Stay Puff eyeI noticed him right away. It wasn't so much his dark hair, sexy slim build or his concert t-shirt just tight enough to make me wonder what was underneath. The feature I couldn’t stop staring at were his amazing blue eyes. 
I watched him study the song list with such intensity and found myself wondering if he'd ever look at me that way, and what part of me he'd choose. I'd never been a person who stared, actually thought it downright rude and was surprised that I couldn't take my eyes away. All of these thoughts and feelings rushed through me in a matter of seconds and I found myself still staring when he looked our way. I turned my head, guilty as charged and my friend Jill had noticed.
Sly smile, knowing tone, Jill leaned over to me. "So, which one?"
There was no hiding it, not with Jill anyway. "The one with the sideburns and the big blue eyes." …and the great butt, 
the chiseled face, the perfect smile, the one I could see fathering my children. I used the not-so-obvious way of peering out the corner of my eye that no one ever notices.
"Go up and say something!" That was easy for her to say.
I'd had my share of disappointments, especially when it came to men. I'd been burned, scarred even. I didn’t exactly have much faith left that all men weren't piles of-
"We need another round! It’s your turn to buy." Jill's need to freshen her early alcoholism convinced me she had moved on to bigger and better things than my stagnant, dateless, empty pillowed love life. It had been over a year since I'd even been satisfied by someone other than myself. Wounded as I was, I still took the spot at the bar right behind him, Jill in tow. Maybe he'd notice my butt at least.
I leaned over the bar, one part to get the bartender's attention, two parts to get ANY of his attention. I was standing there, acting calm and collected, imagining him turning around, his eyes wandering up my legs, past my thighs, over my back. I twirled my hair playfully in my fingers, too shy to turn around and too scared he hadn't noticed at all. The bartender could barely hear all the mixed drinks I threw at her and she only messed up a few. I turned around to hand off the overflow of concoctions to Jill and noticed her look. It was the same look a little girl gives to her mother when she's done something naughty.
I went back to the table, dealt out the drinks, took the bartender’s blue version of a Screwdriver for myself and asked Jill "what the hell did you say to him".
"I just told him that you thought he was cute." (Enter flashback to eighth grade here.) "And he gave me a weird look. I'm not sure if he heard me right because then he looked at YOU funny." 
She gave me her best impersonation of a disgusted and annoyed frat boy.
Thank you, Jill. Thank you so much for your tact that alcohol provides. I was still staring in his direction, couldn't keep my eyes off of him, and decided to sit with my back to him in fear of future humiliation or a restraining order. He and his gang did a few songs throughout the evening, had a few more rounds than songs and left before closing time. I left shortly after, more bitter than the drink before. Driving home, I looked on the brighter side. At least I'll never have to see him again.
As fate would have it, I saw him again.
Chapter 2
The night before Thanksgiving is supposedly one of the best nights to go out, even in my little town. Being a nanny, I worked many hours with little vacation time. Oddly enough, I was able to get out of work early, therefore I had plenty of time to get ready (shave my legs). As I was soaking in the tub, my roommate Jeannette knocked on the door to let me know her friend Amanda would also be joining us that night, and that we were out of milk. I hadn't met Amanda but from what I had heard she was fun, confident, and even a little abrasive at times. But it still didn't shake my feeling that something was going to go right tonight; something memorable was going to happen. I was right.
Out of the tub, into my robe, I stood in front of my closet deciding which outfit would pass as conservative/slut. I wanted to be noticed but not pointed at. I wanted to be envied yet not embarrassed. I decided on a club skirt with built in shorts, so even when I'd had too many and fell head over feet, I wouldn't bare everything. I wore my sexiest bra and a see through black shirt to "cover" it. I hiked up my knee high black boots and looked in the mirror. 
Being a natural blonde, I never really did get too dark in the summer so by the end of November, I'm back to my paler, more vamp-like self. Naturally curly as well, my hair was finally growing out halfway to my shoulders and contrasted well with my black on black ensemble. I never really wore too much makeup, so the darker than usual lipstick I put on that night looked even more dramatic. And whether it was the wonderful feeling I'd had or the lack of food all day so I'd look great in the skirt, I was feeling extra attractive. I strutted my stuff down the stairs and we were on our way.
Jeannette and I drove over and picked up Amanda, grabbed a little something to soak up all the alcohol we knew we'd consume that night, and pulled out our IDs at the door. We were happy to find out there was no cover, until we got inside. Either we were very early or the party was already over because other than a group of four old guys in the corner, we were it. There were two parts to the bar and both were vacant. We decided to take advantage of the empty bar space and the drink specials while we waited it out for awhile.
I took the time to get to know Amanda a little. She wasn't looking for action that night, having been in a serious relationship with her boyfriend. I explained about my year of just me, getting over my short, yet insightful, marriage to a man I thought loved me as well. Therapy and a stable support system were the key factors in my ability to bounce back the way I had. Living with Jeannette and her young son helped too. It still gave me a sense of family.
But I was damn horny! 
I missed a warm body to come home to every night. Having only been with my ex-husband and my first boyfriend, I was also damn picky. I explained to Amanda I had a type, but couldn't explain it. My thoughts turned to the night a few months back at the karaoke bar. I told her I liked guys with substance, originality and a man who is genuine. Having been hurt by so many lies, honesty was really important to me. Not just any jock would do.
A half hour had passed and people began to file in. The part of the bar where live bands play was filling up fast while sound checks were going on. We headed over to see how the edgier, dancing-on-the-tables part of the bar was doing. We grabbed another drink, a table and started scoping out the guys.
