he's famous, at least in some circles, photography circles, sports circles.
i'm blehh. at least in comparison.
i'm the girl who takes grainy, blurred photos of rocks, and i've asked him (not knowing who he was) to help me? am i fucking kidding? it's like walking up to hendrix and saying, could you show me the "g" chord?
i'm the girl who thinks that chocolate brownies should be considered a part of the food pyramid because chocolate comes from cocoa beans and beans are legumes. i'm the girl who fights to keep her weight down and her tits up. i'm not the 'bunny-caliber' that this guy is likely accustomed to.
i can't make change for a dollar right now.
i live in a shack. a filthy shack. an embarrassment of sorts that i wouldn't know where to begin to clean. and my car? oh, well, with the duct tape holding the side rearview on and the recently demolished drivers seat... oh yeah. i'm a fucking prize. get thee to thy trailer park, woman.
i'm afraid this possibility of a meeting is only working towards lowering my self image. for god's sake, my last date paid with FOOD STAMPS!
my insecurity level has just skyrocketed. i mean, i'm not freaking out about meeting D. he hikes. he lives in an unassuming town near by. he works in software. HE DOESN'T HAVE A COUCH EITHER!
but C, well, C is planets, galaxies away from anything i would recognize. i'm going to look like the dull, fat friend on doubles night. the one who gets the pity date from the cute guy's friend so that the pretty girl won't feel bad about leaving early.
i need to stop now.
i need to forget that i ever spoke to him.
i need to lose the illusion that he'll even contact me.
i need to walk away before this becomes the disappointment it's bound to be.
i need to hire a maid or a housekeeper.
i need to lose 15 pounds.
i need to go back to contacting normal guys with normal lives who's names are not splashed around in newspapers and sports blogs. (seriously, i searched his name on here and came up with more than a page of hits for photo credits.)
this is ridiculous.
i am ridiculous.
and i dare you... DARE YOU... to prove me otherwise.
7 comments:
I accept that dare.
With not a doubt in my mind and heart.
HAHAHAAHAHA!!!!
Smeagle has a point. The "slow down" point. AMEN Smeagle.
Honey Bunches, it's all good. You are talking to him, he's talking to you. There is talking which, despite the way you met him, is a very good beginning. So just ride the wave and enjoy it. There is no league. There is no invisible red rope you aren't allowed behind.
You have already made it a lot farther than the "bunnies" that you mentioned. (Although I sort of doubt he has "bunnies".)
You deserve this. If nothing else, you deserve the promise of this.
pegan: bring it on.
smeagle: eh, what fun would it be if it was any other way? and as for peaks and lows... of course it fucking is! my life is 80% grey, but i don't write about that shit! no one wants to read about grey and i don't want to write about grey. the purest white and the deepest black. 10% on either side. no writers on coke here, but hell, maybe that or some weed would make it easier.
pegan: i firmly believe this is 2/3 your fault. if you were here, physically here, this would be a fuck of a lot easier. and we haven't really talked. 2 emails each. that isn't talking.
what the hell an i doing awake? it's still light out. back to the cave. i'm gonna ask 27 for cash for a maid service so my house will be clean if C shows up.
....fuckin hell. it's still ridiculous. but it passes time between the grey.
Damn, I LOVE your blacks and whites. And I imagine your grays are fascinating too. I'd love to fondle your duct-taped mirror, feel the art and craftsmanship. You are as real as they come. I'm thinkin this guy is not good enough for you.
He said he wanted to FONDLE your...ahem. Wow. Steamy. Should I stop reading and leave you two alone?
mmmmm. mr observer, i dare say you're gettin' me a little wet with all that fondling talk.
and i see no reason for pegan to leave. you don't mind, my lovely observer, do you?
LOL, you can both leave the room: it's her hot duct tape car that's got me amped up! Or maybe we should have a four-way?
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