Steve the Landlord

I've been doing a little bit of cat-sitting lately - a small favour for my friends C&G, who have looked in on my feline Spawn of Satan on occasion. And as a result, I have now met Steve the Landlord, who lives in the apartment below C&G's. Here's how we met:

On the first day of my cat-sitting stint, I arrived at the house to find Steve in the front yard mucking around in the garden. I introduced myself as the cat-sitter and proceeded to the front door where I fumbled around with the alleged front-door key like the mechanically challenged nitwit that I am. Steve, who appeared to be a COMPLETELY NORMAL PERSON, noticed that I was having trouble with the keys and offered to let me into the house.

I went upstairs, did the usual cat-sitting-related activities, watered the plants, and headed downstairs. Then, I knocked on Steve's door to let him know that I was leaving (so that he could lock the door behind me). And when he answered the door...

STEVE WAS NAKED.

Not just a little naked. But freshly-showered-with-a-towel-slung-over-his-shoulder naked. On purpose naked. Steve's junk was just a'wavin' in the breeze:

Me [oh my god, are you NAKED?]: Oh. Um. You're... Hi... uh, hi there! Sorry to bother you!

Steve: Oh don't worry, you're not bothering me.

Me [Jesus Christ, you ARE naked. What the FUCK?]: I just wanted to let you know that I'm... uh. I'm leaving! So I guess you can lock the door when you, um, when you get a minute.

Steve: Okay, thanks. Do you need me to let you in again tomorrow?

Me [What, so that I can see your unsightly testicles hanging there like the last chicken in the shop again tomorrow? I think not]: NO! No, no. I'll get a set of keys from someone else. Thanksforyourhelpbyenow.

Steve [waiving enthusiastically]: Bye!

Steve taped an apologetic letter to the front door the next day, which I appreciated. But the official explanation was that I 'caught him off guard'. Uh... yeah. What the fuck, Steve? Ever heard of using the little known phrase 'just a second'?

Surprisingly, the top response to this story has been 'Was he cute? Is he single?' But you know what, Internet? I'm pretty sure The Dude is not someone who greets strangers at the door in his alltogethers.

Updates

The Lead Guitarist
Well. I finally decided on A's 'balls out' approach to the LG situation and just asked him if he wanted to meet up. The reply from LG was that he would definitely love to set something up (YES), but he will also be busy all summer (WHAT?). The Wing Woman asserts that LG is actually busy all summer and has a variety legit/complicated issues to contend with that will get in the way of his doing any summertime dating. I strongly suspect LG is employing Dating Guideline Number Three. Either way, a date with LG is probably not on the horizon. I have officially put the ball in LG's court and now I'm walking away. Perhaps he will bean me in the back of the head with the ball and take us all by surprise. But if I were you, I wouldn't wait for it.

Hobbits
Conversation my friend had with her autistic son after discussing The Hobbit Story with him:

Mom: So what did we learn from this story?

Son: If a hobbit comes to the door and I manage to catch him, don't lock him in my room.

The Interwebs
Did you know that going on eleven frillion blind dates with single guys who are mainly employed in the tech industry and consequently are a thousand times better at writing HTML than conversing with a real live woman can remove your Will to Live? Yeah. I took a little break from the interwebs dating over the past month. This freed up my time for some very important activities:

1. Season Six of The Sopranos.
2. Drinking multiple gin and tonics (with cucumber) in the back yard with impunity, having no place to drive to or be sober for in the foreseeable future.
3. Sorting out of differences with The Cat: we had a very terrible fight over my repeated absences, wherein we both said and did things we regretted such as biting (him), name calling (me), and throwing large plastic cat toys (me again). My dating hiatus has allowed us to cement our reconciliation. And by reconciliation, I mean that the biting, name calling and throwing is back down to reasonable levels.

But now that The Sopranos have all been whacked (Don't stop! Bel---eiiiiving.....), the Hendrick's supply is depleted and The Cat is launching fewer after-work greetings in the manner of Cato (wherein I am forced into the surprise role of Inspector Clouseau), it is time to put ProngTwo back into action.

I'm meeting up with Hurratio XVII at Margret tonight, 8pm.

The Lead Guitarist

Well. ProngTwo has been suspended in a state of panic while I dither about The Lead Guitarist. It appears that I may have Fucked Things up Big Time by emailing him in a vague overly-cool way, leading him to believe that I am mostly interested in recruiting him as an audience member for my band. Shit shit shit.

My band is admittedly really awesome. But I'm not part of the band so I can Break Out and Get Signed and Make It. I just like hanging out and playing great tunes and putting on the occasional show for friends and family. My dreams to be a Famous Rock Star died a natural death in my early twenties. As they should. So the only reason that I even mentioned the band to the Lead Guitarist was so that I could establish that I am also Super Cool and HEY! we both play in bands for fun don'twehavesomuchincommon!? Which seemed like a great strategy. Until the email exchanges went like this:

Lead Guitarist: Hey! Great to see you! Your band sounds cool, too. Let me know if you have any gigs, and I'll come out and see you.

