Men, if you have a friend who is setting you up with a woman you met briefly, and you get the woman's phone number, make sure you put it to good use. By that, I mean that if you are going to take the time and effort to call her, then ask her out when you call her the first time. Trust me, she has already heard about your supposed interest, and she is not only expecting your call, she is expecting you to seal the deal. So take your balls out of your purse and ask her if she's available for dinner Friday night. You liked her enough to get her number, so you must like her enough to see what she's doing this weekend.
Tip #48, which serves as an addendum to #47 (see above), states that during this initial phone call, you are prohibited from conducting The First Date Interview. If I'm going to sit through 45 minutes' worth of small talk which feels like the Spanish Inquisition, I should at least get a drink out of it. Interrupting my day to get to know me better before committing to even the most casual of dates comes off as self-important.
Needless to say, the initial conversation with Fun Bobby didn't go all that well. I should have told him he was calling at a bad time (he was). But I didn't want to be rude, so I sat there and let him totally dominate the entire conversation. He went on, and on and on with the questions. It was like a dating interview, really. If you were to keep score by counting the number of questions asked, it would go something like this: Fun Bobby -- 53, VB -- 2.
Aside from talking my ear off and not asking me out, he seems like a nice guy. He said he'd call again later. I can only assume he needs more information before making the oh-so-serious Weekend Date. It's such a major commitment, you know.
Then again, maybe he has beaten me at my own game. I like to pride myself on my efficiency. What if this is his way of being efficient?? He has the initial conversation, decides if he likes what he hears, and then, if he has any doubts, he cuts his losses and aborts the mission. If this is his way of saving time, trouble and money, he has gained new respect from me. My kinda guy.
Not that I really want him to call again. He's kind of....eh.
What I really want is Hot Neighbor to come to my house-warming party. If only I could catch him when he's outside of his house...I am too chicken to knock on his door. That seems too contrived. So does an invitation in his mailbox. I want it to come off as a spur-of-the-moment idea. I imagine it something like this...
Me: (Looking fantastically thin and having a good hair day) Hey, here's your hose back. Thanks again for letting me borrow it.
HN: (Coincidentally, he is doing some shirtless yard work!) You're most certainly welcome. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you look ravishing today?
Me: (giggle) Why, no! But thank you so much!
HN: You're welcome. (Wipes sweat from his brow with his slightly tan, very muscular arm)
Me: Oh, hey, I almost forgot. My roommate and I are having a little get-together in a couple of weeks. On the 20th. You should come by.
HN: (Squinting his gorgeous blue eyes into the bright sunlight that is causing all the sweat on his pecs to glisten like a shimmering ocean of manliness) That's great! I'd love to!
Me: (Entirely unfazed by his gorgeousness) Um, yeah, and if you have a girlfriend or anything, you can bring her, too.
HN: (Expression of concern on his face) Oh, no, I don't have anyone like that. Not at all. That woman with the kid is just my sister. I'm, uh, quite single.
Me: (giggling again, and flipping perfectly-coiffed hair) Oh. Ok. That sounds....perfect. 6pm, then?
HN: (Casually rubbing his six-pack) Wouldn't miss it for the world!
That's how it goes in my head, anyway.
Unfortunately, I seriously doubt this scene will ever take place. Not because it's too cold to do shirtless yard work this time of year, but because the Mystery Girl (henceforth referred to as "The Skank") has made another appearance. Now, now, I'm sure she's a perfectly nice girl. And I don't have any proof that they are dating. But it just makes me feel better to call her The Skank. It's my blog. I can call her whatever I want.
I got home from work last Friday, to see Hot Neighbor and The Skank running around, putting luggage from her car into his car. They were going somewhere. Together. Overnight.
Coincidentally (I swear! Not planned!), I was walking Sammy when I saw all this. I managed to catch the tail-end of her cell phone conversation. She and HN were running around, like I said, parking cars and transferring things--they seemed to be in a huge hurry. They were late for something. So, of course, I want to know what's going on, and I begin to try and listen in. The Skank said to someone on her phone, "...Hot Neighbor and I are trying to get to my parents' house before..."
Did ya get that? "MY parents' house". As in, NOT Hot Neighbor's parents, but HER parents. She didn't say OUR. She said HER. As in, "My parents want to meet you, Hot Neighbor, because you are an incredible specimen of a man and they really want us to get married and have lots of babies, so they want us to visit them next weekend so they can begin calling you 'Son'."
HN and The Skank were gone until late Sunday night. And then last night, the Mystery Kid arrived around dinner time in HN's car. I assume The Skank picked up the Mystery Kid after I went to sleep at 10:30. If they aren't dating, why is he babysitting her kid?
And that's how she earned her nickname: The Skank. I'm sure she's a very nice girl. But right now, I think I hate her.