Thirty is the New Fifteen

One thing I never anticipated about playing a game made primarily for adolescents is that it actually makes you regress to adolescent dating rituals. It turns out kickball comes with nervousness, beating around the bush and silly love songs. Ahh to be 15 again.


Last week's game was notable for more reason than one, not only did "Wishful Drinking" win our first game, but I also spent a few hours on the patio of our sponsor bar with Sadie the Dog and Hipster Guy. Here's how it went down: After a highly competitive and suspenseful night of kicking, catching and throwing a giant, red, bouncy ball, Sadie and I sashayed into the bar to find Hipster Guy hanging with his team inside. I stopped to chat a bit and may have mentioned that Sadie and I would be on the patio since some lame bureaucrats think dogs shouldn't be in restaurants. A half hour later Hipster Guy and a teammate join us and I turn on the charm. (No, really, my wingwoman/teammate even told me so.)


Topics of discussion included movies, music, Canada. The evening flowed right along with a long debate regarding the song we should sing for karaoke. There were little smiles, blinking eyes, hair pushes behind the ear (on my part, that is.) I brought up my favorite movie as I so often do, "The Departed." Here's the thing, he's never seen it! I kindly mention to not watch it with me because I'll just ruin it with my incessant run-through of every other line. His response? "We'll just have to go see a movie neither of us have seen." Yep. Sweet, flirtatious but not too pushy. Liking this. I quiz him as I do most people of a certain age: Pearl Jam or Nirvana? Sadly his answer is neither but I chalk it up to being Canadian and just not understanding the Seattle angst we were all experiencing via dirty jeans and flannel. At one point Hipster Guy suggested a song that should be saved for our tenth year of marriage and the many nights of karaoke to come. Uh huh. He said it. Near the end of the evening we select and rock, I might add, "Don't You Want Me Baby." He's got dogs. He's a mechanical engineer. He laughs at my jokes. And eventhough I'm a bit freaked out about the fact that his divorce has JUST gone through, I'm feeling pretty good.


He very gentlemanly walks Sadie and I to the car and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. For some reason I choose this exact moment to say "so I'll see you next week, right?" He hesitates for a moment and then says "definitely." Somehow I find myself confused as to why Hipster Guy didn't ask for my number. The next day my roomie helpfully explains that I did an unspeakable thing: I blocked him. Apparently men have pretty sensitive egos and my cutting off Hipster Guy's attempt has put him in a rather awkward position that will have to be dealt with delicately.

The following Tuesday I'm thinking, "alright, I'm going to be super sweet and extra cool. Sadie's excited and despite a sore throat and not-so-sexy scratchy voice, Hipster Guy is obviously going to beg for my number." Sadie and I walk onto the field and Hipster Guy yells from first base "here comes trouble." Haha. Okay, so far so good. Cheesy but cute. The rest of the evening we chat occasionally but nothing of substance. I'm starting to feel discouraged. I stop by to say goodnight and that I'll be substituting nyquil for the bar. He's smiling, he's talking politics, he's only somewhat paying attention to the game he's still technically playing. After he mentions that he'll be attending a concert the following night I cleverly bring up a local band that will be playing soon. His response is what convinces me that this game must have put us back into 1995. He says "you should take me to a show sometime because I know no local bands." Oh but wait, he still doesn't ask for my number. What the what?!

I go to the source of guy mentality for the answer to my conundrum: the roomie. He informs me here's what it comes down to, I'm going to have to just give Hipster Guy my number. I'm going to actually have to put myself out there and make it clear that I'd like him to call me. Damn. Granted I've done this once before as an adult with the Frex and it worked out okay, I guess. Well, if "okay" means 2 years of fun followed by heartbreak. Double damn! Well, in the spirit of kickball, the 15 year old me wouldn't have thought twice about asking a guy out just because of the fear of rejection, maybe the 30 year old me should listen to her this time around.