Missed Connection:
It was a Thursday night and I was hosting trivia at a terrible bar full of terrible people. Except for you, that is. After a long Wednesday night of drinking and a long Thursday of recovery, I mustered enough energy to entertain the 10-15 people that were in the bar. I didn't want to be there. They didn't want to be there. The night was a clever and quiet battle of wills, and I refused to back down. I grabbed the microphone to begin my standard introduction. However, before I made it all the way through, you made your move. Sweeter than the song of the sirens, you YELLED: "WHY DO YOU LOOK SO ASIAN?!?" The room fell silent. And I fell in love. "What a great question," is all I could think. Why DO I look so Asian? Was it my dark hair? I quickly contemplated whether my life was all a lie and my true ancestors were residing among Harajuku girls and the panty vending machines of Japan. Maybe that's why I have such a penchant for Asian foods. I mistakenly and completely ignored you and quickly regained my composure, sure I was to speak to you soon, in private. Sadly, before I had the chance to you made your way to the bathroom and when you came back out, your pants were down. "This is not the time, my dear!-" I started to say, until I realized you were drunk. Not just on our love, (though sometimes I still tell myself that was it!), but on the liquid vice that has claimed me as its own on so many a night. When the waitress walked by you and told you to "put your dick back in your pants," you did just that. As I watched you fall asleep on the bar table before my very eyes, I couldn't help but wonder again and again; why DO I look so Asian??? So, if you'd like to get Shabu Shabu, sushi, or even just Chinese food, I just have one thing to say:
Sincerely,
The Girl That Looks SO Asian
Friday, April 17, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
1/20/15
Missed Connection:
You know those moments you see someone from across the room and you instantly know there is going to be something between you? Me neither. But this was pretty close to that. It was a Tuesday night. I had ordered my drink and was chatting with my friends when a lull in the conversation caused me to turn my head…toward you. You had just come back from the bathroom. How had I not seen you earlier?? Your leather jacket and slicked back hair that screamed "I really don't want to be from Orange County, but I really, really am" were a powerful aphrodisiac. You walked towards the bar; you wanted a drink. It was then that we made eye contact. Everyone froze. Spotlights enveloped us both. The music stopped playing whatever crappy bar music was on and Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" seeped through the speakers like fog. ...There's a solid chance that didn't actually happen, but I prefer to keep my memory of you pristine. I turned away almost as quickly as I had met your gaze. Partly because I hate when you accidentally look at someone you didn't mean to, but mostly because I knew that you were soon to be mine forever. Was I ready for this? Did I have what it takes to be someone's forever?? As I pondered these questions, you turned to your friend and loudly said (no doubt to throw me off! I love it when boys play hard to get!) "Dude…there are like, no cute chicks here." My heart momentarily shattered. But it was then I realized that to you, I was not a "chick;" oh no. I was far more than that! I was a woman who was about to become your wife, and maybe you needed a minute to digest that. And so in the moment I thought my best play was to play it cool, laugh at your little joke and never look back. Because I knew that when I turned around again you would be there on bended knee, having made an engagement ring out of the cherry stem from your drink. But when I turned around, you were gone. I know you are trying to add to the suspense, but darling I am ready! Let me know when you want to get this thing started.
Sincerely,
Not A Cute Chick
You know those moments you see someone from across the room and you instantly know there is going to be something between you? Me neither. But this was pretty close to that. It was a Tuesday night. I had ordered my drink and was chatting with my friends when a lull in the conversation caused me to turn my head…toward you. You had just come back from the bathroom. How had I not seen you earlier?? Your leather jacket and slicked back hair that screamed "I really don't want to be from Orange County, but I really, really am" were a powerful aphrodisiac. You walked towards the bar; you wanted a drink. It was then that we made eye contact. Everyone froze. Spotlights enveloped us both. The music stopped playing whatever crappy bar music was on and Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" seeped through the speakers like fog. ...There's a solid chance that didn't actually happen, but I prefer to keep my memory of you pristine. I turned away almost as quickly as I had met your gaze. Partly because I hate when you accidentally look at someone you didn't mean to, but mostly because I knew that you were soon to be mine forever. Was I ready for this? Did I have what it takes to be someone's forever?? As I pondered these questions, you turned to your friend and loudly said (no doubt to throw me off! I love it when boys play hard to get!) "Dude…there are like, no cute chicks here." My heart momentarily shattered. But it was then I realized that to you, I was not a "chick;" oh no. I was far more than that! I was a woman who was about to become your wife, and maybe you needed a minute to digest that. And so in the moment I thought my best play was to play it cool, laugh at your little joke and never look back. Because I knew that when I turned around again you would be there on bended knee, having made an engagement ring out of the cherry stem from your drink. But when I turned around, you were gone. I know you are trying to add to the suspense, but darling I am ready! Let me know when you want to get this thing started.
