Junebug

On Saturday afternoon, while Best Man was hanging out with his SF Giants pals, I was busy being Handy Girl.  I sanded my bathroom cabinets and painted them with a fresh coat of white paint.  My legs ached from squatting while I painted, and, after finishing the guest vanity cabinets, I decided to take a break.  Covered in paint dust and paint drippings, I checked my cell phone while downing a glass of water.  Best Man had sent me a text that read: “Do you miss me?”

I laughed and figured if he knew what I looked like right then, un-showered, dusty, paint splattered, and wearing my “finest” boxer shorts from high school and an old high school water polo tee-shirt, he wouldn’t even consider missing me.  I sent a text back that read:  “Yeah, I miss you.  I’m painting my bathroom cabinets and could use some help.”  He responded with: “I look good in a tool belt.”  And it went on from there…

He called me Sunday evening when he returned from SF.  I chided him for allowing his friends to harass me with their Giants talk.  He laughed and told me that I’d done well holding my own and that his friends had been impressed with my Dodger/Giants rivalry knowledge.  Best Man asked if I was free on Wednesday night for dinner.  As Saggy Man Boobs was moving out of my place on Wednesday, we decided to meet near Best Man’s place and avoid any possible encounters with SMB.

I had never been to Best Man’s place and was curious as to what I would find at his bachelor pad.  Did the furniture match?  Were there posters of girls in skimpy cheerleader outfits and swimsuits?  Was the toilet clean?  Was the bed made?  Had he taken the trash out?   I arrived to find that his place was very cozy.  Although it was a one-bedroom, one-bath small L.A. condo, Best Man (and his mom) had done a great job in making the place seem more spacious.  His furniture was masculine (leather sofa, loveseat, and chair), but comfortable, and all the pieces pulled together well.  The bathroom was neat and clean, the bed was made, and the trash had been taken out.

We had dinner at a fabulous seafood restaurant near his place.  The meal was spectacular, and Best Man and I seemed to click more than ever.  As we polished off a bottle of wine, he informed me that he had spent the last few dates trying to find something wrong with me, but all he could come up with the fact that I don't eat meat.  Even that, he explained, was a stretch because, although I don't eat meat, I do not have a problem with those around me eating meat.  He further explained his elaborate "strike system" for weeding out dates, and concluded that my only strike was a half strike because I don't eat red meat or chicken.  I laughed and told him that his strike system was rather flimsy, as I would never stand in his way of eating meat or poultry, but he assured me that my half strike would only be eliminated if I became a carnivore.  We bantered back and forth while enjoying an amazing dessert, and decided to end the evening with a few games at the bowling alley. 

I rarely bowl, perhaps once a year, and I told Best Man that I didn’t want to compete, because I would surely lose.  We put on our fancy bowling shoes, found our bowling balls, ordered a few beers, and entered our names in our lane’s high-tech scoring machine.  As Best Man is a “gentleman”, I bowled first.  Strike!  Best Man accused me of being a ringer.  I assured him it was just dumb luck.  He took his turn and knocked down a few pins.  Respectable.  I walked back up to the line, held the ball up, flung the ball back, then forward and release.  Strike!  Best Man looked defeated.  I laughed.  In just two frames, I’d nearly bowled a personal best. 

I managed one more strike before we left the bowling alley.  And, Best Man beat me in all three games.  During our last game I became more focused on the speed of the ball rather than the accuracy of knocking down pins, and managed to roll the ball down the wood at the alarmingly fast rate of 14.3 mph. 

It was a fun evening that ended on his sofa, watching Comedy Central and smooching until I had to leave.  My dad was flying in to town the next morning to ensure that Saggy Man Boobs had officially left my residence, and I wanted to get a few hours of sleep before heading to the airport.

