The kids gone, I worked really late last night. It wsz so late that it seemed reasonable to go straight to the Karaoke place in my business suit, to grab a Miller HL & sing some 80s tunes.
It was the songstress princess’s night off (see 1st post to understand who she is, hereinafter SP for all intents and purposes) and she blew the doors off each number, getting the crowd into it, and was an all around rock star. Even better is that we got to hang out, joke around and stuff.
Insert wistful sigh here.
The deal with a lot of the attractive 20 somethings who hang out at this place (and even the not so attractive ones, but SP is both beautiful and wild) is that after a few minutes of conversation the severity of the generation gap and the extent to which the person to whom I am speaking is a vapid head case all becomes harshly clear. After over a year of going to this place, this is not the case with SP. She is sharp and witty. Her engaging sassy banter is one of the most enticing things about her.
I’m not a total fool, though. I can’t pretend like her life isn’t the typical Holly Golightly mess typical of the single, no college degree having, struggling 20 something. But unlike many of her contemporaries, adversity has made her reflective, and she is a whole lot more self-aware; and far cooler.
What really tips me off that I am hooked on her? It’s my combination of:
a) sticking my foot in my mouth
b) pratfall-like clumsiness
c) FB stalking her
and, Sadly
d) not trying to contact her when I’m not physically at the Karaoke place
What comes with reaching your 30s, having watched yourself and your friends go through their failed relationships, is the realization that mutual attraction is not enough, and a one-sided attraction is the musicial “The Fantastiks.”
I think this is what my dream about SP (See May 23rd post) was telling me: I have nothing good to offer this person.
This seems like a typically harsh self-assessment. Do I have nothing to say for myself? Surely, there are good things about me. I’m a professional, a good father, witty, caring… am I not? All of these things are bad things in the context of “things that would help SP.”
I’m chained to my job, in the service of my children’s future.
My kids will always come before any gf.
I use my wits to keep away people who might hurt me. And I am not sufficiently thick-skinned about having hurt feelings.
Moreover: I’m not handsome anymore. I’m not up on culture. And, importantly, I don’t feel young.
This is something of a litany re-hash (also known as a familiar refrain) but that’s how one establishes a theme.
I don’t feel young, though. Man, that’s hard to get used to. This must be what it’s like to go bald, to look at the place where there was once hair and realize that it’s not coming back because something died a little inside you.
...All my darkest hours talking like this... 