As it turns out, the timing of the introduction of my blog was rather auspicious. Exciting things happened to me even before I left my apartment this morning!
Really. My hairdryer tried to kill me.
It doesn't get much more exciting than nearly igniting yourself at 8:07 a.m., and that's how my day began. A fun time for all, especially considering my deep and abiding fear of all things flame-related. With a snap, crackle, pop, spark, and shriek, I awoke from my morning fog with a new appreciation for my life. Once I confirmed that I was not on fire, I closed Benedict Hairdryer in the bathroom where there were minimal flammable objects-- I decided to pretend my roommate's hairspray didn't exist--and went about my merry way. As I write, I am sitting in my unscorched apartment, so all's well that ends well, I suppose.
Work was good. I revealed Long Island Sound to its first audience member--we're obviously very productive all the time. But the next big story of the day occurred once I left the office and wandered over to Dupont. I actually wandered, stopping at my favorite Friday evening activity, the free wine tasting at The Wine Specialist, where I tasted five lovely wines, sampled one enjoyable scotch, and nearly spat out another scotch-- as I told the woman next to me, I got my fill of "smoky" for the day courtesy of my hairdryer.
But I digress-- I do so often; you should know this up front. I finally made my way to Dupont to meet the roomie. Considering the beers at happy hour (thank you, employers!), the wine tasting, and the two scotches I tried, I was probably up 4 drinks to 0 by the time I met her and feeling pretty good. And so we meandered into one of our favorite--by which I mean default-- Dupont bars, Front Page.
Now, we all know that everyone in D.C. is young and single. Well, maybe not. But everyone is checking out everyone, either for themselves or for their single friends. Front Page is a perfect example, and as luck would have it a really attractive guy was talking to his two friends when we walked into the bar. I mean, really, really attractive. Made even more attractive by the fact that we caught each other's glance. Maybe. Can you really tell? Was he looking over my shoulder? Who knows? It's not like he came over to talk to me.
Until he and his friends were ready to leave. He walked toward me, extended his hand...
...and bent down to pick up his umbrella from the ground next to my foot.
Really? Really? Aargh.
Still bent over, he stopped and looked up at me.
REALLY ATTRACTIVE GUY: [speaking from Kate hip-height] Sorry! Just needed to get my umbrella!
[KATE's face falls.]
KATE: Oh! No worries. [smiles, attempting to hide her diappointment]
REALLY ATTRACTIVE GUY: [awkward, hurrying to straighten up] Um, I wasn't trying to grab your leg or anything.
[REALLY ATTRACTIVE GUY and KATE exchange a look. HE exits. KATE, jarred, looks at ROOMMATE]
ROOMMATE: Why did he leave? He had about 20 opportunities to come talk to you. He was starring at you the entire time. I saw him ask his friends about you.
[KATE chugs the rest of her beer, bends down, digs through bag with new resolve.]
KATE: Do you have a pen? I can't find a pen.
ROOMMATE: Yeah, why?
KATE: I'm conducting a social experiment. I have to catch him before he gets too far and I look like a desperate stalker.
[KATE, sober enough to know what she's doing but drunk enough not to care, scribbles her phone number on the back of a theatre ticket, the first piece of paper she found. She caps the pen and hands it back to ROOMMATE.]
KATE: I'll be right back.
Yep. I left the bar, followed him a block and a half down the street, tapped him on the shoulder, and gave him the theatre ticket, saying only, "In case you decide you wanted to grab my leg."
My roommate and I had a good laugh about it when I marched back into the bar, triumphant. It's not as though it was a significant gesture. I didn't even write my name on the ticket--all Really Attractive Guy knows about me is my area code and my seat number for Tamburlaine. But even if it doesn't result in a meaningful relationship, at least my little chase makes for a good story, and half the time that's all I'm after. Of course it would be a better story if he called-- it would be hilarious, and it would add the element of surprise-- but maybe that's when I talk to the guy in the bar instead of being the crazy girl who follows him down the street. I'll get there.