Me: Gigs gigs gigs, blah blah blah, I'm so cool that I'll pretend that I'm emailing you just because you asked about my band, blar-de-blar, dates for gigs that you will not be able to attend.

LG: I can't make it to any of those gigs. But let me know if you have any other shows coming up.

Me: Sure. I'll definitely let you know. Totally.

LG: Yeah, do that.

Me: ...

So now we have nothing more to say to each other on the gig front since there are definitely no more gigs to invite LG out to. Who knows what I should do next? Lots of people, as it turns out! Here's the advice I've accumulated so far:

T: Wait a week. Then invite him to a music-related event. Preferably one featuring your musician friends.

Colin: Don't mention the gigs any more. Just ask him out for a drink. Send the email on Wednesday.

Hot Chicca Co-worker: Don't email him back at all. Let him ask you out.

The Wing-Woman [a friend of LG's]: We'll plan a BBQ and invite both of you. That way you'll have a chance to get to know each other without any pressure. [Glitch: the BBQ may never be scheduled given WW's insane schedule]

My Boss: You should just enjoy being single. Once you get married and have kids you'll NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN.

The Cat: Watch me kick the shit out of this stuffed puppy!

My Mom: Just be yourself, Honey. Who wouldn't love you!?

A: Go Balls Out. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but perhaps a retraction of sorts. Something like... "At the risk of being too bold... since I won't be playing any shows in the near future... maybe we could get together anyway, you know, for a drink or something..."

Me: ACK!

So. Time to weigh in, people. No idea is too outrageous. I'll just be over here checking my email every 30 seconds in case LG decides to spontaneously send a message to That Insane Chick From Last Friday.

Breaking News: ProngTwo is NOT dead inside

So after about a frillion dates with guys I've wanted to flee from as fast as... um... shit. What's something that's really fast? A cheetah. Yeah. I wanted to flee from those guys like a cheetah. No wait. No wait. I'm a gazelle and THEY are the cheetahs. And I'm fleeing because instead of being all sleek and cool and awesome like cheetahs, they're actually more like jackals with their slobbery crooked teeth and weird anti-social idiosyncrasies...

You know what? Never mind that whole metaphor. Gazelles, cheetahs, jackals. Just scrap that whole bit. I'm nothing like a gazelle. I mean, who are we kidding? I don't even run for the bus; I just take my time and wait for the next one to show up.

ANYWAY. After going on all of those bad dates, I was beginning to wonder if the problem wasn't so much the guys as the possibility that the old Slightly Blackened Heart-of-Gold has been kicked around a few too many times by the Douchebags of ProngTwo Yesteryear. Maybe these guys I've been hanging out with are totally awesome, but I just can't see that because I'm basically dead inside. Which, you know... not great for the overall success of Prong Two.

But then! This weekend I met The Lead Guitarist, a long-time friend of The Lawyer and The Lawyer's Wing-Woman. And you know what? The Lead Guitarist did not activate the cheetah/gazelle reflex. At all. In fact, I may have done that retarded little arm-pumping action when I saw that he emailed me on Sunday. Though probably not. I mean, what kind of loser does that stupid arm-pumping action anyway? Pfftt. (Probably) Not me. In all likelihood, I am the picture of email-receiving coolness. AS FAR AS YOU KNOW.

All this to say that regardless of how things progress with The Lead Guitarist, I'm very relieved to report that despite all the abuse the Slightly Blackened Heart-of-Gold has weathered, it's still functioning within normal parameters. Which may or may not include arm-pumping. Or whatever.

Set Up with Control Issues Man

I've enlisted my friends for help with Prong Two. Mostly, this involves listening to hours of my complaining about the idiocy of the Horatios, which I appreciate very much. But also, some of my friends have gone even further by agreeing to arrange Set Ups with likely candidates. Don't think I haven't noticed your darty eyes and sweat-stained arm-pits when I've asked you set me up, you poor hapless Friends of ProngTwo. I get it: Set Ups are a risky business for everyone involved - things can go awry and then The Friend can get blamed for the results.

THEREFORE: I hereby promise not to blame you if your acquaintance from the ping-pong club turns out to be one of those guys who talks to his Mom seventeen times per day and spends the majority of the date explaining how my personality is substandard in comparison to hers. (I do not promise to refrain from writing about Momma's Boy here, though. If I have to sit through that crap, I reserve the right to make pithy remarks about it.)

Which leads me to... Control Issues Man (CIM).

I met CIM through my very obliging friend The Baker (Retired). The Baker (Retired) golfs with CIM's best friend. Conversations ensued, email addresses were forwarded and BAM... CIM and I were exchanging emails. So far, so good. Until the night of the date.

