"Want to go to a shooting range?" she asks.
"I don't even know how to shoot a gun," I say.
"I'll teach you," she blushes. "We can get your certificate in a couple hours."
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15 comments:
this is perfect.
Mmmm. Yeah. Just hung out with Dacheux. Told her, JP, and Alabaster about this exchange. They all gave the thumb's up. We'll see what shooting guns is like.
I don't even like to think about guns, much less having one in my hand. This is a definite no go for me. But you have fun.
You should talk/write to Henwood, he knows a thing or two about pistolas. Should have some good pointers.
lookin' good kid. lookin' good. we'll have to get a weekend report on Sunday!
That's hot, Pirooz. Capital H-O-T hot.
Naughty McGee over here...
Dude, she's unreal. I just finished talking to her on the phone. It's on. She wants me to come to her place tomorrow. Then we are going hiking and playing tennis on Saturday. Unbelievable.
Like Samuel Jackson, I am trying hard to not be too crazy about this. No overkill or anything. Who knows?
Anyway, in other news, I just got another promotion at the production company. Now I am the post-production coordinator. This is a real big deal at the company. I am not allowed to make mistakes. At least that was what I was told in the meeting.
"There is no room for mistakes," the executive said. "You are the gatekeeper."
Hopefully, I can handle it with everything else that is rocking through for me. My gosh. So many things. I will write more later though. Panauh says I have to come hear the next Slipshod hit.
I love you all. Thank you, God. Goodbye and kisses, P.
congrats super duper shikow!
thanks fantabulous dacheux!
Pirooz's Daily Checklist:
1. Kick ass
2. Take names
Right on, bro. Onward and upward.
J
Yes, Pirooz! feel it. the roll is rolling
JP - Only as much as you.
JG- You rolling? I'm rolling.
I removed my comment about the date and how it didn't work for me. Feel like I got a little too specific for the other person's anonymity.
But, yeah, she was cool. We hiked up Runyun Park and played tennis. It was nice. She loves to flirt with the world, talk to everyone, and has an affected wildness that comes off slightly contrived. I am sure she would exhibit a softer, more delicate persona after some healing and time.
I can't help someone and date them though. Especially after they tell me they don't believe in romantic relationships, and that it's best to move through them like you don't care.
"Like you don't care?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Well, I guess some relationships need a little romance. I guess that was why we didn't work out."
"Yeah, I would say so," I said and chortled.
"What?" she asked. "What is it?"
I couldn't even say. I think I said something like, "Well, I hear you that you don't think a relationship will not work out without romance." It was all I could muster.
The rest of the day was me being pulled between what Timeray calls my "man stick" and actually trying to make the best of the evening by enjoying what little we had in common.
"Do you like musicals?" she asks. "What's your favorite?"
"Uh," I say. "I saw some musicals on Broadway. I saw Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane in The Producers. That was okay. I've seen Crazy for You-"
She sings. Off-key.
I am amused and slight perturbed. I am amused because I could see myself doing something like this, and at the same time I am pained because I desperately want to not hear musical numbers from this person.
I don't want to hear musicals from anyone. I am not a fan. I have not ever been.
Sure, I can enjoy a good performance, and the shows on Broadway are fantastic (sometimes), but - there is a big butt.
She looks good. I can't deny that either.
"Don't you kiss a little..." she sings from the musical Chicago. In fact, she begins reciting the lines between songs.
I look back at her ass. I put my hand there. I pray there is a button somewhere that operates musical productions.
"I got rhythm. I got music. I got..."
I retract my hand. I get to my car. I drive.
She asks what I am doing tomorrow morning.
"Work," I say.
"Oh," she says. "I thought-"
"I tutor kids on Sundays."
"Oh."
I find the classical music station. It calms me.
"Thank you for taking me to tennis," she says.
"Thank you for the park," I say.
"It was real fun," she says.
"Yes," I say.
We get to her house. She manages a goodbye. I make no future anythings.
I lean over to kiss her goodbye.
She turns away quickly and leaves the car.
"Bye," she says, with the 'y' hanging in the air an extra octave above where it wants to.
"Thank God," I think. "I can go home."
I drive back home. I tell Timeray what happened. I sleep. I sleep. I sleep.
Good for you. Figured it out quick. Who needs her? There are nice girls in L.A. Good Luck Playa
Peace
who be dis?
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