Ambivalence: The new infatuation

Last Friday a poor, unsuspecting young man accompanied a friend and his friend's girlfriend to a Psycholicious Happy Hour. For single men in Los Angeles, happy hour with the psychology department is akin to shooting fish in a barrel. Not so long ago, I counted myself among 3 women who had shamelessly flirted with a friend of a friend before asking if he was straight. On the other hand, my track record with set-ups isn't so hot. In any case, against all odds (and moreover, my expectations), there was nothing wrong with the guy in question. For real. He was an attractive looking guy who didn't seem to take himself too seriously. Sincere. Humble. He did not go on at length (or even at all) about the French philosopher he studies. He was not mustached. He was not dressed in all black. He was not chain smoking. He didn't talk a lot about himself. I didn't speak two words to him exclusively. It's not like we hit it off or anything. In fact, the most memorable things about him are the aversive things that he's not.

Nonetheless, I've been thinking about him all weekend. Maybe it's a sign of the times, or the city, or more likely, my neuroticism, but these days a little neutrality goes a long way. I know next to nothing about this guy, but I do know that I probably don't hate him and that he probably wouldn't hate me. Ah, the foundation for a happy relationship. . .

Before I go, does anyone want to play "who made the most ridiculous purchase this weekend"?

I bought a pair of tap shoes.