Play on, Playa'

How does it come to this? I'm a reasonably attractive, intelligent young woman.  I have no drug addictions, communicable diseases, or recently-released-from-prison ex-boyfriends.  Yes, I have a cat, but I almost never pretend that his meows are purposeful replies to my attempts at conversation.  I've got all of this going for me, but the sexiest thing I've done recently is make googly-eyes at my attractive-but-flaming mailman.

Before you start setting me up on blind dates with your Cousin Al, let me reassure you that I'm not really one of "those girls."  I don't spend my time flipping through the latest issue of Modern Bride fantasizing about my special day and bemoaning the lack of beef cake in my life.  In general I'm content being single.  I like sleeping in my own bed and eating popsicles for breakfast without anyone judging me.  That being said, I may have crossed a line.  Since I moved in with my little brother I've spent the majority of my free time drinking beer and playing Wii in my apartment.  There's a fine line between being happily single and turning into a dude.

I was struck by this last Wednesday night when I was playing pick up basketball at a local church.  I was talking to one of the guys that organizes the game and things were going well.  A little flirtatious banter, some friendly trash talking ... he even invited me to come out for drinks after the game.  Then I got flustered and threw a basketball at his nuts.  Have you ever seen a pretty man cry?  I haven't ended a conversation with a guy so completely and convincingly since junior high.  To add insult to (his) injury, this is the same guy that I thought was hitting on me the first night I played.  He went out of his way to be welcoming by introducing me to people and asking me about myself.  Kismet? Love at first bounce pass? Not so much.  It turns out that Hottie McBall-to-the-Nuts is the pastor of the church where we play.  He was welcoming me as a man of God and not, as I had hoped, as a man who wanted to take me out to dinner and woo me with expensive gifts.  Lucky for me nothing says "I too love the Lord, you should ask me out" like a swift blow to the crotch.

The point is, much like Stella, I need to get my groove back.  I'm not looking for a boyfriend,  and I don't miss going to bars and drinking cocktails while trying to look mysteriously sexy-yet-approachable.  All I need is some proof that I haven't completely lost my touch.  I want to piece together the tattered remnants of my social skills and flirt with a cute guy, or at least have a conversation with a guy and not wonder if he's chatting me up on behalf of the Lord.  Then I'll happily retire to my apartment for some beer and Wii bowling.

~ M