Three worthy, no, four worthy tid-bits occurred today. I shall spill:
1} A trainer at the gym {whom I finally met yesterday and spoke to for less than five minutes} approached me again today and said I spoke with a bit of an accent. Curious, I thought. My alleged Southern drawl has been noticed before {strange, I know} but he flattered me a tad bit more and labeled it as European. God bless him. {Almost as sweet as the photog who said I had a chiseled jaw line.}
2} My good friend {and much older man} said I'm the catch of the century. Boo-yah. Just kidding. Apparently that is not true given my
3} Just this week I was thinking how odd it is that in Denver I don't run into more friends from high school or college. Denver is not that big. But tonight, over art and {my favorite} Pinot Noir, I stumbled across a guy I went to high school AND college with. Our paths haven't crossed in nearly 6 years, so I rather enjoyed our small talk. He married his college sweetheart {of course} and politely asked why I was still single, to which I replied back with a blank stare and mishmash of excuses. But as I noticed a lovely painting of Buddha {which I actually bid on AND won in the silent auction!} I met Lyle, a guy trying way too hard in his suit jacket + vintage tee-shirt. Luckily, I quietly slipped away, and he was never again to be seen.
4} And as the African dancer took to the floor, Lisa and I huddled around to watch. The B.O.B stood across from us, and I secretly admired his cowboy boots, Levi jeans, and vest wardrobe. Clearly I was less than over him {or was it the Pinot talking?}. But, alas, the truth be told; my womanly instinct proved to be on target again. The girlfriend. She exists. The same one who poured my first glass of wine as we exchanged chit chat about uncomfortable heels. I should have known all along, in fact, I was curious about her from day one. Plus, she snowboards, so if that's a deal breaker in the dating world, then sorry, guys, I just don't cut it. {Does a longboard count?!} I stood there slightly shaken as he put his arm around her, kissed her head. I looked away and didn't dare look back; it felt so obvious that I would've noticed. He kissed me the last time we stood in that room, the obligatory kiss when the clock struck midnight. But tonight I came for art, not the guy. Although I did have a funny thought earlier in the day. A sneaking suspicion that something might reveal itself as the night progressed. It made my heart drop. Their kiss sealed the deal. A boy whose feelings for me ceased to exist months ago. A boy whom I was quite content that he didn't choose me. A realization that we would probably never be together, but a slight sliver of hope that it wasn't completely out of the question forever. And even though I wasn't pining for the guy, I didn't know my feelings would be so strong all these months later, at the sight of him, in his element, his artwork on the walls, at an event he was so passionate about. With the girl of his dreams. I know, I SO know, that the words I need to be single right now nicely translate into I'm just not that into you. And I'm sure we'd all like to say otherwise, but I suppose the nail really isn't in the coffin until you see the nail go in the coffin, right? Whew. So I came home with my Buddha painting {I overheard the artist say it was worth way more than my winning $20 bid} and I'm ridding my drawer of that damn expensive vile of beard oil I still own. Because just as the sea is full of fish, it is also covered in fishermen waiting to make that catch.
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