justnick's Diaryland
Diary
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What... again?
BGM: "Sunshine Superman" - Donovan Two entries in less than a week?! You ask yourselves. Highly unorthodox, I realise. But somehow it's a summer day in October, and I can't seem to concentrate. You see, there's a spot in the Tony's stock room, right between two windows. It's in an area where no one ever goes, and if you get yourself positioned just right, you can stand there, in the sun, and just take in the breeze. And today is one of those days where the sunlight is extra warm, and the air smells like they flew it in direct from Alberta. One of those days where back in school you'd just stare longingly out the window. So here I am, pen and paper in hand, avoiding the management staff with my ninja wanna-jamma. I actually hid on the ceiling at one point. So what does one think of on such a day as this? I would think it would be obvious by now. Girls, of course.
Whenever someone asks me what I look for in a woman, one of the first words out of my mouth is always 'initiative'. A girl who kows what sh wants, and isn't afraid to go and get it, gender roles be damned. It's convinient for me that this comes off as pseudo-femminist, because it usually gets me points with whoever is asking. That's really not what it is, though. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm all for women's lib and everything, but that's just not where the attraction comes from. Girls always say they're afraid of people thinking they're easy if they initiate conversations, but I don't think I really see it that way. I'm not exactly what you'd call "conservative". I am, on the other hand, what you'd call "a complete chickenshit." You grow up the skinny, unathletic, insecure, nerdy kid with the crazy hair and glasses, and you might as well be invisible. Then you hit college, your hair grows out, you get some contacts, you fill out a bit, and suddenly you're supposed to just jump into the game like a pro? Not how it works, folks. Still insecure and unathletic, I just hide it better. Girls picking me out of a crowd will always be a foreign concept to me. And, let's be honest here, even the idea of sex scares the bejesus out of me. I put some contacts and some gel on, sure. I've got bigger shoulders, longer hair and snappier clothes, yeah. And put me in a bar, and I'll smile and shmooze like I was born to do it. But that doesn't mean I'n not still that same shy kid, standing out there in left field, praying no one hits the ball in my direction. On the inside, anyway. A few of my closer friends have asked me why I change so suddenly when I'm in a social situation. Why I turn from a jaded bitter cynic into this giant smiling ball of charisma. All part of the outfit, folks. You put it on like contact lenses. I'll speak my mind whether you want to hea it or not, I'll streak main street in broad daylight, but don't ask me to make the first move. Might as well go back to the eigth grade and ask me to play shortstop. I think that's why Lisa will always be such a great memory. I was in a nightclub, waiting for a friend of mine, when this girl walks in. Tanned, brown hair, brown eyes, navy dress. Perfect teeth. I'm telling you, time slowed down. This girl was like every ZZ Top song ever, personified. Who's the lucky son of a bitch who-- "Hi, are you Nick?"
...*gulp*...I'm the lucky son of a bitch? "Um, yeah. That's me. Hey."
Smile. Fire in the eyes. Let the 'S' curl fall in front of your eyes. There you go. Now leave it there. No, don't touch it, you jackass. And stop fidgetting. She sounds American, do the double kiss, it'll be exotic for her.
She was a friend of a friend of mine, apparently. So we talked, we danced, then we went to get some air. Hot in them clubs. There was only one chair, so I try to be chivalrous and give it to her. She pushes me onto it, though, and then sits on my lap. Facing me. She kissed me later, and I remember the sensation. It was minty, like I had just eaten one too many tic tacs, and my mouth was burning. I had never really understood the expression 'it hurts so good' until that moment. We walked out to the lookout when the club closed. She had to go home a couple days later. I put her in a taxi, kissed her goodbye, and chances are I'll never see her again. We emailed for a while, but that never lasts. You have to expect that sort of thing. She probably has a boyfriend anyway. Those ones always do. It sucked to think about it for a while, but it isn't painful anymore. Just a cool memory. Heh. Initiative. Hi, Lisa. Excelsior.
6:22 p.m. - 2004-10-07
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