Two weeks ago, I met a friend for lunch at a local bar and grill.

I poked my head in the door of the restaurant and immediately locked eyes with a cute piece of male inside. But I kept my gaze running, taking a few steps in to check for my friend and, not finding her, I turned and went back out in front of the building, leaning against the wall, reading Death With Interruptions (which was excellent, by the way; his dialogue is amazing).

Two minutes later, a man exits the restaurant, walks past me, and strikes up a conversation with a set of younger girls that had just walked by. Another minute or so passes, I'm deep into my book, and the man ends conversation with the girls and starts one with me.

About books.

Because, you know, I was reading.

Smart man.

And I only say "smart man" because I have been interrupted too many times from whatever bit of book that I've buried myself in with the briefest of acknowledgements that I was reading and then suddenly loads of questions about completely unrelated things and there's no smooth transition, only sad lack of conversational skill.

So we start chatting about books, about the few he's read, about the apparent godawfulness of The Secret which I've not bothered to pick up. And as he smoothly transitions, he checks to see if I'm going to be eating at the grill, if I'm meeting someone, if that person is male or female, if she's expected soon, etc.

You know, details.

After establishing that I was meeting a female friend who was, by then, running late, he invites me to join him and his buddy for the wait.

Walk inside, follow him to his table and huh, wouldn't you know, his friend the guy I had a mini-"ooooh"-moment with.

The whole thing was amazingly smooth. Just easy.

So, I sit down across from the target of hotness, my back to the front door (which I never do), next to my occasionally-reading friend, introduce ourselves, and we're off and running in casual conversation-land.

Ten minutes later, my friend shows up.

This, this was the best part for me. Because I know they assumed that my female friend would be like me. My age, my race, my style, etc.

Instead they get the friend I was meeting there: a woman in her late forties, an ex-model who had several injuries that caused her to be about 100-150 pounds overweight due to inability to really move for years. Very confident, very outspoken, two kids, widowed, and likely more sexual experience than I'll ever have unless I suddenly start going out of my way to rack up the numbers.

She's awesome, loves me to death, total fun to be around, always very supportive, makes friends wherever she goes. Really wherever she goes. I went out with her to a transgender bar once and she made friends with this young gay couple, one of which had pippilongstocking braids tattooed over his sternum, and she became their heterosexual wife and they all got smashingly drunk together. And repeated the experience.

So she shows up and they're both, very obviously, surprised.

And since she's got that weight problem and I'm sitting in the most spacious spot, I flip to the other side of the table to join the man with the gorgeous eyes.

You know, because I'm generous. So generous. And thoughtful.

Yeah, that's it.

Ten minutes of awkwardness ensued while they tried to recover their game, my friend and I chattering away, catching up, planning things. Eventually they slide in and things become a bit more mellow. I watch as my chosen partner starts to mimic my body language.

Bueno.

After awhile, they pay their bill and take off. Of course, before they go, we "have" to swap phone numbers, as I've let them know that I live quite nearby and am still trying to learn the city, learn where the hot spots are, have friends to go with.

My friend and I continue talking, finally calling for our bill, and discover that they've already paid it. Awwwwww.

She also took the time to make fun of me as, when she walked in, my back was to the door, as I mentioned, and I was sitting with two men, so she didn't register me for a minute.

And then she registered the two men.
And my hair.
And realized it was me, of course.
Figures, she said.

I bring this up because, yesterday, the guy I was so physically enamoured with finally texted me to ask me out.

Am I interested?

Well, I don't really know him. He looks around my age, so that's against him, not because I love the older men but because young tends to mean inexperienced. He does something I hate already, texting using the "u" and "ur" and "lol". Jeez, stop already.

I mean, it's basic stuff. If you're talking with someone, you mimic their body language to connect, usually subconciously. If you're texting with someone, you don't have that body language. All you have is how they talk, how they structure their sentences, their word choice. So you mime that. Which means if you're texting with a 19 year old girl and she's dropping the "u" and the "ur" and the "wazzup" then you do the same. And if you're texting with me or someone like me, with the near perfect spelling and grammar, you do the same.

Anyhow...

So he asked me out. For a Friday or Saturday. Ooh, baby.

Unfortunately, those days are rarely open for me, especially for a first date that I doubt will be followed by a second unless he surprises me.

I'm still hinged on GV8.

Of course I am.

And what am I supposed to say to potential suitors? "I'm sorry, but my last boyfriend was this ex-con that went legit and made himself into a successful millionaire, has slept with over 400 women if we're just talking straight intercourse, was the best lover I've ever had, shifts the world when he needs to and we're both still in love with each other and that leaves little room for entertaining thoughts of you"?

Hi, I'm V, an icy, inaccessable tundra. How's it going?