How I chose to ignore the Nora Ephron screenplay that played out before my very eyes

I sat down to write this post thinking I had nothing. But then, through a seemingly random yet quite fortuitous IM conversation with my dear and wise friend, the Tiger--think more roar than Woods--I suddenly have so many blopics! (Not the least of which is that word itself, blopic. Look it up. I think she coined it, because if I search the Internets on "blopic," there are only 43 results, of which most are typos for the actual word "biopic." So by the power of the Internets granted to me, I give the Tiger credit for combining blog and topic to give us all blopic. And you don't even have to pay her royalties to use it. Of course now that I've used blopic five times in this opening paragraph, you will probably see this post near the top of your search queue, which in my book gives even more credibility to the Tiger and her ability to create words. The people--search engine--has spoken.)


And, maybe you're thinking that this whole post is about blopics and coming up with new words? Well, think again, buckaroo. It's not.


The Tiger and I continued to fire messages back and forth, each message seeming to be one blopic after another. Like the one about how I like to start "big" things in my life on the first day of the month, or the one about how she created a new word--are you familiar with the word blopic? But the real big juicy blopic is this one:

I had an experience that every single heroine in modern day chick flicks or chick lit dreams about, and I did absolutely nothing about it. That's right. Nothing. But I can explain.

You see, partly I did nothing about it because at the time it happened I was with New Friend (some may say we were boyfriend-girlfriend, but he does not count as one of the some) and I didn't do anything because I was happy (oh, Little Ms. Notetaker), and partly because I'm not 100% sure there isn't some mouth breathing issues here (which is me falling into my typical MO of sabotaging a potential date by invoking ridiculous judgement).

To make a long post longer (you have missed me, right, Internets?), here's what happened. I was on the first leg of two home for Christmas, and was sitting all cozy in my seat when a family came on board. The three of them (one being a small and fussy child) were in separate rows--dad and kid next to me. The prospect of small confined space with fussy child bearing down on me had really gotten me down, so I oh-so-generously offered up my seat to the weary mother, who was probably a little excited that she was going to have a couple hours of peace and quiet away from her kid, but here comes that single lady to squash all her fun, as we do. She shot me a glance that only a woman would read, one that on the outside said, "Oh, that's so nice of you, I would love to sit with my beautiful family," but really deep down said, "You just took my last thread and snipped it right in half. You should be ashamed of yourself--just wait until you are in my shoes and then you'll understand." But I had backed her into a corner, there was no way she could turn down my offer; not in the spotlight in front of her family, namely her very needy, very fussy toddler. So we moved. And I ended up sitting in an row with a good looking, and seemingly good-natured guy. No ring. I have prayed for this exact scenario to happen every single time I've stepped on a plane as an adult. And every other flight, I've fallen asleep on the tiny little pillow dreaming of how this scenario would play out, only to awake with a small fussy child kicking and screaming next to me. But this was not every other time.

We didn't talk the entire flight.

I was doing something really important, like the in-flight magazine crossword puzzle, and I just couldn't be bothered with small talk. However, we eventually did strike up conversation upon landing. Very casual.

LMNT: Do you live in Portland?
HIM: No, Seattle.
LMNT: Me too. But I just happened to have this weird indirect flight.
HIM: Yeah, me too.
LMNT: So where in Seattle do you live?
HIM: The Central District.
LMNT: Me too.

And on and on it went, with strange little coincidences. But I was trying not to think too much of it, because of well, New Friend. We realized that I work with someone he is really good friends with, and I realized that he is literally Marinara Jar's backyard neighbor. And it just kept going and going. We eventually made it to the gate for our Seattle flight--which of course was delayed by a good hour--so we kept the conversation up. At this point it became clear to me that this was indeed the stuff Meg Ryan's made millions off of, but I was trying to ignore it. So, with a certain glibness, I mentioned that, "the guy I'm dating and I had been to that place," or "had done that," or something to the effect of "don't get your hopes to high, I'm not single." I think he was a little crushed, but he bounced back and the conversation continued--all the way through the flight up to Seattle and even the ride home from the airport. Yes, generous little me offered the Commish and Monster as his personal taxi--he does only live mere blocks from me.

At some point we exchanged e-mail addresses. And he's sent me a few messages and friended me on Facebook. But I haven't really pursued anything. The friend of his, whom I work with let me know that he was very interested in me and if I were ever single again, that I should maybe consider this as a golden opportunity.

And wouldn't you know it, I'm single again.

So when I shared this with the Tiger, she immediately started quoting Sleepless in Seattle and how this whole thing, "It's a sign." And she started planning my wedding for me and writing my screenplay (dare I say, biopic). True, I live in Seattle. And true, I was with a guy who was decent, but wasn't the one for me, one with whom there wasn't "magic." And true, HIM and I were both in Sea-Tac airport at the same time. But, I retorted, isn't it also true that Meg Ryan was with a mouth breather (okay, he was a snorer, but I'm willing to bet there's a strong corollary there), and didn't she call it off with him?

Which strangely brought both the Tiger and I to the same conclusion: I should connect with this guy. The way I see it, if there's any truth to what Hollywood sells us, he's either the one, or his mouth breathing will drive me to finding the one.