Sharin with an i

DISCLAIMER: I adore my boyfriend and would never, EVER do anything to hurt him, especially cheat. Ok…

I ran around most of the afternoon chasing my tail for Time Warner Cable (asshats) and trying to get everything together to leave at the crack of dawn for this wedding in Pittsburgh this weekend. After being squashed in the subway and then the crosstown bus, I returned home and immediately collapsed onto my couch, contemplating whether or not I ever had to get up again. The currently one-way only, busted intercom buzzer started going off. My super really likes to screen my calls about fixing the damn thing (and the leaky faucet… and the inoperative oven…) so I had to haul my ass downstairs to find out who could possibly be disturbing my zen moment with my couch.

I come downstairs to find one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen: at least six foot four, lean, tan, flowing dark hair. I was rendered completed moronic and unable to say anything other than “hi.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to see a broker about the open apartment here and he hasn’t shown up…”

I snapped into reality and realized he wasn’t a housewarming present sent by someone about to be nominated as my new best friend. “Same thing happened yesterday. It’s on the 4^th floor.” We chatted a little bit about the building as we went up the stairs. My apartment’s on the second floor, so I left him at my door and he went to investigate on his own.

Ten minutes later there’s a knock on my door.

“Hi.” Idiocy does strike twice.

“Hey. So, do you have the info for the management agency? I really like the apartment and I’d rather not deal with the douchey broker who ditched me.” He said ‘douchey.’ :)

“Yea, totally. I was actually just there today. Come in.” And don’t trip over the Bloomingdale’s bag full of trash that I didn’t take out. And ignore the obscene amount of vitamins I take currently on the counter. And the giant tube of Neosporin. How anyone finds my attractive is a mystery. He was, however, very envious of my high ceilings.

As I searched for the info, he told me that he’s a professor of Econ at Queens College, has lived in new york for four years and has moved thrice, and spends his summers rock climbing. Jesus. I gave the opera singer spiel. He can’t wait for the Met to start up again and would love to have someone to go with.

Before this could go any further, I scrawled the info on a piece of printer paper and a sharpie, and essentially shoved him out the door. “If I end up moving in, I’ll pop by and say hi!”

If he moves in, every single girlfriend I have will be camped out in front of my door indefinitely. And I’d leave food and water, because, hell, I wouldn’t blame them at all.

This shit NEVER happens when I’m single. I’m really glad my boyfriend is awesome.