Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Stupid Girl

He took my hand to shake it hello and held on to it for a bit. A nice touch (literally and figuratively); sexy and sixth grade rolled into one. Holding hands with the cute boy, envy of all the other girls. What is it about a man that makes a mature, confident woman giggle like a schoolgirl, second guess or fret?

I create marketing copy and sales campaigns that generate millions of dollars in revenue. I vote. I own properties and cars. I'm responsible for my own orgasms. But meet an interesting fellow and I’m 12. A bit awkward, aware of every limb, chest out and stomach in as much as I can pull it. The head tilt. Little girl posturing and posing. If I chewed gum I’d probably pull out a fruity string in a Lolita fingertip twist.

Remember the scene in “Dirty Dancing” of Baby and Johnny Castles’ first verbal meeting?

Baby: I carried a watermelon.
Baby: [to herself] I carried a watermelon?

On first human boy contact, traits I posses grandly in everyday life vanish in an instant. I try to wear a familiar cloak of cool, smooth, witty and hip, but often can’t even fully recall what was said. “Did I just tell him ‘Have a good one’?!?! Good lord."

In the woman’s room of a cute neighborhood hangout Saturday night, my third nervous pee of the evening, I wash my hands, damp palms smooth the pleats of a cute babydoll top. Adjust breasts. "Thundercat’s are go! Introduce yourself proper. If he's aloof and uninterested, there is a full bar. Just do it, do it, do it!!", my solo pep talk. There’s a band tonight. The guitar player and I've chatted a bit via e-mail after a chance encounter online. The cards are stacked in my favor; I know he’s booked tonight. He has no clue I’m here. He looks enough like his band profile pictures that I spot him instantly, milling about before the show. Will he recognize me from a blog photo? After the first set, right after my pep talk, he did and he approached me. And he shook my hand hello and held on to it for a bit. Of course, he being the tall, dark musician in the room, I was cockblocked by two women in the span of two minutes.

It’s grown up Duck-Duck-Goose, anticipating the approach, the tap and the heart pumping chase. I love and hate every minute of it.

A boy I know casually is coming over tonight to make out on the couch. Okay, so I shaved everything and had my toes done. Sadly it’s not the guitar player; chances are he’s holding other hands. But even a girl has womanly needs. Tonight I practice Zen; “When hungry, eat; when tired, sleep." And when one feels the need to play, play.

4 comments:

Don said...

Mmm. Enjoy. Oh, but there you go on about guitar players again.

Jodie K said...

It's a sickness. A curse. I wear the Scarlet G.

Lisa said...

Amy's convinced that there is "safety pee" and "nervous poo", so I don't know where nervous pee fits in :)

Looney said...

OMG, in my single days I would have fallen all over myself for a chick whose self-pep talk starts with "Thundercats are go!"

Hubba-hubba :-)

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