I emailed NJaney on Thursday following my first Wednesday date with Best Man.  (If you’re not aware, NJaney gives excellent dating advice.  And, she puts up with my dating insecurities and questions.)  I told her about my Wednesday date with him, about his suggestion for follow-up Wednesday dates, and about my uncertainties.  I liked him because he was smart, funny, and seemed to be sensitive to my needs.  He said all the right things, and we seemed to click in so many ways, but he was shorter than other guys I’d dated.  And, he was heavier than other guys I’d dated.  And, he was hairy.  At the Angels game, he’d shown me his “hair pants” and “hair sleeves”; his legs have more than the usual amount of manly leg hair, but, the hair stopped abruptly at his ankle and his feet were completely hair free.  His arms were also hairy, but his hands were surprisingly devoid of hair.   Despite these “flaws”, I still felt drawn to him.  He made me laugh, and, even after several hours of “togetherness” we still had lots to talk about.  He always complimented me and made me feel special.  I felt like Charlotte on Sex and the City when she started dating her Harry.  NJaney reminded me of the important things in a relationship:  looks fade over time, but common interests, mutual respect, and a sense of humor help people grow old together.  Attraction is more than just physical. 

Best Man flew to San Francisco that weekend, the last weekend in September.  He was meeting some former coworkers turned friends who worked for the SF Giants.  I’m a Dodger fan.  A Dodger fan who grew up in Northern California, surrounded by Giants fans.  If you know baseball, you know that Dodger fans and Giants fans don’t get along because, well, quite simply, the Giants suck.  I’ll spare you the rest of my feelings about the Giants, but, suffice it to say, I somewhat jokingly told Best Man that I was offended that he would be spending the weekend with Giants fans.  He assured me that he was flying up to SF to support his team against the 49ers, and not to give the Giants any love. 

As I headed out to happy hour with Queenie on Friday evening, Best Man sent me a text message.  He attached a picture of a rather large, bearded lady who was apparently snoring in the LAX terminal and texted, “As unhappy as you are with your job situation is right now, just think, things could be worse.”  We exchanged several amusing text messages about the poor bearded snoring lady, and I was delighted that Best Man had taken time to text me while waiting for his plane.  It seems trivial and silly, but it’s the little things that really count to me.  Little things like sending a quick text message to say hi. 

When I returned home several hours later, I realized that I had missed Best Man’s last text message.  I sent him a text back telling him to have a great weekend.  I assumed he was with the guys at an Orange Friday event (some strange ritual that involves Giants fans wearing orange to local bars on Fridays to show support of their ridiculous team), and I also assumed that I would not hear from him again until he returned to LA Sunday evening. 

I was wrong.  Best Man sent me a text to let me know he had arrived and was at the Orange Friday event.  I sent him a follow up text message, chiding him for supporting the evil Giants.  And, suddenly I received a text message from an SF area code.   It was one of Best Man’s SF friends, texting to let me know that Orange Friday was a cherished event for Giants fans and he was glad that Best Man had joined them and was wearing his finest orange attire.  I shot Best Man a angry text, “Really, you’re in orange?”  His SF friend texted back with some nastiness about the Dodgers.  Our texts became heated, as only texts can be between rival fans.  Finally, the SF friend backed down.  He told me that Best Man seemed to really like me, and, although I’m a Dodger fan, he wanted to see Best Man happy. 

Awww!  Any questions I had about my feelings for Best Man were suddenly eliminated.  He had told his friends about me.  Had allowed them to tease me.  Had defended me and my Dodgers against them via text message.  And, had obviously told them that he liked me.  I was thrilled.  I thought that, perhaps, just maybe, this time I had met someone worth my time and my emotions.  Perhaps, Best Man was truly legit.  That he wasn’t all talk, but a man who’s actions supported his words.    

Best Man and I exchanged a number of emails, text messages, and phone calls in the days to come.  He was going to be out of town the weekend following the Angels game, then I was going out of town the following weekend, then he was going out of town the next weekend, and so on.  We agreed to meet on a Wednesday evening at the same sushi restaurant of our first date.

As I pulled into a parking space, Best Man called to tell me he was running late.  No worries…my favorite shopping place was right up the street.  I told him I’d be rummaging through the sale racks while I waited.  He called again to ask for directions; he couldn’t remember how to get to the restaurant.  I turned to my trusty Thomas Guide and helped him find the way.  He arrived 45 minutes late.

