Hot server at dinner last week.
Went back tonight to stalk him.
Possible laundry room meetup.
Friday nights without any plans are usually lonely and boring. Like tonight. So instead of reading dozens of blog feeds and Miss Marple on DVD, I decided to dress up smart, put on my makeup, slip on my black heels, and get some dinner out on my own. I headed to Ruby Tuesday–not by chance, but with a specific master plan in mind.
Back Story: Last week my girlfriend and I had a long, enjoyable dinner at that restaurant before going out to see 3:10 to Yuma. We had a delightful meal and enjoyed the company of our handsome server (deemed “The Hotness”). He gave great eye contact (through the cutest black plastic nerd glasses), was especially friendly, and comped our drinks. I kept checking him out all night, teasing H that I should just get over my fears and tell the guy how fine he was. Everyone wants to know they’re attractive; why not tell them? Well, my inner chicken won out, and H and I left with me still dwelling on how fine he was and how strange it felt to crush on a stranger (a rare occurrence in my life).
Back to this evening. I decided to stalk The Hotness by making sure he was working, getting a table in his section, and enjoying his company all by myself. [Just so you know, this is so not Julia style.]
The plan worked! I found myself eating chips & spinach dip, sipping a Georgia Peach Martini, and chatting it up with Hotness about the Cubs winning against the Reds. He had remembered me from last week, and so I admitted I picked his table on purpose because he was “so nice before” (code for “I wanted to pounce you but decided to avoid the restraining order”). We had a few short talks as I nibbled and as his business slowed down.
He let slip that he had recently broke it off with his girlfriend (cuing the sounds of angel choirs in my head) and was looking for a new apartment. He noticed what town I lived in when I showed him my ID and mentioned that he was moving there. When I inquired as to where he was moving, he described my building. He told me the name of it and my martini glass nearly toppled over.
“You’re not lying?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow and sputtering into my napkin. “That’s where I live!”
“Not lying! Are you serious?” he exclaimed. We just stared in shock for a moment (I think the angel choirs had started taking up tapdancing). We discussed the good and bad points of the building and he encouraged me to come to visit him in the next few weeks at the restaurant to see how his move went (we work opposite hours so I guess we wouldn’t run into each other much in the halls).
The (newly single) Hotness is going to be living within this building! Oh my goodness! So now I can check this guy out in real life without spending a dime. Maybe H and I will bake him a “welcome to the neighborhood” batch of cookies and see how that warms him over ;). I can become a real stalker, but with less bush-hiding creepiness.
It’s too much fun having a crush on a complete stranger … yet odd. For all I know he broke it off with his girlfriend because he’s gay. Or maybe he’s a cheating arsewipe who isn’t worth another thought… but for now he’s the Hotness and he’s moving in! Score!