Trolling for Mr. Rhythm

A round peg does not fit into a square hole. We all know this, and yet we have all been guilty of trying to shove the peg in there anyway. This weekend I was the peg.

My good friend's husband, Eli, was in town this weekend for a wedding. My friend didn't make the trip, and so Eli asked me to be his date for the wedding festivities. We never get to see each other or hang out, so this was a treat.

Eli thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread. I'm his wife's close friend. I've known them since they met. I know their families. I was in their wedding. I've been to the city apartment, house #1 and house #2. I flew down to meet their baby when he was born last summer. You get the picture.

Eli would LOVE to see me find Mr. Right. He met Glenn years back and was so happy I'd finally found someone --- and since that fell through, Eli has kept his ear to the ground for me. And taken out a few billboards.

I'm actually flattered that he thinks I'm great and wants to make my life even greater. But this weekend he took his matchmaking passion to a new level --- we'll call this level 'Code Red'.

There were several single guys at this wedding, and several of them were in the bridal party. When the groom introduced them at the rehearsal dinner, I leaned over to Eli and whispered, "This looks line a police line-up of my last 10 bad blind dates". Awkward, awkward, and awkward in a wrinkled shirt. Great guys, I'm sure, but no one rang my bell. Not even a 'ding'.

Eli seemed to agree. Until Sunday night rolled around and there were 30 minutes of the wedding remaining. He took his 8th Crown Royal on the rocks and started trolling the room for single guys still standing.

I watched the entire thing unfold like a bad slasher film on a budget. Eli sauntered over to a guy who I mentioned 'had rhythm' on the dance floor (which, Eli relayed to me, 'translates in the bedroom, Liv'. Oh boy.). Eli sat down. They started talking. They both glanced over at me. Eli got up and headed outside, Mr. Rhythm boogied on over and SAT DOWN NEXT TO ME. I tried to muster up a pissed off attitude but, to be honest with you, it was so freakin' funny that I couldn't even channel anger.

Mr. Rhythm is young, 5'2", and lives on the West Coast --- a mere 3,000 miles from me. He was actually very funny, but WTF? So we talked for a few minutes, as Eli watched through cupped hands on the window, and then Mr. Rhythm asked me to dance the last dance --- Sinatra's 'New York, New York'. Have you ever tried to dance to this song? Well, it ain't easy folks. So awkward I was forced to laugh.

Mr. Rhythm was catching a ride with his mom to the mother of the groom (MOTG)'s house, where they were staying and he'd been sleeping on the couch. That morning he had awakened to the unfortunate sight of MOTG ironing in her underwear, and was still traumatized. So, I encouraged Mr. Rhythm to squeeze his eyelids tight and we parted ways, as the DJ folded up his operation and the waitresses undressed the tables. How romantic.

I considered leaving Eli in the parking lot to thumb a ride back to his hotel. But then I realized that, in his own twisted way, Eli is trying to help me. He thinks I'm great, wants me to be happy, and thinks I'd be even happier in a relationship. Any relationship. The night was growing shorter and as he put it, "I had limited time and resources to work with, Liv". It was at this point he tried shoving the round peg into the square hole. With the best of intentions.

So here is what I have to say to all of my Eli's. Thank you. It means a lot that you love me, think I'm awesome, and want to help me find a great guy. But do me a favor ... wait for a GREAT GUY. And please don't slip a $20 to the parking lot attendant and have him ask me to dance ... he's got two left feet.