Conversation One (via phone)
Me: So... what time do you want to meet?

CIM: I'd like to watch some of the hockey game, so maybe a little later on?

Me: Yeah, that sounds great. After the game?

CIM: Possibly. Call me after the end of the 2nd period and we can discuss.

Me: Oh. Okay. Um... talk to you later.

Conversation Two (via phone)
Me [at 2nd intermission]: So, what do you think? Should we meet up?

CIM: Okay, let's meet at Gate 403 in my neighbourhood.

Me: Sure, sounds great.

CIM: How are you getting there?

Me: I think I'll drive.

CIM: Cab or transit is a better idea. I can tell you how to get there by transit.

Me: Oh, that's okay. I think I've got it.

CIM: So you're taking transit?

Me: Um... no. I think I'll drive.

CIM: Oh. Transit would be better. Or cab.

Me: ...okay... well. See you at 9:30ish?

CIM [sighing audibly]: No. How about you call me when you're close?

Me: uh... really? Okay.

Conversation Three (via phone)
Me [having parked my car]: So... I'm here.

CIM: Have you parked your car?

Me: ... yes.

CIM: Where did you park it?

Me [starting to get annoyed]: ... um.... on the street. On Roncesvalles.

CIM: Are you sure you're parked legally?

Me [in a forced cheerful tone]: YEP!

CIM: Did you check?

Me: Are you at the bar now? I'll just hang up and meet you!

Conversation Four (at the bar)
Me [gesturing with the straw from my gin and tonic]: ...blah blah blah, my job, blar de blar...

CIM: [reaches across the table, takes the straw OUT OF MY HANDS and places it on the table next to his drink] There. That's better.

Me: Oh. I'm sorry. Was I bothering you?

CIM: Yeah. I hate it when people fidget. Don't worry. It's not a big deal. I just won't let you have any more straws. And since you drove instead of taking transit LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, I guess you won't be having any more drinks anyway. So problem solved.

Me: ...

I hit CIM with GNTEP at the end of the date. He still suggested we get together again sometime soon and promised to call later that weekend. I was appropriately vague (progress!) Which is probably why he sent me an email later that week telling me that he thought we'd be better off as 'friends'. In accordance with Guideline Number Two, I didn't reply. Obviously.

So. Bring on the Set Ups, Bitches. Do you think you know The Dude? Or alternately, do you know someone who will make excellent fodder for a ProngTwo post? Shoot me a message and we'll hook it up, yo. No in-betweeners, though. It's the boring ones that kill me.

Hi, I'm Colin

My good friend Colin is also single. Sometimes we trade advice. For instance, Colin has advised me that no guy wants me to wear a turtleneck sweater on a first date. Also, maybe I shouldn't mention the cat until the third or fourth date. Or possibly, avoid mentioning the cat at all until I'm sure the guy is really, really into me. And then introduce the cat in small doses so that the guy doesn't flee in terror when confronted with Satan in Feline Form. Duly noted, Colin.

In exchange, I've been advising Colin that a little confidence goes a long way. Take Dubai Man for instance: sure, he was CRAZEE. But he still ended up with my number because he had the cojones to ask for it. Colin is awesome and non-crazy. And don't we all want more awesome non-crazy guys asking us out? YES. Yes, we do.

Colin: So, I just walk up to the girl and ask her for her number?

Me: Sure. Or ask her if you can buy her a coffee.

C: I can't do that!

Me: You can't? Why not?

C: What if she says 'no'?

Me: Um... then you go on with your day?

C: Oh. Huh. I see what you mean. Yeah, I like this idea! So what do I say?

Me: You say 'Hi, I'm Colin. I'd love to buy you a coffee sometime. Can I get your number?'

C: Yeah. Actually, that sounds GOOD.

Me: Okay, great! You wanna practice it? I'll be the girl.

C: Yeah! Okay.... Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, Miss. I was just wondering if...

Me: What? STOP. "'I'm sorry to bother you, Miss'? What are you, a butler? You sound like a weenie. 'Hi, I'm Colin. I'd love to buy you a coffee sometime. Can I get your number?' That's all you have to say.

C: Okay. Let me try again. "Hi, excuse me, how's it going? I'm wondering if I could get your number?"

Me: No, Dude. Don't water things down with the 'excuse me' stuff. 'Hi, I'm Colin' That's your opening. 'Hi, I'm Colin'.

C: Okay, okay. Let's see... Hi, can I interrupt you for a sec...

Me: DUDE! 'Hi, I'm Colin.'

C: Right! Okay! I can get this! Hi, I'm Colin and I'm sorry to... oh CRAP.

Me: ...

C: ...

Me: It's okay. I'll write it out for you and we'll practice again later.