I realized it was time to take control. Therefore, I decided not to answer any more personal ads, but instead put an ad in myself, "East Coast Transplant looking for a normal woman. I'm a normal guy."

I got about a hundred responses. If everybody is looking for a normal guy, why has it been impossible for me to find a normal girl? It took a week to go through all the ads. A few of them were five pages long. Any longer than one page and I threw them away. Do you blame me?

However, one caught my eye. She said, "Normalcy is my ideal. But are you interestingly normal or boring normal?" Something made me want to explain to her what I meant by being normal--- at least prove to her that I wasn't boring. Or let me say, perhaps prove to myself, that I wasn't boring. When did this happen to me? I used to be a confident, hip guy without a sliver of insecurity issues and I wanted that feeling back.

We met at the Formosa. It was Tuesday and not crowded so a stool at the bar was easily accessible. I sat alone and waited, drinking a mineral water. Nervously, I asked the bartender if he had an extra cigarette. He wasn't smoking, I just figured bartenders smoke or at least have easy access to a cigarette. "No smoking in bars or restaurants. New law."

"Oh yes," I said. "It's smoke-free in here."

He raised his leg, leaning it against something below I couldn't see and pressed his forearms against his thigh, then hedged towards me.

"Personally, I like it. Been bartending for six years now and probably inhaled more smoke than Dean Martin."

"That's a lot of smoke."

"Yes, it is. Waiting for someone?" He asked, genuinely friendly.

"Blind date."

"Oh wow. You got courage. I don't do that crap."

"It's been a while since I've met anybody nice and well, you know."

"I know," he said, "Boy, do I know. But what if, well, she's like...really fat or something?"

I didn't like this guy very much anymore, "I'll take my chances."

"All right," he chuckled. "But don't come crying to me when you get a big fat dog-faced loser sitting next to you."

Yes, he was rude, but quickly I realized his nightmare scenario could happen. I panicked, suddenly wanting to leave. I stood and tossed my jacket around my back, but as my jacket passed my eyes, the cutest little blonde stood grinning in front of me, "You Mike?"

My eyes glanced at the bartender. He shrugged.

"Yes...are you Betsy?"

"In the flesh. You gonna buy me a beer?"

"Anything...you want."

"Margaritas are my favorite, but I wouldn't order one in here. Just a Bud, please."

I turned toward the bartender who raised his hand, "I got it." He slid open the fridge, pulled out a Bud, and flipped off the cap. "Would you like a glass?"

Betsy smiled excitedly, "No thanks," and chugged it down, swallowing a healthy third of the beer.

"Ah, that's good."

Already I was falling love.