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Thoughts, observations, and introspections from an art student waiter/bartender in South Beach. Arcane humor ensues.
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:: Wednesday, February 18, 2009 ::

:: So Now What? Part 2 ::
It's only fitting to write a follow-up to that girl I I met last week at tennis. My buddy Pedro called later that week to catch up and I told him about what happened on Wednesday. After laughing his ass off, he had the bright idea of seeing if she's on Facebook and sending her a message if I find her profile.

Seemed harmless enough other than the fact that it seemed somewhat stalker-ish. But given my luck up to that point, what's the worst that could happen; she ignores my message? Never show up at the tennis clinics again? Whatever, I've heard worse ideas.

I knew her first name, and during our conversation she told me what she did, where she lived, and what college she went to. Using those filters, I found her profile in about five minutes and... wow is that her? That is her college and I can open up her profile and, holy crap that is her. WOW she's hot. I mean, she looked good sans makeup and all (not just because her little tennis skirt showed off her legs) but her default photo showed her decked out in a black dress at some restaurant or club and let me tell ya, she cleans up nice. I have to admit, I was a little intimidated.

It took me about forty minutes to compose a message. Yeah really. It couldn't come off too weird or dorky, and I made sure there weren't any typos (did I mention she's a teacher?). It's one thing to go over something with a fine-tooth comb; I strained this thing through a sieve. Finally convinced that I wouldn't seem like a total idiot, I clicked "send."

Saturday came and went with no reply, no calls, nothing. I did check her profile once more to see if there were any changes in her status (which might actually be a little stalker-ish) but again, nothing. I thought that maybe she doesn't check it that often because unlike other Facebook dwellers, she enjoys interacting with three-dimensional human beings. Any type of reasoning that makes me feel less like a loser, I'll go with. Whatever, I didn't hear from her.

Or so I thought.

Another Wednesday night, another night of tennis. I arrive, pay for the clinic, walk to the courts and... oh it's her. Umm, shit.

"Hey how are you?" "I'm good, how are you?" (There's that smile again.)

"Not too bad." "I got your message on Facebook."

Oh. Umm, shit. My initial reaction was apprehension. Crap. I knew it. She thinks I'm an idiot. But, wait a minute and focus for a minute. She's here, she said 'hi' to me, she's smiling, and oh by the way, she's HERE. And another thing, dumbass? SHE'S SMILING.

"You did." 'Yeah, I tried calling you on Saturday."


"You did?"

She did? I don't remember getting a call at any time on Saturday... oh wait. There was that one call early afternoon from an area code that I didn't recognize. I get these occasionally and it's always some telemarketing call so I ignored it. That was her? She's been living in Miami longer than I have; I thought she'd have a local number. Why the hell didn't she leave a message?!

Never mind that. I have a shot to salvage this thing.

We keep making small talk throughout the night and I really can't help but notice that being the only girl, she's not only doing a pretty good job keeping up with the guys (again, not a metaphor for "she has a nice ass" although, yeah it's not bad) she's is a bit better than a couple of them. Once we're done, I go up to her and ask her for her number (again) and punch it into my phone. (After last week, I don't care if I'm just taking the trash out, I'm never leaving home without that thing again, ever.)

We have tentative plans for Sunday afternoon. Let's just see now if I figure out a way to screw that up.

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:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 10:32 PM [+] :: | 0 comments

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