"If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, then you'll probably never do much of anything."


From the corner of my eye, I saw him peering over at me, at first very inconspicously and then a bit less inconspicously. I kept my head down as my eyes darted back and forth, breezing through paragraph after paragraph without interruption. Except, of course, the knowledge that the dark haired stranger in seat number 23C couldn't take his eyes off of me. Naturally, I was at ease lounging comfortably in my usual window seat. I've just about perfected the exact angle necessary between seat and head, as to avoid excruciating neck pain lasting for days following a flight. This particular afternoon I was flying Delta; I've had my fair share of different airlines, and I can honestly say this one wasn't too bad. The blue seats were solid royal blue, which I was quite impressed with because a solid royal blue, no matter how corny, is inevitably better than the chinsy party print I've seen in some. That explosion of hot pink, yellow and green zig zags, triangles and polka dots is enough to make anyone burst into a sudden seizure.

I was on my return trip from San Diego, California. And anyone who is even remotely intelligent (or even on morphine, for that matter) knows that Pennsylvania, where I live, and California are rather far apart. Thousands of miles far apart. Which is why I decided to bridge the gap and go for the weekend. Yes, just the weekend.

Half days on Fridays are amazing. I left at noon and was at the airport by three--hours in advance for my 5:55pm domestic flight. That was OK, though, because I wasn't going to be anybody's fool; it was Friday after all...soooo I did what any other 22 year old in an airport with time to kill would do--The Beer Garden!

The trip turned out to be fantastic (all one and a half days of it). I saw some sights and, more importantly, laid out on the beach all day Saturday. It was sickingly obvious how much I did not fit into San Diego. Everyone who I've ever met from California used to emphatically tell me: "You BELONG in San Diego, Ashley! You would love it there!" However, judging from the 60 year olds rollerblading by in their bikinis, who had some of the nicest bodies I've ever even SEEN... I think not. I am, and will forever be, Domino's biggest fan. (Has anyone tried their new brownies yet?! Ambirge and Ambirge give it two thumbs up) I am, and will forever have, ice cream cravings. (That I vehenemtly refuse to deny) I am, and will forever probably be, a size six instead of a two. (Which is OK with me) And therefore, I am not, and will forever probably not be, a San Diegan.

Anyway, getting back to the dark haired creepy guy who wasn't creepy at first, but rather cute. He reminded me so much of my friend Juan Carlos in Costa Rica. They could have been brothers. I actually stared at him too for a minute just to make sure. Wouldn't you know I had to go and start flirting; I couldn't resist! Next thing you know, I have ordered some wine (which always comes in a bottle) and oh-so-conveniently couldn't seem to unscrew the cap. Enter dark-haired almost cute but actually creepy guy. An oh-so-polite request turned into a 30 minute long psychotherapy session--him badgering me with the grimy (and uninteresting) details of his long distance relationship (again, Pennsylvania to California is quite a stretch, even for the most devoted of lovers) and me wondering what the hell I got myself into. I almost laughed out loud when he told me he met her through a phone dating service. As soon as I heard that, I instinctively knew. Creepy, not cutie.

So then we played ring around the rosie; he kept trying to talk to me, and I kept trying to give him the hint. I know you know what I mean when I say "the hint." We've all tried to give the hint to someone, and we've all met that special someone that just doesn't get "the hint." Nonverbals are essential elements necessary for an effective hinting...but sometimes that isn't even enough for our special someone. I mean, do they honestly think they should dive into yet another tanget when you haven't even made solid eye contact with them for the last five minutes straight? Do they think that those short, curt, unenthused "mhmms" and "uh huhs" are actually code for "You're so fascinating it just takes my breath away and I can barely utter a sentence?" No. That's not it. You, sir, are nonverbally challenged.

...another one bites the dust...