092105According to my ex, Oct. 3 will mark the one-year anniversary of me being single. In the past twelve months, I�ve seen and done more than I ever thought possible. I�m talking about men, of course, the reason many of us women get out of bed in the morning. Being free of commitment has taught me many things. I�ve become a wise old sage of sorts. Rule No. 1: It is okay to call the next day.
Rule No. 2: It�s not 50 and 50 equals 100. It�s 100 and 100 equals 200.
Rule No. 3: Never be ashamed of the past.
Rule No. 4: Before someone else makes you happy, you must make yourself happy first.
Rule No. 5: Never ever give up your identity.
In the last 365 days, I can literally and figuratively say I�ve been around the block. I�ve dated, dumped, loved and lost a multitude of the opposite sex. Each experience had a lesson behind it, all lessons I�m glad I�ve learned. They�ve helped shaped me into the person I�ve become. And I�m damn proud of her. 091705We stopped on the cobblestone sidewalk beneath a wrought-iron lamppost. Its beams filtered through a tall oak, peppering his forehead with bit of light. I looked up at him, through his wire-rim glasses to those penetrating blue eyes. It took me a second to realize we weren�t on a movie set. �I like you,� I half-spoke, half-whispered and pulled myself closer to his chest. Joe dipped me oh-so-slightly backwards and kissed me for what felt like an eternity. �I take it back,� I said immediately, �I really like you,� and puncuated my sentence with a bashful grin from someone hopped up on pheromones. He backed away from me and I worried I�d said something wrong, but the neutral look on his face quickly melted into a smile. �I really like you, too,� he said. I squeezed my arms tighter around his back and sighed. So this is what it feels like, I thought to myself. I am completely, incredibly, head-over-heels, out-of-my-mind crazy for this guy. And the best part? I�m not scared in the least. 090605I was convinced you can�t meet anyone worth dating in a bar.
Oh yes, the story gets better. I�d met him before�numerous times, actually�but he usually relegated himself to a corner or kept his mouth busy with a beer. When it came down to it, we�d never really spoken. Until that night. I sauntered down the steps of the Annex with Jill in tow. As I reached the landing, a friend of mine in a beer-induced stupor danced his way into the bathroom. I stifled a laugh as I glanced in the direction he came from and spotted his tall roommate heading towards the bar. Something from within propelled me forward at record speed and I found my hand tugging at his shirt. �Hey!� I yelled, too excited for my own good. He turned around, looked at me for a long two seconds before contorting his face in an I-don�t-know-you expression. �I�m Molly,� I stuttered, hoping for any glimmer of recognition. �Uh, I�m, umm, Cody�s friend. You know, your roommate.� I mentally kicked myself after hearing the stupidity of the last comment, but hoped the cheesy grin on my face would make him forget. �Oh yeah,� was the response I got in return. He seemed like he knew. Or he just faked it really well. �You getting a refill?� I asked and spun towards the bar. �It�s on me.� I knew I had a shot at still omitting that take-charge attitude that draws some men in, so I went with it. I whipped out my card for the bartender before he could place a hand on his wallet. �I�ve got the next one,� he said. His blue eyes flashed. I didn�t know what it meant, if anything, but I smiled. I blamed it on the booze. We danced. And danced. And danced. The liquid courage flowing through my body caused me to gyrate and lip sync to every pop tuned played. I imagine I looked like a teenybopper on heroine. I kept telling myself to keep my legs together as I danced, as the jean mini skirt I sported gave many complete strangers a broad view of my goods. Before I knew it, the lights came up. We held hands. I kissed his cheek. She touched my leg. In my ever-classy way, I flipped him a business card and told him to call so we could go on a date. He did.
On the eve of the three-week anniversary of our first date, I found a folded page I�d ripped from a magazine. Its contents were scribblings I�d done on a car ride from my cousin�s wedding in Michigan. The bottom read �My Perfect Man� and it was dated 8/7/05. That was a week before the aforementioned incident. The more I learn about him, the more items I can check off of my list. It�s eerie, but in a good way. A really good way. I like him.
|