You have been so patient, dear readers.

This blog is ostensibly about dating and going out but you have endured all my posts on LOST, 30 Rock, and a dvd on string theory. Yeah, you know you’re in a dry spell when you voluntarily watch Nova specials on physics. I DON’T EVEN LIKE SCIENCE!

But these days there has been an extra spring in my step. I break out into giggles for no apparent reason in the middle of the work day or even during a shower. I have a perpetual grin on my face like some crazed cult member.

It was raining in New York yesterday and I skipped along the puddles like they were streams of gold! A cab drove by and drenched me in puddle water–just like in the movies!!!–and I didn’t care!!! I just continued walking and grinning!

What, pray tell, could be the source of all this… happiness???

I got ass.

At first I was reluctant to post the steamy details of my private life on a VERY PUBLIC INTERWEB BLOG but then I thought…hello, when do I ever write about fun stuff life this? Have you READ my blog for the past SIX MONTHS?? Can you even remember the last time I was even in the same room with a guy??? Do you think I’d be reading LOST blogs if I was getting all this ass??? NO. So I am riding this booty train for as long as I can. Literally. Ha.

So unless you are just tuning in, you may remember that I have cultivated a sorta crush on a certain bartender at a restaurant in my hood. (Some states call it stalking but I call it an infatuation!)

I still remember the first time I saw him. He served me a beer and right then and there I knew I had to have him. HE WILL BE MINE! I declared. I don’t know what it was about him. We barely exchanged two words. I had no idea if he was clever or funny. But he was dark and brooding and looked like he could slap you across the face and then make passionate love to you. Ummmm, not that I think about these things while sipping a beer.

Anyhoosers, for the past couple of months, I would show up to the bar, hoping he’d be there to flirt with. But I wasn’t very successful. Believe it or not, despite all the sassafras in this blog, I am actually very shy and insecure!!!

And it also didn’t help that I would show up to the place with like ten of my friends and we’d burst out into raucous laughter everytime he walked by. I guess some people don’t find that very inviting! But by going there all the time we ended up making friends with the other bartender and owner and they made us feel like this was our living room. Don’t you use your living room to sample different beers for several hours?

So last Friday Sabbie leaves me a message saying that we should meet at the bar at 7:30 but that I should show up earlier and talk to my bartender. Brilliant! Isn’t Sabbie like the best booty strategist??

I show up early. And he’s there. I try to assuage my nerves but I can’t help feeling like a freakin loser. I text Sabbie: I FEEL LIKE A LOSER. She writes back something along the lines of “You’re an independent woman who’s confident enough to drink alone” …Ummm that’s the line women use to console themselves when they feel like a fucking loser!

But I talked to him. And it was fine. I think we talked about my job. Yeah, I am Captain Fun Times.

Eventually my crew shows up and we’re drinking margaritas and cava and beer–or maybe it was just ME drinking all of that–and before you know it 7 pm turns into 1 in the morning.

At this point my bartender’s shift has ended and he’s now sitting in front of the bar, talking to some girl.

(Putting my hand in front of my face) HELL-TO-THA-NO. I did NOT work this hard just to have some other hoe take his attention away from me!

I’m telling you, when I am determined to get something, I refuse to let anything get in my way. I may be shy and insecure but I am tenacious.

So the details are a little fuzzy because I have now been drinking for like 8 hours but I do remember him coming over to sit next to me and saying that we should grab drinks somewhere. Sabbie and the rest of the guys leave and she tells me that this is my chance and that I can do it! Yeah, she is the Phil Jackson to my Michael Jordan–or, um, something like that– I don’t watch sports.

We go to this bar next door and sit at a booth and I have like diarrhea of the mouth and I’m just talking, talking, talking and before I know it he is making out with me. Hmmm, how did we go from saying no words at all to making out in the middle of the bar?? Maybe he sensed that I had a crush on him? Maybe he noticed I would come in every week and always sit at the bar and never at a table even though he worked at a restaurant??? Maybe that’s what gave it away???

And we’re kissing and one thing leads to another and by another I mean I wake up the next morning in his apartment in Brooklyn.

BROOKLYN!!!

I remember opening my eyes and feeling all disoriented and then looking over and seeing his body next to me. And then I had that feeling of…WHAT….THE…..FUCK?!?! I was trying to figure out a way to sneak out but I had no clue where I was. I could hear planes flying overhead. Where the fuck was I???

Then he woke up and I think he must have noticed the look of utter terror in my face because he grabbed me and kissed my neck. And I relented. Okay, maybe I’ll stay a little while longer…

When he fell asleep again, I could not stop staring at him and drooling. I couldn’t believe that my fantasy actually materialized. And why is it that the best fantasies always involve service men like the cabana boy or the bartender? And never the hedge fund guy??

So I continued to stare at him for like the rest of the afternoon.

We ended up going to brunch.

You know, for all the shit I gave him for being FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME, he actually behaved more like a gentlemen than any of the 30 year olds I’ve been with.

And at the end of the brunch he asked:

So can I get your number?
No.
I promise I won’t call you.
Okay, then I’ll give it to you.

And after brunch, he walked me to the train station and said, “It’s been swell.”

Yeah, real swell. SWOON.

And off I went to the train. Grinning like a crazy person. Skipping like a school girl. I really don’t understand how the term “walk of shame” evolved (probably a sorority in America somewhere) but trust me when I say there was absolutely no shame in this game. I felt like I just won the freakin booty Olympics.

It’s been a week and he hasn’t called. I’m not holding my breath. (Although I can hold my breath for a very long time.) The pragmatic part of me wants him NOT to call because I know that I should not be spending my time galavanting with a 23 year old bartender. I mean, women my age are seeking their soul mates not play mates!

And then the playful part of me wants him to call so I can, like, stare at him while he sleeps and wipe the drool off my chin.

So what do you think, dear readers? Does this mean I can never go back to the restaurant so that I can keep my pride intact? Should I move on to a more age appropriate, hedge fund type of guy?

Well, who cares for now. I’m still grinning like a crazy person. I think that one night will have me basking for months.