There were the regular meatheads wearing Abercrombie and Polo. We sat in an upper level and had a good view of the people sitting on the barstools. I noticed two guys sitting together, laughing and having a great time. "Amanda, HE'S my type." I pointed to the thinner of the two, a younger man wearing a red sweater and a gorgeous smile. I was attracted to his lighthearted demeanor and he looked like he knew how to have a good time. 
He wasn't caught up with looking macho or more important than anyone else. And when he noticed an attractive woman, it was in a respectable way without gawking or rude comments. I found myself studying him, checking out his shoes, the way he sipped his beer. He had a strange effect on me. I couldn't look away. I followed him with my eyes as he headed over to the other side and out of my sight. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Where was Jill when I needed her?
Jeannette, Amanda and I decided to dance and work off some alcohol. I tried to forget that the guy with the great smile and such power over me left to find some other bar (girl) that night. Dancing with my back to the crowd I hadn't noticed who was coming and going. Amanda comes back from the bar with the next round and says "Your boy is back!" I literally stopped dancing, stopped right in mid-groove. I turned around and there he was. And now I was drunk enough to do something about it.
He was standing by the bar with beer in his hand. I thought the best gesture would be to buy him another but couldn't exactly see what he was drinking. So I went over to him, picked up his bottle, twirled it around to see the label and realized it was completely full. He gave me a look as if to say "Can I have my beer back?" I was mortified and gave him back his drink. I went back over to my friends. They had a drink waiting for my comfort. I downed it and with my new liquid courage, went back over to him. This time, I took his hand in mine, led him on the dance floor and we started dancing.
Not only was he compliant, he was a great dancer and we flowed very well together. I remember thinking with moves like that, he must have been good in bed. The music was so loud and the intensity so high, we exchanged not a word but our names: "Tammy" and "Matt". It seemed everything disappeared around us and we were in our own little world, staring into each other's eyes. I could feel him pressed up against me and it felt like home. There was definitely something about him, about us. We fit so right together.
Unfortunately, his friend (and ride) came to claim him and that was it for the night. He asked for my number, which never happens. And if it did, I'd never give the right one out. But I felt so close to him already that I gave him the correct digits on instinct alone. He ran to get his friends cell phone so he could punch my number in and we said goodbye. My head told me he wouldn't call. My heart said he'd call the next day.
Chapter 3
Thanksgiving was nice. I spent it with my family. My cousins heard all about the mystery Matt. I told them he hadn't called and why would he on a holiday? I hadn't realized what I had thought was a wrong number on my cell phone was really Matt trying to call since he hadn’t left a message. I hadn't picked up and just ignored it.
The following day, Jeannette and I made plans to go out with her father for dinner. As I was getting ready, my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize on the caller ID and thought if it were important, they would leave a message. Someone did.
Jeannette, before getting into the shower, was telling me about what was happening with a guy she liked. I checked my voicemail as she was still talking, figuring it was just a wrong number.
"Hi, Tammy, this is Matt from the other night. Give me a call back if you want. I should be around for awhile. Talk to you soon."
It was quite a surprise. I stopped Jeannette in mid story and said with wide eyes "he called". I immediately started to feel nervous.
"Call him back." Knowing me since grade school, she said it more like an order.
But how long should one wait? I still needed to get ready and didn’t want to cut the first real conversation I had with him short. Before she hopped in the shower, Jeannette convinced me to call him back before we left. I got comfortable on my bed, still in my robe, hair in a towel. I punched in the number but held my finger on SEND for what seemed an eternity. My heart was beating much faster then normal.
He answered the phone after the only the first ring. I liked his voice, deep enough to turn me on but soft enough to calm my nervousness. The conversation flowed so well, I wasn't watching the time and an hour and a half had passed. He had asked what I was doing that night and I told him, almost with disappointment in my voice, about my plans. He suggested I come out with him and his friends afterwards. I told him I couldn't promise anything, but I would try. It turned out that Jeannette and I made it and early night after dinner and just went home. I had hoped he'd call again.
The following week, he did. We talked every other day, no less than an hour at a time. It was so nice getting to know him over the phone. Although, I was getting anxious because we still hadn't seen each other since the first night we met. He finally asked me out on a date for that Friday. 
One is that something always smells funny to me. My tombstone will read "What is that smell?". It took me two hours, but I figured out that the cat pissed behind the chair in my living room on this bag that someone let me borrow. I will not disclose the name of the person because said person knows nothing about the incident since I doused said bag with Tide and angel breath before returning said bag to said person. If there is something burning, rotting, steeping, cooking, baking, hiding, dying, or you just smoked a cigarette last week, I will know it. The most horrible time was when I was pregnant and my already heightened sense of smell turned into my super power. Excerpt from my pregnancy journal:
My sisters: Theresa and Michelle. These are the same people who also used to tease me about my "bubble butt", pre-JLo.
Jane (the little chick I nanny) told me yesterday that another little first grader called her "a queer" just because I had put three band aids on her leg in a row. (It was a big scratch.) How in the Hell does that little jackass know what queer means? I realize, yes, queer is something out of the ordinary which would in fact make Jane unique, and therefore be a compliment. But this little bastard definitely did not mean it as such.
Then there's Matt. When playing video games, he proceeds to call any enemy "pussy" or "little bitch". All this is being said while our daughter, a budding young FEMALE, is swinging nearby taking all of this in. I'M a pussy! I'M a bitch! So why is it such an insult to be called a woman? Women fucking rock!
Tam, at youth group.
