Fantasies Come True...With Bad Timing

So I haven't been real successful in the dating realm lately. I mean, honestly, I can't even say I've been on anything that resembled a "date" since...um...hmm, offhand I can't remember. Seriously, part of the problem is that I live so far uptown that going "out" is a major effort, and I don't really like staying up very late. But I often kick myself and say, "Andrew (which is what I call myself when I'm lecturing myself), hot guys don't just come knock on your door. You have to put yourself out there in order to meet people."

Okay, well, read the post below and you'll see today wasn't exactly super fun...my mom turned out fine, but I was rather distracted all day and work was kind of stressful as a major project we've been working on utterly fell apart and a head or two might roll because of it. (Not mine, I'm leaving anyway.)

So I came home, had a couple of my trademark Pink Hobbits (1 part lemonade, 1 part cranberry, 1 part 7Up, season with vodka to taste), and watched The Two Towers. (Confession: I'm so drained I didn't think I could make it through the extended edition, so, gasp, I watched the theatrical release version. On VHS. I know, I know.) I had the volume up maybe a hair lighter than is polite, but it was relatively early in the evening. (I also have new neighbors downstairs whom I haven't met yet.)

Then I was soaking in a hot bath, while listening to a Smithsonian CD collection of music from Central Asia. Look, I'm a complete fucking dork, okay? I admit it. Yeah, and I had some incense burning. What's your point? And maybe a candle or two.

So I'm in the tub -- and I like it hot, baby -- when I hear someone POUNDING on my door. I wait a moment or two, but the POUNDING continues.

We've had plumbing problems in the building before, so I'm wondering if my tub is leaking downstairs again. Or maybe my Azerbaijani folk music is too loud. So I hop out, dripping water all over everywhere, throw on my robe, and go to the door.

There is the hottest fireman I've ever seen. And that's saying something. I mean, he was CUTE.

I'm dripping wet, in an old bathrobe, my face red and flushed from the bath. Oh, and I'm having complexion problems today, too.

"Hi, we got some reports about smoke, do you smell anything?"

"Umm...nothing unusual...I have some candles and incense going, is that what you mean?"

"Hmm, I doubt it, but maybe I should check it out, if that's okay."

"Ummm...sure..."

Okay. So he comes in and is looking around.

"Okay, nothing out of the ordinary here, thanks."

Nothing out of the ordinary? A white gay guy soaking in the tub surrounded by candles and incense listening to Mongolian long songs? New York must be weirder than I thought. Oy. This calls for another drink.

[PS, I'm also a little nervous after the fire department checked out complaints in Brooklyn earlier this week and left without finding anything. However, since I want to be cremated anyway, I guess maybe that could be cost-effective. : ( ]