Crush

There's a new guy in the building. Blandly handsome and nice, likes dogs, and hopefully also likes girls (one can never assume, especially here in Philly). Every single time I've seen him, including the first time I met him, I have been several degrees left of my normal blandness, near awful. So much so, I'm not sure he would recognize me looking normal, never mind on-purpose hot. I haven't thought much of him since I first met him at 2 am looking like what someone would look like at 2 am when they don't expect to run into anyone. I'm not even sure I had a bra on and I definitely need a bra. Always. And my hair.... But he likes dogs and my dog felt like visiting so we chatted for a bit.

I haven't seen him in weeks but ran into him last night coming in wearing a tux. Very Bruce Wayne (BW will be his blog moniker). Tonight I saw him again but this time I was with OG. He held the door for us and we just smiled like Cheshire cats. When we knew he was in the elevator OG started gushing about how cute he was and how he definitely wasn't gay. Her validation of his desirability was all it took for him to move from random cute guy to mini-crush. In my 'things-I-would-do-if-I-knew-I-had-one-week-to-live' list, I would simply pop upstairs knock on his door and invite him out for a drink. If he didn't want to, cool beans.

What I find psychologically interesting is that I've got two guys interested in me from the dating sites and I find myself wanting to remain available for the guy in apartment 8G who doesn't even know I exist. Baffling. Not really baffling in the sense that I'm completely in the dark about the experiential and personality issues lurking in that response, just baffling that it is so automatic, I have to manually override it. The mind digs deep troughs...