Muscles

So, date #2 in this fine experiment is with a guy who, at first glance, doesn't seem like my type at all. Well, apart from the sexy muscles which is most DEFINITELY my type. He's a redhead (I prefer them dark), has only one picture of him facing the camera, has cats (wha?), and seems a bit metro/fratty for me. I try to reserve my judgement and remember that love comes in all shapes and sizes. And I like it in big muscley packages.

I had never looked at his profile but he IM'ed me on the dating site and I chat with him a bit. His sarcasm matches mine which is an important trait. I look to see what he does and it says real estate/financial/accounting. Ok, sounds promising. No income listed. Uh oh. Either filthy rich or excessively poor. Those muscles didn't grow themselves so I'm guessing it's the latter. Damn. Oh well, I'll take one for the blog!

After a few weeks (Yes, weeks!) of communication, our date has arrived. I'm not nervous for this date at all because of the long gchats and multiple text messages that have been exchanged. I mean heck, we already have inside jokes and we haven't met yet! We're meeting for casual drinks in Hollywood at a bar I suggested. Home turf, nice.

I arrive (late, of course) and am happy to see that he is ACTUALLY 6'1 like he said in his profile. Score one point for the meathead! Oooh, he also smells delicious. BIG plus. Conversation bumps along a little awkwardly at first as it does whenever you are meeting someone for the first time, but soon smoothes itself out nicely.

Things are going along swimmingly when I feel a "pop!" and things in my chest area suddenly feel slightly unbalanced. I am not well endowed in the cleavage by any stretch of the imagination but it only takes me a second to realize that my halter bra has come undone. Shit, shit, shit. There is no inconspicuous way to fix this. I shift my weight to the opposite side hoping I might be able to mask it for a few minutes and praying he'll have to go to the bathroom since he's on his second beer. Minutes go by, I'm having a hard time keeping the anxious look off my face, and he's staying put. Come on dude, I thought steroids were diuretics. Balancing all the weight on one shoulder must've pushed said bra to capacity because suddenly the other side pops too. I am seconds away from looking like Tara Reid at an awards show. I have no choice but to adjust myself. Smooth, LL, smooth.

He's a gentleman and ignores my obvious replacing of my goods. Whew. I've noticed that we have been moving closer to each other as the night progresses. Excellent. The chemistry between us is natural, he's a great conversationalist and I'm having a good time. He asks for the bill just as I'm starting to get tired of being "on", which is another plus in his "pro" column.

He walks me to my car which I valeted and gives me a long hug. Ohhhhh my. His muscles and his cologne are making me quite weak in the knees. Quick kiss on the mouth but nothing inappropriate in front of the valet guy. All's well that ends well.

I liked him. Again I'm not blown away hoping against hope that he'll call, but I had fun. I preferred this date to the first, despite my friends' warnings that I will never last with someone who doesn't make a ton of money and appears to not have a lot of direction in life. But what do they know?! Maybe I'll be perfectly happy living in a one bedroom apartment with a cat writing long blogs and cooking him dinner with food from the local co-op.

Hey, it could happen, right?

Whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to shop,
LL