After we were seated, I jokingly asked him if he was planning on burying himself in the menu again.  He confessed that he’d been nervous our first date.  He didn’t think he was my type and was afraid that he would disappoint me.  And, I liked him just a little bit more.  We sat on the patio, under the heat lamp, and enjoyed our sushi, beer and teasing conversation.

We moved to the creperie next door after dinner.  Best Man confessed that he didn’t like crepes, a statement that, to this day, does not make any sense to me.  Who doesn’t like crepes with butter and cinnamon apples or nutella or caramel bananas and ice cream?  As I indulged in a delicious crepe and Best Man sipped another beer, he asked me what my biggest concern was regarding him.  I told him, quite simply, that our schedules were off track.  He was traveling for business or pleasure nearly every weekend, and the few weekends that he was local, I was out of town.  It was too challenging for me as a simple girl who enjoys casual, drama-free weekends.  He assured me that his schedule would clear up, but warned me that November and December would be busy months for him.  He told me that it was a fluke that he was out of town so much, and he assured me that he did have time to date me.  Best Man asked if I was free on Wednesday evenings, and suggested that we could make Wednesday evenings “date night”.  That way, he explained, we would see each other at least once a week, even if one of us was away for the weekend. 

I agreed to his plan.  It’s been a long time since I had dated a guy who made time for me.  A guy who seemed genuinely concerned about my feelings and wellbeing.  I liked him a little more.  And, I felt a little more comfortable with him.  

And, I looked forward to the next time I would see him…

Best Man’s favorite baseball team was playing the Angels the very next weekend, and he invited me to the game with him.  Back to back weekend dates?  I teased him that I might start to expect to see him more than once a month.  He assured me that he definitely wanted to see me more than once in a month. 

While the Angels and Best Man’s team battled on the field, we sat in the stands flirting and getting to know each other better as we sipped our beers, ate our pizzas, and enjoyed the warm late September sun.  Best Man once again glanced at me and said that he thought he could make me happy.  And, I have to admit, I was really starting to think he could.  We watched the Angels clinch their division championship and left the park while the fans were continuing to cheer for their beloved Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (sidebar:  for the record, there is only one LA baseball team…the Dodgers.  And, for the record, Anaheim is not even in LA County or near the LA County line, so the new name is completely wacko).

Best Man’s football team was also playing that afternoon, so we maneuvered through the parking lot and to the nearest sports bar to grab another beer and watch the end of his team’s game.  I don’t remember if his team won or lost, but I do remember enjoying myself.  I love casual weekends, hanging out with friends, watching a game, talking, and enjoying life.  I could see myself with him, and I could envision more weekends of games and beer and chitchat.  It was a perfect fall day.

We left the sports bar and debated heading back to my place to watch another football game on my beloved 19” TV.  As unappealing as my small television was, we were more discouraged by the fact that Saggy Man Boobs might be back, lounging on my sofa while munching away at Doritos and picking chip crumbs off his shirt.  Rather than deal with the potential encounter, we headed over to my college.  Best Man was interested in touring my old campus and current workplace, and we both needed to walk off the beer, pizza, and other stadium food we’d consumed.

As we toured the campus hand-in-hand, we reminisced about our college days.  Old friends, parties, drama…all the things that made going away to school such a fantastic experience.  Best Man finally gave me a proper kiss while touring the Humanities department, and I decided that I liked him.  I felt safe and comfortable with him, which I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We sat in his car talking for quite some time when we got back to my place.  We were afraid to enter my condo, afraid that Saggy Man Boobs might be there, afraid that the chemistry between us might be zapped by Saggy Man Boobs’ presence.  Best Man asked me if I was seeing other guys.  I paused, uncertain of how to answer.  The truth was, I wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be exclusive with him.  We’d only been on 4 dates, and those dates were spread over a three month period of time.  Best Man told me he wasn’t seeing anyone else, oh, he had been seeing a few other girls when we first met, but he had decided that I was the only girl he wanted to invest time in seeing.  I invited him up to my place, partially to change the subject, but mostly because I’m 33-years-old, I own my own place, and I shouldn’t have to sit in a parked car outside because I’m afraid that someone who’s temporarily staying at my place might be home. 

