on my four-way flashers and exited my car to see if anyone was hurt, to help. 
     Holly was visibly shaken.  After ascertaining that she was in decent shape, medically speaking, I inquired what happened.  She proceeded to tell me about the accident, and how the other driver took off, leaving her there stranded. 
     "Did you call the police?" I asked.
     "Yeah I was just talking to them, they're on there way." She replied.
      I was there to be of assistance because that's my nature.  But as we waited for the police to show up the conversation gradually progressed from the accident to more personal things, with an intermitant profanity on her part.  I wasn't hitting on her by any means, but I adopted some expectations for myself as Holly was quite attractive.  She was short with curly, dirty blonde hair peeking out from under her wool knit cap.
      Out of concern for her well being after police showed up I asked if she had been drinking.
     "A little bit." She said.  She put her head down in a bashville manner, a little nervous now thanks to me.
     "Are you twenty one?" I asked.
      She picked her head up and it was smiling.  A calm smile, no teeth were exposed.  But it was an honest and genuine smile from joy which accompanied her response of  "I'm twenty seven." Which accompanied a hug from her to me.  Holly was grateful for my help, she was grateful for my concern and was grateful for my compliments, all of which were followed by hugs.  We were definately in line for a continuance of contact.  She knew it, and I knew it.
     When the police showed up, the concern dropped off, ironically.  Holly loosely explained the situation.  The officer pointed at my car, still in the middle of the street.
     "Who's car is that?"
     "Mine," I replied. "should I move it?"
     "Yeah you better move it before I give you a ticket."  A rude way to make his authority known to both  someone in trouble, and someone trying to help. 
      I moved my car, and when I got out he was taking Holly to his car to fill out the report.  I waited against the wall on the other side of the sidewalk.  I waited for two reasons, concern for Holly's well being, and the hug.  I wanted another. 
     The officer opened up the passenger door and Holly got in.  She looked at me and waved. The door closed.  The office looked at me but I got no wave from him.
      "You can go now, she'll be fine."
      I felt her slipping away from me.  My heart raced, searching for a way to continue contact with Holly.  But how, she's basically in custody? 
      "I'll wait." I said figuring a free country would allow such an action.  The officer did not like my choice for whatever reason and with a little more 'stern' in his voice basically told me there'd be trouble if I didn't go.  Plus he was taking Holly to the station to fill out a report after her car was towed. 
     I pulled around to the parking lot which I initially exited from, kicked down my friends door and told him I needed to wait.  I don't know what I was waiting for, I just knew I couldn't go home.  If I'd went home, she'd be gone forever. The problem was I had no view of the police car.  I had to guess when they'd be leaving.  I think I was hoping that I'd be the one giving Holly a ride home.  So every few minutes I walked down to see.  Sitting there, sitting there, sitting there, then poof... they were gone.  Holly's car, the police car, gone and the street was back to being awfully quiet.  With not a car around, nor a soul on their stoop. 
     While we were waiting Holly did tell me approxomitally where she lived, the neighborhood anyway.  In the week or two following that night I did some scouting in the neighboorhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of Holly or even her car which ultimately proved futile.  And I was left with the picture of her smile, and the feel of that hug and nothing more.
    

     

Danielle and The Line

     I first laid eyes on Danielle wandering the aisles of the supermarket.  The first of what would become numerous supermarket encounters.  She had short black hair, cut just below the ears and a very cute face adorned with a few pieces of jewlery.  Her piercings added an element of intrigue to her that I found stranglely attractive.  Attractive women stick out among the homely surroundings of canned peas and cutlets, and easily draw my attention.
     I found myself wandering around aimlessly, throwing things that I did not need into my basket in a desperately quite attempt to catch her attention.  I did at times, but no dialogue was initiated.  I would walk past her, stop sometimes near her, grab something off the shelf and then move on after my presence was made so as not to seem 'stalky.'  I lost track of her while aisle bouncing then found her again in the checkout line.  "Time to go." I told myself. 
     Naturally I chose the checkout line she was in, and stood nervously next to her trying to find something to say.  Despondingly I came up empty.  She paid, looked, grabbed her bags, looked again and then left.  It was now my turn to check out, and when I reached into my pocket for a form of payment I realized they had all been left in the car, an honest mistake.  Humbly, I told the check out girl that I had to go retrieve them from my vehicle.  Luckily no one was waiting in line behind me. 
     There was Danielle, in the parking lot putting the shopping cart in the receptical.  I approached her as she walked to her car.  I comlplimented her, told her she was cute and how she caught my eye.  Then alluded to the situation back in the store and how my time was limited.  There were a few personal queries from both parties, but they were brief as she had somewhere to be as well.  So I suggested that we "talk again sometime when we both have time."  She genuinly agreed and took my phone number.  She smiled, I smiled, and we parted.  I had other things to attend to.  I think I skipped once on my way back through the parking lot and arrived at the now completely backed up line of agitated shoppers, waiting impatiently for my groceries to vacate the premises.  I apologized to everyone, paid and left... with a smile. 
     I never heard from Danielle again.

