Return of the Men's Lady

A great many wonderful things come from being a single girl in Manhattan, and one of them, let's call it my "favorite", is that men are plentiful and easy. But, due to my recent lack of action (tired of making up euphamisms for "hard up"), I've decided to utilize the environment and do as Donald Trump would do: take matters into my own hands. And then proceed to fire people I've never hired. Wait, what?

So, last night I hit on a man in a bar. I wasn't even subtle about it. Two drinks into the night, I walked up, asked him to settle a made-up dispute between me and a friend about the best Michael Jackson song ever (Thriller wasn't an option), and let him take my number after he went through a very sweet, somewhat clumsy 30 seconds on what he does and where he's from (which is not necessary for me to make sweet, sweet love to him, but I suppose it helps). He and his friends left the bar soon after I went back to my friends, but I received a drunken text message from him on my way home, promising to get in touch with me soon. I believe the word "shortly" was used.

I think this is how love happens.