As we tip toed to the door, Best Man whispered that maybe he should just go.  I told him he would have to face Saggy Man Boobs if he wanted to see me, and that it was my condo so we shouldn’t be afraid to hang out.  Fortunately, Saggy Man Boobs was safely tucked away for the evening in my spare bedroom, probably leaving toenail clippings all over my carpet and sweaty, stinky shorts in the closet.  Best Man and I settled in on the sofa, snuggling together to watch some sitcom or another.  As I started to doze off, Best Man told me that he needed to head home.  It was Sunday evening and Mondays are his busy day.

We kissed goodnight before he headed out to his car, and he told me he was looking forward to seeing me again. 

Best Man and I exchanged several emails after the big preseason football date.  While he was busy working, I was enjoying the first few days of blissful unemployment…firmly planted on my sofa watching Law and Order.  We would email or text, discussed bowling or miniature golf or Disneyland, and tried to set a date.  I went home to visit my family; then Best Man went home to visit his family.  It seemed as if it were going to be another two months before our schedules permitted another date. 

During this time, I began temping at my college and a former coworker called to inquire about renting a room in my condo for a few weeks, possibly a month.  It wasn’t a great idea, but I needed the extra money and eventually caved in and allowed Saggy Man Boobs to move in temporarily (which is a whole other blog).  Best Man and I finally chatted a few weeks later; I filled him in on the changes in my life.  I was once again a working girl, and I had a roommate.  My living situation was, temporarily, far from ideal, and I desperately wanted to spend as much time away from my condo as possible.  So, Best Man and I set a date to visit Mickey Mouse and all his friends, nearly a month after our preseason football date.

Best Man had not been to Disneyland since he was 11 years old.  As an annual passport holder, I find it hard to imagine not hitting the park at least a few times a year.  I know all the in’s and out’s.  The rides worth waiting for and the rides not worth waiting for.  I know the best churro stands and the best places to get booze in California Adventure.   Best Man was like a small child going to the park for the first time.  He picked me up at 7:30am so we would be sure to be at Disneyland when the gates opened.  We had breakfast at a café at Downtown Disney, and Best Man recounted his childhood memories of Disneyland.  He told me all the rides he wanted to go on, and all the rides he’d never been on, and he even showed me the list he had made of rides he wanted to go on while we were there.  He was giddy as we entered the Magic Kingdom.

It was a fun date.  We rushed to get from ride to ride before the late morning lines began to form.  Our first stop was Space Mountain, the grandest of all rides in Disneyland, but the ride was temporarily shut down.  Drats!  We ran to Pirates of the Caribbean and walked right into a boat.  Best Man forgot about the first drop.  And, he forgot about the second drop.  He eagerly watched each scene of the boat ride unfold before his eyes.   We left the Pirate cove and headed to Indian Jones.  The line was still short, so we walked through the tunnel to the start of the ride.  Best Man was overwhelmed by all the different adventures to be had just standing in line for the ride.  He begged to let him have the driver seat when we approached our big Hummer-like adventure car.   As I ducked and leaned, anticipating each bump and turn of the ride, Best Man screamed and laughed along the way.  He talked about it for several minutes after the ride was over, just like a child would recount the various ups and downs of a roller coaster. 

We spent 12 hours at Disneyland and California Adventure.  Best Man and I enjoyed every ride, crossing them off his list as we went, and we even enjoyed waiting in lines and chatting about whatever random nonsense came up.  We basked in the sun, ate ice cream cones, and watched the children run to say hi to Mickey or Minnie or Donald.  By the end of the day, our feet were sore and we were drenched from Splash Mountain.  While we stood in the sun, trying to dry off, Best Man told me that he really thought he could make me happy.  And, I have to admit, I really thought he could.

Best Man walked me to my door, and I once again invited him to come inside.  But, we could see the lights on and knew that Saggy Man Boobs was home.  Best Man politely declined, but he leaned in for a quick good-night kiss.  A very quick good-night kiss.  So quick that I didn’t have a chance to evaluate my feelings before it was over. 

And, just like that, he was back in his car and on the road.