And Then There Were...Five?

I'm still totally perplexed about the M2 situation. The "situation," of course (as if I haven't already explored it ad nauseam) being whether I should or should not continue to date a man who, on Christmas morning, bestowed upon me both a diamond necklace and Hickory Farms Snack Pak.

Neither were a joke.

(He said he knew I liked cheese.)

Fortunately, while I wait for my feelings and concerns and thoughts and doubts about what should clearly be our time-limited future as a couple to somehow magically sort themselves out with no effort put forth on my end, I've got 'em stacking up two-deep at the door.

I am clearly no longer on hiatus.

I saw Z again yesterday. Ordinarily, I'd call it Date #2 but I'm still trying to decipher the vibe. What I can say with some degree of certainty is that I never fathomed a trip to Jiffy Lube and Batteries Plus could be so joyous. I could create chemistry with a guy who routinely makes tears stream from my eyes while I'm doubled over with laughter, couldn't I? Even easier if he's the very same fella who showed up at our second "whatever" with a gift of two books that I apparently must read and a lovely scarf from his compulsive-knitter of a Jewish mother, right? No doubt I've told myself bigger lies when I've desperately wanted to will something to work out between me and some dude with far less to offer, not to mention a sufficiently less-developed sense of humor, than Z.

Lucky for me, he's not going anywhere so, in the meantime, I'm going to explore the dangerous notion of shitting where I eat. Or dating where I work. Or whatever.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the next 36 to 72 hours, I will be on Date #1 with J, a grad student studying something both computerish and sciencey that god willing he'll never bring up in conversation lest it expose the ugly reality that beneath my seemingly witty and marginally worldly veneer lurks a girl who has like no knowledge whatsoever about anything of consequence. Here's hoping.

J suffers from a high degree of self-described geekitude which, despite my apparent penchant for dating motorcycle-riding 25 year olds and man-boys with jewelry and/or body art who make bongs for a living, totally turns me on. We've exchanged a few sufficiently witty emails and traded pics. Bypassing second base entirely (which, in the realm of online dating, equates with the first phone call), we'll be rounding third and meeting over coffee any day now.

I'll then be moving on to S. He lives about 45 minutes north, so there's the obvious geographical challenge...he also has a tendency to talk about the gym in every conversation, which I suspect could present a compatibility problem or two down the road. But he's an east coaster, seems fairly intelligent, and...well... aside from the obvious allure (?) of dating someone who looks like he could bench press me if he was so inclined...why the hell not?

D, an artist, is also in the queue. Technically, he lives in SoCal but is originally from my mid-sized town and will be moving back this spring. He's in my neck of the woods visiting family until the first week of January. We may go out. I don't really care.

Which brings us to M3.

M3, the super-duper cute boy from the big city up north, returns from Hawaii today. He's been incommunicado during his trip which, I have to say, really came at a rather inopportune time, what with our amazing email exchanges right up until the eve of his departure and all.

Before he left, M3 set my anal retentive heart aflutter by illustrating obsessive compulsive personality traits of his very own by not only confirming the timing of our first date (which, mind you, at this point was well over two weeks away) but also by facilitating a discussion of what the date would actually entail. I put forth a series of options which, linked together and if enough alcohol is involved, could easily translate to spending the entire afternoon and part of the evening together. Unless, of course, my aptitude for sniffing out at least the initial viability of potential suitors is totally on the fritz and it all goes sideways. Given the occasional poor decision slash lapse in good judgment that I've been known to exercise over the past six months (Who me?!?), I suppose anything is possible. But something tells me I'm going to like this one a lot.

Because he lives two hours away.

And he's 5'8".

T-minus five days, one hour and 46 minutes.