Sincerely,
Not A Cute Chick
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
1/10/15
Missed Connection:
It was a Saturday night, and I had been bed ridden with the Ebola virus for the past two weeks. I was finally feeling good enough to enjoy an early dinner and a glass of wine with a friend at a classy restaurant, complete with unusually attractive piano player at the center of the bar who should probably call me. I digress. Here's where you come in. You entered the place with a pretty woman who was probably my mother's age, which made sense since you could have easily been my father's. Feeling generous as I was seated at the now full bar and you and your lady friend were not, I offered to make way so you could order your beverages. My mistake (or was it??). It became clear to me that she was not your wife as you had previously led me to believe, (when she leaned over, asking for my help and explained that you had just met tonight) when you touched my thigh where my skirt ended and told me - in less eloquent terms - you liked the way I look. After I removed your hand and loudly let your date know that your heart was straying, you then began studying my fingers. My shy disposition (for I was certainly not trying to blatantly ignore you!) must have been your aphrodisiac as you had no intention of leaving me to enjoy the remainder of my evening. Still fixated on my fingers, you called them beautiful and perceptively noted that they were small. Attempting to keep this conversation as PG as possible as I knew you were on the brink of a downward spiral and did not wish to anger your lady, I did my best to move on from the topic; but you would have none of that! You grabbed my hand and opened my eyes with a single sentence: "Small fingers make a penis look big." How did I already not know this?? So much wasted time! Please do not misinterpret my silence and subsequent bout of laughter for anything other than curiosity! Obviously I couldn't wait to prove you right! Instead my gentleman friend (whom you had no way of knowing was just a friend, I might add; such poise!) quietly asked you to leave me alone and you finally acquiesced. But I have not stopped thinking about you. So, shall we hold hands?
It was a Saturday night, and I had been bed ridden with the Ebola virus for the past two weeks. I was finally feeling good enough to enjoy an early dinner and a glass of wine with a friend at a classy restaurant, complete with unusually attractive piano player at the center of the bar who should probably call me. I digress. Here's where you come in. You entered the place with a pretty woman who was probably my mother's age, which made sense since you could have easily been my father's. Feeling generous as I was seated at the now full bar and you and your lady friend were not, I offered to make way so you could order your beverages. My mistake (or was it??). It became clear to me that she was not your wife as you had previously led me to believe, (when she leaned over, asking for my help and explained that you had just met tonight) when you touched my thigh where my skirt ended and told me - in less eloquent terms - you liked the way I look. After I removed your hand and loudly let your date know that your heart was straying, you then began studying my fingers. My shy disposition (for I was certainly not trying to blatantly ignore you!) must have been your aphrodisiac as you had no intention of leaving me to enjoy the remainder of my evening. Still fixated on my fingers, you called them beautiful and perceptively noted that they were small. Attempting to keep this conversation as PG as possible as I knew you were on the brink of a downward spiral and did not wish to anger your lady, I did my best to move on from the topic; but you would have none of that! You grabbed my hand and opened my eyes with a single sentence: "Small fingers make a penis look big." How did I already not know this?? So much wasted time! Please do not misinterpret my silence and subsequent bout of laughter for anything other than curiosity! Obviously I couldn't wait to prove you right! Instead my gentleman friend (whom you had no way of knowing was just a friend, I might add; such poise!) quietly asked you to leave me alone and you finally acquiesced. But I have not stopped thinking about you. So, shall we hold hands?
Sincerely,
The Girl With Small Fingers
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