*taps mic* This thing still on? It’s been a while…
Well, shit. Now that I’ve moved the Wall of Amps (TM) due to the flooding from a burst water heater on the floor above me, things have settled enough for my analyst nature to take over. Take over, and make up for lost time. Thanks for that, brain. And yep, super thrilled here to have moved like 400 lbs of tube amps and cabinets at 1AM on Friday night (Saturday morning -Ed.), trying to save them from water damage as well as prevent electrocution on my part. At least I can write this while I wait for the carpet crew to come install blowers to keep me up all night. Yay for the rockstar life.
Pause, rewind, start from somewhere near the beginning…
So I met a lady (don’t all “well, shit” stories start that way?). To quell speculation as to where this is headed, she’s great. Miles ahead of great, actually. Neighborhood of Kick Ass; population, her. She’s intelligent and has style about her. She’s just enough punk, with sensibility. Caring – not just for her family and friends, but the community and children in general and essentially those that need someone to stand up for them or with them. She’s funny, witty… weaving this delicate ballet through charm and spunk and light-heartedness and scrappiness. Beautiful inside and out. And, she’s interesting as Hell.
Which is where we come to the “well, shit.”
Because she’s so interesting, I could sit and listen to her all night. Picture me sitting and thoroughly enjoying listening to her, mentally filing everything and thinking it through and finding her so mesmerizing. But all that’s happening on the inside, and I do a spectacularly shitty job of expressing it. (Shitacular? -Ed.)
Which is precisely what I found myself doing too many times tonight on our fourth date. “Well, shit.”
And of course, I’m introverted as they come. And re-donk-ulously out of practice in dating (funny how you forget after 17 years of not doing something). “Well, shit” part two.
I’m not out to impress her, obviously. That’s not my style, really, and not a foundation for a lasting relationship IMO. I share things about myself or my life with her because I want her to be a part of it, and because I want her opinion. I want her opinion because I value and respect it. But I didn’t tell her that, either. “Well shit,” The Trilogy.
Telling all this to my cat… eh, let’s just say the cat wasn’t a bastion of help. She did start sharpening her switchblades, which I don’t think was a great sign.
My plan for the next date? Foremost to pull my head from my ass. Let this lady know how genuinely interesting she is. Learn more about her interests and what she thinks and why she thinks it. And, probably try to find another pitcher plant to replace the one that she lost.
And avoid another “well, shit” evening on my part…
Postscript: The carpet crew is scheduled to arrive at 2:30AM to shop-vac 35 gallons of water up and start shampooing. Just call me Jacques Cousteau. 👎