So I'm in a caffe in fashionable downtown Walnut Creek, taking a break from the road, having an americano, surrounded by people out on dates with their laptops, swyping into my phone, and vaguely wondering how one would engage with the intense blonde with the nose ring at the table across from me. She's very curvaceous, has a glass of red wine, an orange sticker-festooned Apple, rings on several fingers, headphones, and is constantly in motion, as if sitting in a caffe writing her thesis or whatever is not what she really wants to do.
Well, you know how this will go. Pretty soon I'll go back to my truck and continue on home and leave idle speculations behind me. It's how I am. I hate to be the guy that stares or is always looking or is known to have sat down facing her on purpose or tries to get something started or anything. It's funny. I've known women who've met a great guy because he came up to her in a coffee shop. I've also known women who told me about being in coffee shops and having guys always trying to talk to her. What's funny is that while I can admire the former, I never want to be in the latter story. Not sure why, but I don't, and I don't so much, I'm not willing to try and see. The scenario in which I am just another laughable failure doesn't appeal to me. This could be an introvert thing but more likely it's a comfort zone thing. But I don't care. A lovely woman and several friends are at the end of my road. This pit stop is just a brief distraction.
I write about it though because the random meet is a relatively unknown dimension of this life, and I do want to learn or experience everything while I can, and so it comes to mind and I pressure myself to consider the scene and make a decision. The conclusion is foregone, yet I tease myself with possibilities anyway. I'm sure there's a good reason for that.
I also write about it to give myself something to do that's better than browsing or gaming or looking around the room. A snapshot of the ridiculous patter of my idle brain.
In San Jose I had a nice visit with my son and his girlfriend and my ex and her fiancee on the occasion of his college race car's unveiling. Long-ish story, I guess, but that's the gist of it. At the other end of my highway an RV is being packed for a group of friends to take to a big wild party to be thrown in the foothills tomorrow night. I'm taking my time, though. I'm tired of rushing from thing to thing. I'll get home about half past midnight.
That said, I'm about done here. I'm glad we had this talk. I've been blogging too little, as has everyone else here in the golden age of the book of face, and I feel that doing more thoughtless writing will be good for me. And it was good for me. Was it good for you?
5 comments:
Seems like lots of guys look and linger and long and eventually do nothing. And you're right that there's a fine balance to be struck.
Everyone has different preferences at different times, but I find I am usually NOT annoyed when some guy pauses on his way out the door and says something sweet to me, like, "You have an awesome smile, thank you for making my morning/day a little brighter." Then departs.
It's not usually too creepy to me, and might cheer me up.
Prob'ly won't invite him to invade my space and interrupt whatever thoughts I was having any further, but at least there was contact.
Your ex has a fiancé? Fabulous! I didn't realize your divorce was signed, sealed and delivered (or is it?)
I've been blogging too little, as you note, and even facebooking little because ... because.
something to do that's better than ... gaming
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
Wow, I wrote a comment reply days ago, and here it isn't.
Re fiancé: She does and it is! I think they were surprised I was so sincerely congratulatory. Gave them both hugs and everything. Noting their apparent surprise was in attendance to my own: I've grown used to very loving people, and the fact that I truly wish them the best is not to me unusual.
Re wimmins, it does not escape me that the scenario that does not annoy you is very brief and ends with his immediate departure.
Howzabout I print up some lovely little card to drop off that has some elegantly generic compliment and an invitation to text me at google-number-for-forwarding, and/or the address of a carefully contrived personal artistic website. I'm going gray but still look good, and maybe it's time I played the part of a seductive artiste, adding flavor to the lives of randomly-encountered curvaceous young blondes.
You know nothing ...
Truly. But as an aside has it gone noticed that Martin's writing changes over the course of his books? I am now deep within A Dance With Dragons and it reads as if he is really trying to get this shit over with. He does it well, but still there is a greater need for editing. There was actually a very obvious nod to Monty Python that shouldn't have survived all editing passes, and the incidence of sentence fragments is on the increase.
Eh, he's a fooking millionaire, what does he care now?
Heh heh. Come on up and see my etchings, little girl! I can get you in the moooovies!
You're too funny!
We will make eye contact with you if we want you to converse with us. We want you to converse with us and let us get a sense of you before we'll decide we want to fuck you. We will communicate everything to you. Just learn to read us. It's really pretty simple.
Post a Comment