Date #3: It's all about the pants

Recently I began 'hanging out' with a guy who first contacted me online. It wasn't through Match.com or Lavalife or eHarmony or any of these 'dating sites'. It was through 'Friendster'. So...a 'friend site', if you will. (Which will prove to be quite prophetic). He commented on my taste in music, I commented on his hair, and the friendster-ship was born. We exchanged two very casual emails. Soon we began spotting each other in and around the city. Finally, after three such sightings, he suggested it was "...the universe's way of telling us we should get together for a drink." Not being one to ever go against the universe or it's urgings (especially when a cocktail is involved), I was happy to oblige. One problem: At the time I was still dating the Camarro driving, shot glass collecting, eHarmony match numero uno. Pfft. I put a reluctant kabash on the cocktails and sent him the email equivalent of a handshake and a "nice knowin' ya".

But oh, what a difference a day makes. Or, in this case, three days.

After taking three days to fully recover from the bruises made to my ego, I emailed him. Three days after that we were sitting outside one of our neighborhood bars (for it was discovered we live blocks from each other) enjoying a beer and talking about music, our day jobs and various tales involving poop. (Ok, so HE was telling me tales about poop.) Which sounds sick when I type it out, but was actually squirt-beer-out-your-nose funny at the time. Really! We ended up going back to his place to listen to music and talk and finish off a bottle of wine. Later he walked me home and we parted with a hug. We've 'hung out' several times since then, always enjoying each other's company (he thinks I'm hysterically funny and smart - which are both obvious qualities, I know - but so few seem to get that), always walking me home, and always ending in a hug.

I read somewhere once that men and women can't be 'just friends' because inevitably someone wants to get in the other person's skirt or pants and is just hanging around until that day when that skirt or those pants come OFF. Or words to that effect. I thought of that as I spent time with this new friend, trying to decide how I felt about him. Or rather, how I felt about his pants. "I like his pants. They're very nice. They're cut pretty well, hang nicely and seem very comfy. But perhaps his pants look better ON him. And should stay on him." And so it went. He's a musician, working in a day job that he hates. He loves good food, good music, the Cubs, and Dairy Queen. (I know what you're thinking - he's an enabler. But I don't have a problem, ok?!) He dishes out tough love, has a sincere interest in what I'm trying to do here, and most importantly: HE'S ABOVE 6 FEET TALL. 6'4" to be exact. My once woefully neglected 2 inch heels are outta the closet and back on the street - they (and I) couldn't be happier. Not only that, but there's a certain indescribable sense of femininity that a girl feels when in the company of someone who is so tall. I call it the Scarlett O'Hara Effect. Put me next to a tall, dashing Rhett Butler of a man and instantly I feel small and feminine, fragile and protected. I start involuntarily batting my eyes, fanning myself, and speaking in a southern accent.

But frankly, my dears, who gives a damn? What is this "friendship" meant to be? And how do I feel about those pants, anyway?

Well. The moment came last night, somewhere between the first bottle of wine and the last spoonful of my (SMALL, ok?) blizzard. The verdict? We are just friends, and his pants look much better ON him. And even though there is a sense of relief that comes from knowing where to 'put' him, there is a bit of sadness, as well. Sadness in realizing that - Oh, poop. Nope, you're not it.

Many of you may be wondering, "Why? He seemed so great!" And the truth is, he IS great. And there are many things I enjoy about him. But there are also certain core values, beliefs and ideals that I hold close to my heart that are non-negotiable (thank you mom and dad), things that I could tolerate in a friend, but not in a boyfriend.

Will I still hang out with him? Sure. Whenever I want to see live music, enjoy my favorite frozen treat, break out my heels, or take a trip to Tara, he's my guy.