Thursday, June 21, 2007

Attracting the Wrong Kind

Like an episode of Sex and the City, my girlfriends and I were all sitting around the table of a trendy restaurant discussing men.

Melrose noted how she really liked the clean, professional types…but the artistic soul is what draws her in sexually.

Mischa falls hard for the emo-types, but has a hard time attracting them with her all-American good looks.

My physical type was the surfer look, but Lover Boy is far from it, and I love him anyway. He’s my ideal emotional type, which I find is what keeps relationships once the initial attraction wears off.

“I think it’s great that we all have different types, because we’ll never have to be competing for the same guy!” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things.

“Well, we are very different types of girls too, so I think different guys would be attracted to us.” Melrose said.

Mischa and I borrow clothes all the time, and I noticed that all of us prefer pastels and have blonde hair. I thought we were the exact same kind of girl.

I never thought of myself as having a “personal style,” I just threw on whatever fit. Sure, I have a tiny bit of love for the 60’s Mod and slightly wacky hairstyles…but I didn’t think it set me apart from anyone. I don’t think I go overboard with it…although I think Melrose, with her design degree, would beg to differ.

Nevertheless, the past couple of days I’ve noticed some…attention…I’ve been getting. From the wrong set of guys. Not that there is/are anything wrong with these guys…they just are totally not for me. Like the guy behind the counter of Hot Topic who burned me that pile of mix tapes just because I was interested in the song playing at the time (What can I say, I’m a sucker for punk covers of 80’s songs), or the spiky-haired eyeliner wearing guy walking around Urban Outfitters.

Then when I was pumping my gas today, a smile came from the guy using the pump on the other side. His face was nice, and his car was really nice…and he had a medium sized Mohawk.

Why do I attract those guys? Is Mischa’s type really attracted to slightly overweight blonde girls with their hair in goofy pigtails? Really?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Pride Always Goes...

She was looking good, and feeling good. After rock climbing for the first time the night before, and taking a sculpt class, she felt as if she could take on the world. She was wearing her new Capri’s from Guess (okay, the outlet…but they were still damn cute!), and her high heel shoes, and she strode down the parking garage with power. Feeling her newfound energy, she decided to take the stairs down to the casino level.

She turned the corner from the third floor to the third, and without warning, her heel caught on a loose piece of metal attached to the stair.

Cue the slow motion fall.

Her hand flung out, trying to catch onto anything that would keep her from falling down the entire flight of stairs. The first thing that she made contact with was the banister from the fourth floor.

The motion of her arm snapping her body back made her flash back to playground days, when someone on the Go-Round grabbed you when you were going the opposite direction. Only she was older now, and it hurt.

So did whipping around and slamming face first into the side of the stairs. She had saved herself the huge fall, but man did her shoulder hurt! Being as she was on her way to work, she had to shake it off and go about her day.

Two days later she felt the knot of muscle form right beneath her shoulder blade. The next morning she noticed she could actually see the knot in the mirror.

When telling her mother about this, her mother said “It might be a blood clot! You should go to the doctor.”

“Thanks ma. Now I’m worried.”

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

You Say It's Your Birthday

"Gunns!" I smiled and looked into his deep blue eyes. All 6 foot 4 of him engulfed me in a hug, and suddenly all was forgiven. I’d missed his school-boyish charm and charisma, and I was eager to catch up. He’d been seeing a girl for about a year; though they weren’t living together he described them as “comfortable.” I seemed to think that spelled trouble, but I kept it to myself.

Gunns had gotten himself a new gig, protecting the entrance of the newest club in town. The last time I’d seen him was at a place he wasn’t too thrilled with. I said goodbye to him, and saw the defeated look in his eyes; he was no longer doing the thing he loved.

That spark was back in his eyes, and he was in his element. He loved to take care of people, and seeing as how it was my “uber-late” birthday party, he invited us in and sat us at the interactive VIP table.

That’s right, I said interactive. Beneath the glass bounced all sorts of psychedelic objects. Gunns gave us all drink tokens, and threw one of them on the center of the table. All the objects went toward it like a vortex and cleared the table. By dragging our fingers around the table, we could make shapes and words out of all kinds of things; little people, hearts, flowers that bloomed with each touch. My favorite was writing in bubbles, then an octopus appeared and swam along the stream of bubbles.

After a few hours, someone wanted bottle service, so we were unceremoniously dumped out onto the dance floor with the unwashed masses. My friends took it in stride, and we stayed out dancing for awhile.

Suddenly I found all my friends and 4 or 5 guys staring at me. “What?” I yelled above the music. MoMo’s voice faded in and out of the music, but I gathered that she had just told them that this was my bachelorette party. Before I had a chance to deny the claim, the guys were surrounding me, and one went so far as to start grinding with me. “We are doing a bachelor party too!” The guy screamed in my ear, then motioned to the nerdliest one of the group. I finally broke free of his grip and said “Are you making sure he’s having a good time?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the best man baby!” He moved closer to me again. I put up my hand and said “then you have a mission; get off me and make sure he has a good time…not you…but him.” And I tried to walk away, but within a few steps the groom stopped me.

“You too, huh?” He motioned to me, then said “It’s my funeral too.”

I looked up at him, astounded. Anyone who would make that statement clearly wasn’t ready to be married. It seemed like an extremely unfunny thing to say. It made me a little sad, and I decided to take the bathroom escape.

We danced for a little longer, took many silly pictures, and ended the evening on a high note. I gave Gunns a hug and a kiss goodbye, and he smiled and said to me "Hey, we'll always have Fiji."

I smiled, socked him in the arm, and sashayed away.