Oh My! What luck I Have... yeah right...

So, I called the girl I met at the Violent Femmes concert tonight. And let me tell you what ladies, it is awfully nerve racking, and a courageous act that a man goes through just to get the number let alone call the number up. The number that is often given to him on the back of his hand, where the ink has been all smeared from sweat so you can barely read the number anymore when the man goes to write it down on something more reliable, and by that time he does not know if that is a three or a five. Guess there is only one way to find out. Ladies, give the man patience and the courtesy of at least humoring him once for a date if he calls you, especially if you pick up the damn phone. It is easy enough for a girl to hand out her phone number knowing that the call will never reach past her answering machine. Notice how it is always the man who has to call the girl up for the initiation process. No, this is not quite fair, but in most cases I would argue it is true.
I digress. No, wait a minute, I do not. Well, not entirely yet. I called up this Jenny girl, who by the way, if you had not heard the braggart’s story yet; I met a girl at the show last Friday. She and her friend, who were 29 and 32 respectively, were drop-dead. Oh my, yes. Anyway, after awhile and a few beers later, long story short, this girl and I became “got drunk, danced, and made out with each other at the Femmes show” buddies. She volunteered her number to me, so I thought; hey she must really dig me. (Though many times in our conversations she was hesitant of me because I was five years her junior). Yet, I repeat, she volunteered her number to me. Greedily and excitedly I accepted the crowning achievement on the palm of my left hand. She insisted it to be my left and not my right. Funny shit, now that I look upon it, because it was drunken bonobo talk.
So much to my surprise, tonight I very nervously picked up the phone, in hopes to get her machine (God, they are so much easier to talk the first time and greater buffer for rejection), but did I get the machine? Of course I did not. She picked up after the second ring, totally throwing me off kilter. Yikes, and what followed was worse. No, no, do not be too alarmed. My previous rant did not apply here. She was kind enough, but what she said and the tone in her throat argued was Oh my! What have I gotten myself into? I asked myself if this could totally be my overacting imagination, but it is what she said next after "Hello" that provides sufficient evidence toward my beliefs. She said to me after I introduced myself, “Oh jeeezus. I gave you my number?” As if I was not feeling anxious enough as it was already, this was ten times worse. The smile I placed in my voice, specifically to sound confident as I could, dried completely up. Oh jeeezus indeed, I thought to myself. It totally threw me off. I did the best I could to recover, hearing the air run completely out on my end. Hers was of embarrassment as well. I think in pity, she said yes to a date. Though, crushed as I was, I somehow managed to get that part out. But where to take her, idly my brain froze and I could not think of anything more to say. As anxious as I was to call her in the first place, now I felt the anxiety reach a boiling point from somewhere behind my eyballs, and all I could think about was trying to get back off the phone now. By any means necessary I was searching for a way to end the conversation fast. I no longer cared about the result, but only about a means to end the heat radiating from my ears.
Yikes, again. This is where she kindly took over, again maybe out of pity, but whatever it was out of, I was grateful, because she told me to essentially get my act together and call her back later. She told me I had to wow her the next time and she apologized for saying the things she did.
As I see it, she is giving me a second chance to: A) call her back and try again with more gusto, or B) start over again and pretend that this original call never happened. With my insecurities building a fortress in cellars of my subconscious below, I am tending to favor the latter. It was a pretty rough start. I could do better the next time I phoned. But should I is the real question. Damned or blessed in both directions. But to such is life. Has anyone ever seen Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrowe (don’t ask me if I can spell, because you all should know by now that I cannot)? Good movie for those of you who have not, and are standing for many lonely hours between the aisles of Blockbuster trying to decide what to watch. Well the movie’s premise is all about the same girl living two separate lives at the same time in parallel universes (which are the same). One life led is good and the other is bad, all depending on one cause and effect that occurred in this one girls life, which separated the universe into two, by whether or not Gwyneth’s character caught the subway or not. It is a fantastic movie. But here is the same thing that we are all faced everyday. And it is the big question of “what if?” There is nothing in the world that makes me feel smaller than an amoeba than feeling the regret of a what if question. We really should not ask ourselves these questions, but I ask how can we prevent it? I do not know the answer to that one.

Anyway, I am glad to see that Joshua has finally updated his blog. Congratulations, it is about damn time. Sometimes mundane is interesting. Or perhaps it keeps us grounded in the fact that you or I are not better than each other as we all live in triviality.
Anyway, happy father's day to you all. I hope all your illegitimate children out there are safe from not knowing any of you freak-a-zoids... wait that's not nice... ha ha ha...
speaking of illegitimate children... Jesus gave God a card this morning for Father's Day, and God was like "what the fuck is this shit... a fucking card... what you couldn't spend more than a dollar-fifty? Jeeezus Christ... Ya fucking bastard, no wonder those damn jews killed you..."
urgh... yeah... I got nothing... 'sides what can you get a man who has the whole world anyhow?
WHEW! I need some drugs after this bit of sharing session. “I cannah goe ahn livin’ like this Jean…” I'm tired of livin' the vida loca, I want to live the vida Locus... (Don't worry 'cause not even I know what this means)
Peace out peoples,
-sib-