A Boy Named "Email"

Okay, technically his name is Emil, not Email, but in my impaired state last night, I coulda sworn I had just met a guy whose name was synonymous with what I believe to be the greatest invention of the 20th century. That and Melon Kamikazes. Anyway, last night marked a moment in time that I believe needs to be celebrated here on my wee little blog. I'm self-endorsing this deviation from my usual "retrospective" storytelling approach in lieu of sharing some real time action.

I went out last night with a friend, M. I'd had great intentions to utilize his sharp wit and fearless nature in the role of Wingman but pickins were slim out there, as tends to often be the case in my mid-sized town. By midnight, with three venues already under our belt and nary a cute boy to speak of, it was time to give up the ghost, as it were, and just drink. I approached the bar, barely noticing the rather hunky, blonde fella sitting to my right. I haven't much of an idea what exactly he said to start the conversation...I have hazy, vodka-soaked memories of some comment about how I resemble someone on the Sopranos...but boy, he sure was cute.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked, nodding his head in M's direction.

"Nope," I replied. (Is this guy trying to pick me up, I wonder? Its all so foreign...the face-to-face human interaction, the live verbal communication, the absence of a high-speed internet connection...)

"I'm Email." (Do I detect an accent?)
"I'm sorry...can you spell that?"
"E-M-I-L."
"Ohhhhhh, Emil...nice to meet you."
"So, can I call you sometime?" (Man, this guy gets right down to business.)

"Of course," I slurred back. And within mere moments, I'd somehow managed to hammer my name and phone number into his phone. He then proceeded to immediately call me, presumably so his number would now be stored in my phone. Guess that's how the kids do things these days. (Shit, how young is this guy anyway?)

"Maybe we can go for a hike?" (What is it about me in this particular moment...dressed in overpriced jeans, a tiny white tank, a black, curve-hugging cashmere cardigan, sparkly shoes and even sparklier lipgloss...that would suggest I'd enjoy going for a hike...like, ever?)

"That'd be great!" (#*$&)

My large beverage arrived so I bid farewell to Email and returned to M, who I'd thoughtlessly left to fend for himself for the past ten to fifteen minutes while I flirted shamelessly. Email departed the bar with his friends a few minutes later, walking behind our table on his way out. He didn't acknowledge me. He probably isn't going to call, I say to M, who concurred with my assessment.

30 minutes later, M and I are back at my place when the phone rings. Its Email. I don't answer. In his voice mail, he very slowly and rather accent-y informs me that apparently he wants to dance with me and can I call him back. Oh, and his friend Alberto is there, too. I snap my phone closed to charge for the night.

Earlier this afternoon, Email calls again, this time to coordinate the details pertaining to our aforementioned and now rather imminent hike. I offer a few compelling reasons why I can't engage in said activity and propose coffee (or just about anything else) instead. So, tonight I'm going to the movies with a boy who picked me up in a bar instead of on the Internet. And I'm damn excited about it.