A Lesson From A Glamshell
February 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
I was feeling bummed after I got sorta dumped by the Polar Bear, but I have the best friends in the entire world. Wait a sec… did I just say that? Ever notice how everyone says that, like it’s an Olympic Competition. Akihiko’s girls from Japan are really beating out Zelda’s German besties. What a huge upset for Sharonda’s sistas from the US, who currently hold the world record for best friends. Who will win the gold metal as the gaggles sew circles around themselves and braid each other’s hair? We’ll be one step close to finding out, after the pillow fight.
As if Zelda’s friends are faster, stronger and more proficient at everything than my friends. Whatever, I don’t even half-like Zelda’s friends so they really couldn’t be the best in the world. So yeah, I’ve got some good people that like me and think I’m pretty cool, and even though it was a Tuesday, they took me to see an improv show across town, complete with before and after drinks and pizza. You got to love hanging out with classy ladies. You know, those fashion forward friends who look like they’ve been styled by whoever dresses those Gossip Girl kids even when enduring hung-over brunch. So we all looked great and hooked up with few other stylish acquaintances during our post show drink. I was feeling much better and engaged in some heavy conversation with one of my girls. Like a piano up a four-story building, heavy… a full sized punching bag in a bucket of cement, heavy… wading through thick mud at a Nascar event, heavy. But this type of talk is therapeutic especially when accompanied by a cold beer, low lights, classic rock and small groups of weekday liquid chatter bellowing in the background. We were on to some healthy rationalizations.
Now this girl isn’t just pretty like a normal pretty. She’s pretty like knock out but doesn’t know it bombshell. The type of pretty that’s contagious. You look better just by standing next to her. Not the type of gorgeous that makes you look worse in comparison, but the type that radiates, heating you in its hotness just by getting close. A fireplace of beauty, a Glamshell. And everyone knows that one night you go out just to be out is the night you get hit on by every bumbling bruiser trying to get some action. We were doomed for harassment. So of course this heavy convo gets interrupted.
The tall hipster approached us, hair in a not quite effortless faux-halk (when is that going to go out of style?). He was polite and introduced himself. That’s the thing with hipsters, their pants are so tight they are only capable of curbing their pompous attitudes when they want something. He mentioned that he was the appointed representative from his group of dudes sent over to persuade us to join them. Although he was cordial, he did exude extreme selfishness by interrupting our obviously deep conversation. I mean, he didn’t even wait for a contemplative pause or an affected sigh. He just inserted his wet noodle handshake between us mid-sentence. I’m not just pissed off because he wasn’t my type, but the epiphany we were about to reach was lost completely.
Both the Glamshell and I stared, dumbfounded that someone, even a hipster, would have the audacity to barge in on two strangers like that. I’m usually pretty bad at dodging men I don’t want to talk to. Me and @Twenty-Six will go out, get taken advantage of our politeness for hours at a time, get trapped into the ol’ I’ll text you right now trick, then have to dodge texts for the next two weeks from that pest we didn’t have the heart kill in the first ten mins. So when this hipster launched his wooing speech, I did what I always do, avert eye contact and answer questions with as few words as possible. I believe this oozes an I don’t even want to share complete sentences with you, that’s how little I want to get to know you vibe. However, I am reconsidering my approach after watching the Glamshell in action.
Sure she probably gets these parasites all the time, and they aren’t the good parasites that balance the circle of life. First she appears aloof, stating that she’s just passing through, not really sticking around. With the help of her New Zealand accent, the guy draws the conclusion that she really is traveling the world and not paying rent five miles away. She then out right makes it clear that we were having an A/B conversation and she didn’t appreciate the interruption (for which he offered NO apology, even after she called him out). Then she mentions her boyfriend in the very next sentence. After that the most astonishing thing happened, the hipster paused and considered for a second. He asked me if I had a boyfriend as well. Yes! I said ‘yes,’ conforming to the Glamshell’s lead. Then he looked at us with the severity of a CEO of a corporate conglomerate and said, “well then, we have no business between us.” With that he returned to his dudes.
No business?! As if it was some type of transaction to have a conversation! All he wanted was to negotiate the exchanging of goods, on a Tuesday! Can’t imagine how it would’ve gone from there. We would have been signing non-disclosures if he had bought us a drink.
Lesson learned, you got to kill the spider before it lays it’s eggs. I also must perfect an exotic accent. I could probably pass for Kiwi if it wasn’t for the Irish all over my face. Most people expect an Irish person to be drunk and funny, and I can’t pull funny off and concentrate on an accent while drunk. But, I’ll tell ya… the next hipster to hit on me in the middle of figuring out the meaning of life is in real trouble.