I'm all a-flutter lately. Since last Friday my heart's been racing, my cheeks feel flushed and my hands shake. My not-so-spindly legs can barely hold me upright, especially in the three inch heels I favor. I'm overcome with nervousness and when I'm nervous, I have to pee. Just thinking about it makes me even more jittery, and I had decaf coffee this morning. Excuse me for a moment, won't you?

Now, where was I? Oh, right. Ya see, there's this boy. Well, not really a boy. More of a man. He works at the local Starbucks (where I get my morning muffins a couple of times a week) and he's dreamy. Very nice, out-going, charming, intelligent and incredibly attractive. I mean, a co-worker, after seeing us greet each other, asked me if he was a male model.

Around 5'9 or so (it's hard to tell since I usually wear heels), he's got a shaved head, goatee, little rectangular glasses, a sweet, radiant smile, lovely features and smiling, intelligent brown eyes, skin the color of hot cocoa and the body of a man who works out. Muscular arms and chest (but not overly so) and narrow hips and waist. Altogether quite, well, dreamy.

Thing is, he thinks I'm dreamy too. Or, as he put it, I'm charming. His name is, well, maybe I won't mention his name. He'll just go by the initial D. For now.

D. and I have been flirting a bit for a few months, ever since my department moved to its new building in March. Nothing too overt about our flirting, just smiles and laughing and light touches on the arm. Maybe a brief brushing or clasping of hands. Me being the obtuse person that I am, I wasn't sure if that's just the way he is, or if that's just the way he is with me. Even after he told me he thinks I have great legs, I wasn't entirely sure.

Then on Friday, he became a bit more obvious. (I know, I know, how more obvious could he be? I told you I was obtuse. Now please stop hitting me over the head with a brick.) D. asked me about the upcoming weekend. I told him what I had planned and asked about his weekend. He told me that, besides work, he had nothing planned. Nope, nothing. NOTHING AT ALL. We talked a bit more, he paid me a sweet compliment, telling me I was charming (for the record, that's time #2 he called me charming), I reciprocated the compliment, then I went on my merry way.

As I was walking back to work, it slammed me upside the head. Was he hinting at something? Did he, maybe, just maybe, want to see if I wanted to change his "doing nothing" into "doing something"? If so, well, then why didn't he come out and say it? See, my past relationships were all started by guys who came out and asked me out. I'm shy. I'm afraid of rejection. Hence, I don't do a heck of a lot of aggressive behavior. So why is he being coy?

Someone I know offered up this suggestion: D. might be afraid I'd have a problem dating a guy who works at Starbucks. I suppose that's possible, but the only financial requirement I have for men I might want to date is that they be able to support themselves. That's it. I've had a number of friends who've ended up supporting dead-beat men, before finally dumping their mooching asses. I just don't have the money or inclination.

I decided to throw caution to the winds. Sort of. I printed my name, URL and one of my ten e-mail addresses on a piece of paper. The little piece of my mind that constantly monitors my actions for possible danger said to hold off on the phone number, not that I was worried about him being a psycho. But Danger Monitor just said, "Hey, ya never know." I went back to Starbucks during my lunch hour to slip him the piece of paper. He wasn't there. He was probably out to lunch himself.

So back to work I went. But that night, as I crunched up on my pine loveseat, I formulated a plan. He said he was going to be working that weekend, so I'd just swing by on Saturday morning. I had to go to the Ross down the block anyway, to return some clothes I'd bought on Thursday night, so it's not like I was going out of my way.

I carefully considered my ensemble, picked something casual yet sexy, then drove on over. Parking was a bitch, like it usually is, but I managed to find a spot. I transacted my business at Ross and walked to the Starbucks.

D. was there. Yea! I ordered an iced tea, then, while he was getting drinks for other patrons, we chatted and I asked him if he had e-mail. He didn't. I still slipped him the paper and told him my e-mail address was on there, to which he quickly replied that he had access there at Starbucks. We talked a bit more, and even became a little more bold at our flirting, then I left.

Since then I've stopped by Starbucks and briefly visited with D. everyday. Our little touches have grown into grasping of arms and hands and longing looks with broad, giddy smiles that try not to be too obvious and fail miserably. He's told me that he likes me and that his heart was thumping madly the day I gave him the slip with my e-mail address. (Guess the outfit worked.) I told him I completely understood, a meaningful look blazing in my eyes. He looked bashful at that.

I was going to give him my number at lunch today, even had it written out, but circumstances prevented that. And tomorrow he'll be winging his way to Newark, NJ to visit family for a week and a half while I'll be heading to Alabama on Saturday with my parents to visit my ailing Grandma Bradford and my aunt Janice, with whom Grandma lives. I'll be on vacation for a week, so I won't see D. until the first week of August.

I sure hope I haven't missed my chance. After all these months, I doubt that I have.

I'm thinking of registering my journal with the The Diary Registry, so I thought I'd take a look at their list. First thing I noticed is that California has 149 journals registered. That's not only more than any other state, it's more than the total of international journals (excluding Canada and Australia). My, we Californians are quite the navel-contemplating lot, aren't we? New York is a distant second, at 92 journals. Hmmm, both California and New York have the highest concentrations of show-biz folk in the country. Coincidence? I think not.

Second, there are four other journals titled "Random Thoughts". I was always thinking that "Random Thoughts" would be a temporary title, but this cinches it. Of course, now I have to come up with something witty and apropos, but not pretentiously over-thought. Oh well, maybe another time. My brain's tired right now.

Scalzi.Com

The Daily Bleat

Man About Murfreesboro

Chuck'stake

Stitches in Time

The Diary Thing

The Book of Rob - formerly Kalamazoo Days

Evaporation