Whenever anyone starts a sentence with words like "I don't mind being single. Really, I don't," I always think yeah uh huh right. But having said that, I haven't pined so much in the last year over Romance Lost the way I used to. I've shifted to feeling more comfortable by myself -- hmm, maybe for the first time ever. The last act of liberation was, late last year, pulling my personal ads and officially dropping out of a half-hearted search ("The Search").

Speaking of half-hearted pursuits, I also attempt to Network -- networking for a better job, a better career. The very word makes my stomach turn and run. (Although outside that word, I think I am plenty sociable, etc. etc. Blch.)

So, when last weekend I was invited to a snooty party, at first I wondered if I'd even go. Other parties with the same hosts had offered -- in theory -- plenty of opportunities to Network and Search and I had always dressed up for best appearances only to wind up sorely disappointed.

But on the day of, I decided to go -- 2 drinks max. I would not dress up and bring what I wanted to drink (a 6-pack of Rolling Rock). Who cares? And why the hell not?

The evening of the party arrives and I park my car at the same time as a gaggle of gay professionals, all holding bottles of wine, are converging with their fitted, narrow-striped shirts in acid colors and leather sandles. To put it bluntly, I was immediately intimidated. I'm not going to let this stop me, I have to tell myself.

I walk up in my old tennies and 60s madras shirt, Rolling Rocks in hand. "Aha," I say (and hopefully not too cheerfully), "Looks like I'm in the right place. Hope [hostess] will forgive my choice of gift."

"Ahaa, ha," they laugh politely, the scanning devices running up and down. They are all about 6 feet tall and with mucho hair product to my raggamuffin shortness. They then continued to chat among themselves: "Did you go to Tom's 40th last week? Wasn't it *the* event?"

*sigh*

But on the rooftop where there are people like Non-Boyfriend, things get much better. I end up mingling & laughing a lot.

And at one point, one of those 6-foot, salt-and-peppered professionals splits himself off from his circle and introduces himself. It is a pretty standard, polite conversation. He has just 'divorced' his boyfriend of 20 years and is going through an acrimonious division of property. "But I'm moving on; moved on." (Doesn't everyone have standard, polite conversations like this?)

He asks me would I like to have dinner with him? "Sure," I respond, and I am completely relaxed and at ease.

"Oh, good! Well, I need to go check on my friend, but make a point of saying goodbye when you leave."

When it comes time to leave, I make a point and shake his hand. "It was nice to meet you. I'll give you my number." But he has no pen. He says: "Oh, that's alright. Just call [hostess] and get my number from her." "Sure," I said.

Moments later, riding down in the elevator, I nearly speak out-loud: Don't hold your breath!

In the parking lot, I run into some folks I'd been chatting with. "That man was awfully handsome. Are you going to see him again?"

I shrug my shoulders, "I think it will be too much effort."

They exchange surprised glances. But ain't that the truth.