Erin... Was I That Wrong

      Erin was the one that 'got me back on the horse,' so to speak.  I had been in a serious relationship for a few years, to the point of being engaged, but recently removed from it.  I wasn't out looking to find anyone and quite frankly was terrified of the thought.  Terrified that I might not be able to devote myself to another like I had.  I wasn't pining, I just hadn't convinced myself that I wasn't pining.  But that all changed when a friend of mine noticed, and told me that Erin was "checkin you out!"
     A few friends and I were doing a charity walk and after a half mile or so, we were tired, I convinced them all to stop and have a beer.  It was a Sunday afternoon just after lunch so the patrons were speckled at a few tables.  Erin was our waitress. 
     I noticed she was pretty, straight brown hair a little past her shoulders pulled back in a pony tail.  She wore eye shadow somewhere in the shade of green and turquoise  which stood out against her black pants, black shirt uniform.  And a very alluring smile.  She took our drink orders and left which lead my friend to comment with a smirk and lead me to pay attention to Erin.
     Erin returned and distributed our drinks, made quick eye contact with me, then quickly away.  She did this a few times.  My beer took some describing because it was brewed at the restaurant, and fell under her job description.  Erin stood next to me and stumbled a bit over her words while doin this.  I smiled and stared... possilbly showed my muscles a bit, who knows... Our group all decided, though it took little convincing on my part that I should ask her out. 
     They left me alone to settle the check.  When Erin brought the receipt I told her that I wanted to come have her describe another beer to me another time, which prompted her to pull out her work schedule and tell me in detail when she would be working again.  After conferring with some other people in the industry, we determined that this was a clear intention of personal contact between her and I. 
     Another day came and I returned to the restaraunt.  About a week later, on a day that Erin named specifically where she'd be.  I lead a different group of friends inside a much more densly populated dining room to find her cleaning of a table that had just been vacated.  A quick banter occurred between her and I where she insinuated, jokingly that the table was for me.  So we sat.
     "Joe right?" she asked.
     She remembered!  I smiled a small smile on the outside which was dwarfed in comparison by my inner smile.  She was busy, but when visiting our table always made time for some flirty chatter, pointed mostly at me.  The signs were pointed in the direction I wanted them to be so, again at check-out time, I asked Erin if I could call her some time. 
     Her resonse of "This is awkward," followed by her prompt exit from the table was not what I had expected.  Trouble had struck, so I decided to pay the bill, leave a very generous tip along with my phone number and say good night.  I handed her the bill, got one last look at her beautifly smile, and green/turquoise eye shadow and said "I hope to talk to you soon."  I never heard from her again. 
     So, was I that wrong about Erin?  Did I get sucked in to the standard con that is being a waitress, soliciting tips with your womanly wiles? Did I swing and miss with her?  Did I percieve her correctly and take it to a level that it probably should have avoided?  Or am I just a sucker for brown hair and a pony tail?  I think a case could be made for E. all of the above.
    
    

An Introduction and a Grace

     I often tell the stories of my endeavors at love to my mother.  I don't tell her any details surrounding my successful relationships, just the ones that fail. As I feel they are cute stories that deserve to be told.  She optimistically concedes that "I just know that someday, the right girl will come along for you, I just know it."

     "Not in this town..." is my response.
 
     I'd like the entries of this blog to be centered around a theme, and that theme will be my adventures in asking women out.  To tell the tales of my subtle triumphs, and many humbling defeats on the road to initiating dialogue with some of the many beautiful ladies that I encounter in my travels, is my goal and also to practice my writing habits.  I reserve the right to deviate from my theme at any time without notice, and I don't know how often I'll post. I do these with little editing, and feel free to comment.

     I try to keep my invitations fresh, and away from the proverbial 'pick-up lines' commonly found in bars or as the bud of bad jokes, which is why I think they will make good stories. You be the judge...

                                                                             

                                                     Grace

    
     I had my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, and the nurse Grace, was cute.  As soon as I realized she would be in the room during the procedure I knew I was going to initiate some sort of a request.  But how?  First I had to get her attention.

     When I told her that I opted to stay awake for the experience of having bones pulled from my skull she admitted that I was "brave."  When I told that I opted out of anesthesia to prove my braveness, she gasped.  She began to breath again when I admitted the joke.  Then she very nonchalantly, but almost lovingly  placed her hand on my shoulder in a way that only a woman can comfort and said "Don't scare me like that." 

      She and the surgeon stuck me with novocaine and let me get numb for a few minutes, adding challenge to an already nerve racking task; how to ask a girl out on a date, when you CAN'T SPEAK?  Grace returned to the room and asked "how my face felt?"

     "Um, it doesn't." was what I thought to be a very quick and witty spur-of-the moment response.

     Grace confirmed this notion by offering "That's good. I've never heard it put like that."  We were on our way. 

     The procedure was quick and the doctor was out the door even before he had his gloves off, but Grace stuck around as she had unfinished work to do... as did I.  She laid out my post-op instructions; when to rinse, when I can eat, when I can drink out of a straw, etc. Then asked if I had any questions.

     "Just one..." speaking in a completely muffled tongue due to the numbness of my entire oral region I put the words together as best I could  "When I am able to eat properly, chew foods again and what not, would you want to have a meal.. with me?"
    
     She smiled a gorgeous smile, and blushed a little.  "I'm actually married.  That's nice though, no one has ever asked like that.  But yeah I gotta stick to my husband."  

    I had to ask.  I've NOT asked enough girls out and regretted it enough to know that asking and getting a no is not as bad as never asking.  

 (For anyone that may be offended by my asking a married woman on a date, keep in mind that you can't wear jewelry during procedures which kept me oblivious to the fact.)