Steve. His name is Steve.
And I finally got a chance to talk to him tonight!

But first, let me back up a bit: Brent -- aka Truly Scrumptious, the fabulous drag queen for whom I was a backup dancer in Who's That Girl? -- treated us dancers to dinner tonight at Ping Pong. After dinner, we decided to go see a late showing of Connie and Carla (drag motif! drag motif!), but we had some time to kill, so we headed to Sidetrack first for some show tune therapy.

So we're standing there, laughing and drinking and singing our little hearts out, when suddenly I hear "You're the Fendi guy!" The crowd parts, the room goes silent (at least in my head) and there he is, Mr. Oh My God, standing right in front of me with that same shit-eating grin that melted me the night before. (And he called me the Fendi guy because when we first (kind of) met I was wearing a tight black T-shirt with FENDI in huge white letters across the chest. And now I think I've found a new lucky shirt.)

So Steve and I finally chat. He's charming. He seems genuine. He's totally hot up close. He's totally into me. And I suddenly find myself blathering like a drunken schoolgirl. Fortunately, the bar is loud and he's actually on his way out to meet some friends, so I have limited time to give him the impression I'm a drooling moron. But before he leaves, he gets my card -- and he PROMISES he'll call me at work tomorrow.

Of course, he'd be the eighth guy this year alone who's promised to call me after getting my number -- without giving me his -- and my phone hasn't exactly been ringing off the hook, if you know what I mean.

But I'm willing to get my hopes up again, because he's THAT HOT. And maybe he's really cool as well. (Which would make him room temperature, no?)

So I'm walking on clouds the rest of the night, allowing myself to project a lifetime of happiness on a five-minute conversation yelled over blaring show tunes in a crowded bar. But what fun is life if you don't set yourself up for a little romantic disappointment now and then?

Ironically, when I was running today I saw Paul -- the only guy I've seriously dated since I moved to Chicago four years ago. (And come to think of it, we broke up exactly a year ago this weekend. How weird.) I haven't seen Paul since last fall, after he announced he wasn't over me and he didn't want to see me anymore because it was too painful. So maybe this anniversary meeting coincidentally timed to the day I finally connect with Steve is some cosmic sign ... a fate-based changing of the guard, if you will.

Or maybe I'm just a happily single gay guy with a serious case of the hots for a muscledude who smiled at me at a drag show. Time will tell.