Faster than a benching rabbi. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap tall bachelors in a single bound. Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird, it's a plane, it's SuperFlirt.
That's right, I'm spending three days in San Diego at Comic-Con, the world's largest comic book convention. Before you crack a kryptonite joke or ask me to beam you up, let me say that I'm a proud Con regular. I read graphic novels. I own Wonder Woman Underoos. I've got a Super Shin baby tee.
Many of the women at The Con are actually here with their husbands and boyfriends. I saw Neo and Trinity holding hands at the "Courtney Crumrin" booth, Legolas and Goth Chick macking down in the "Revenge of the Sith" shirt line and Batgirl and Chewbacca sharing churros at the food cart. (Wait, that might not be Chewie, just a hairy convention dude.)
I start to crack a joke about the star-crossed lovers, when it hits me: Who am I to poke fun? At least they're in a relationship. They get to share their big day with someone else who, well, thinks of a Carrie Fisher autograph signing as a big day. Somehow in this crazy world, two people who can speak Klingon in the bedroom actually found each other. And I think that's beautiful.
This goes to my Disneyland theory. When I'm standing in line at Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, it's undoubtedly behind two sweaty, overweight people pulling the old "hand in the other's back pocket" move. Even if these classy folks weren't wearing matching Waffle House tank tops, I'd know they were meant to be together. This guy with his stone-washed cutoffs is not for me, but he's perfect for his girlfriend, who he's been kissing since we passed the "20 minutes from here sign" 30 minutes ago. They're beshert, and not afraid to let everyone from Fantasyland to Tom Sawyer's Island to the guy who sells the giant turkey legs know it. My Disneyland dictum? If these two Mousketeers somehow found each other, then I'm certainly going to find someone. Somewhere out there is a match for everyone. So rather than think I'll never meet my man, I just wonder when I'll meet my man.
No time like the present. I cruise the convention floor searching for cool comics and cute guys. And let me say to my fellow single chicks -- this is where the boys are. Forget the bars. Ditch JDate. Those social scenes have nothing on The Con. It's a whole convention hall packed with single guys.
The ratio of men to women here is about a zillion to one. Of course the ratio of men to Spider-Men is about 10 to one. But that's part of the fun. Men in tights. Who cares if these single guys are dressed as Hobbits and Jedis -- you should see their lightsabers.
I coast The Con with an open mind. My match could be here. I can picture it now: we'll talk publishers, exchange a little ink and paint, then -- Zam! -- Wonder Twin powers activate! (I'm kidding -- duh -- everyone knows Zan and Jayna are siblings, not a couple. And that the Wonder Twins are from the planet Exxor, not Earth.)
I'm in line for the Warner Bros. panel when a built guy with a great smile and a Mariners hat asks, "Can I join you?"
His name's Brian. He's from Seattle, works in video games and is checking me out. Holy cow, Batman, this is it. My Comic-Con hookup. My potential beshert. Bring on the geek love, baby. He passes me a warm, unopened package of Red Vines.
"Can you hold these for a sec? You can have one if you want."
He shares; that's good. I start to think of all the things Brian and I will share together -- our favorite restaurants, our top five movies, our last name -- when he starts wildly waving his now free hands to his buddies in the corner. They sprint toward us, jump in line and give each other lame high fives. I think I hear his short friend say, "Classic line jump, dude."
Armed with my Disney theory, I don't get discouraged. It's not that things will never work out with someone. It's that Brian wasn't that someone.
So look out beshert, there's a new flirt in town.
Will Carin meet her mate at Comic-Con? Will she take to wearing a cape? Stay tuned for her next column. Same Jew time, same Jew paper.
Carin Davis, a freelance writer, can be reached at email@example.com.