Dating Episode # 255, or, Introducing Molly

It's a bright Saturday morning after my neighbor's house party, and the nice thing about having a house party at your neighbor's apartment--which is across the hall--is that you can just run next door for anything that a guest might need, like Scotch, or matches, or perhaps a flatbread pizza. (Yes, I have flatbread pizza just waiting at my house for guests. I am personally keeping my local Trader Joe's in business.)

Anyway, the bad thing about all that trekking back and forth is that you might forget something. Like...your coat. Which has your wallet in it. And the next morning you might have a date with your posse for breakfast. Breakfast, which costs money. Which is in your wallet, which is in your coat, which is in your neighbor's apartment, which is locked, and you are already late for breakfast and your ride is honking at you from the parking lot.

Molly, my ride, finally called me. "Where ARE you?" she said, irritated, and I explained the situation. She laughed at me. "It doesn't matter, just get in the car," she said. "We HAVE to get to breakfast, because I have a voicemail I have to share with everyone."

By the time we get the restaurant, the rest of the posse is sitting down, and Molly whips out her phone. "YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS," she says, and presses play. The restaurant is so loud that we can't all hear it at once, so Calsee gets to listen first. It doesn't matter, because watching Calsee's face turns out to be the most fun.

Calsee's face goes from interest to shock. "Is he...CRYING?"

"Just wait," Molly says.

"Oh my God," Calsee says, "Is he SINGING now?"

Five minutes pass. The boy cries his heart out, sings, "I'm All Out Of Love", and then tells Molly to stop being a brat and just call him. Calsee hands back the phone, a priceless look on her face.

"How long have you known this guy?"

Molly is a hot, hot blond with a subversive streak and a barely hidden contempt for most social niceties. This is unsurprisingly a potent combination for attracting just about every male under 40--and especially the weirdest possible males under 40, which Molly dates for entertainment value, both for herself and for us. There was the hockey player. The body builder with the Adderall addiction. The thirty-two year-old man who played Christina Aguilera and drank White Russians. The man who sent her shirtless pictures of him flexing in a mirror. And I'm sure I'm forgetting someone.

And now, the Art Student from Axis who, after meeting her once, set her a five minute voicemail of crying, singing, and berating all mixed together. In the next week, I fully expect her to meet a circus clown who proposes marriage. And it is going to be AWESOME.