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March 04, 2003The Night of a Mocked ModelAs reported earlier, of all the options I listed on Friday afternoon, all were modified. I’ll try to be brief, but there is so much to tell… Friday Seeing no hope in attempting to continue playing pool at Grumpy’s we paid our tabs and proceeded to Crazee’s sans BB. As is often the case, I was the first to pay my tab and was stuck waiting, waiting, and waiting for everyone else. In any event, we arrive at Crazee’s claim a table and stake out the pool games. We end up playing partners against a couple whom were long time pool sharks. After teaming with MF for a couple of games, I realize my luck still hasn’t returned and retire to allow CM to team with MF. Joining SE and ID at the table, we talk and drink. At some point, LR Catholic alums and two girls have occupied the table adjacent to ours. One of the guys begins asking SE and ID if they would go and grab one of his friends rears and/or any number of things with the claim that he was kind of depressed and it would help his ego and/or self confidence. They refuse. He offers to buy all their drinks for the rest of the night. They refuse. I intervene. Offering to ensure that one of the ladies in our group would approach and visit with the guy, I seal the deal to have our drinks (or at least SE and ID’s) paid for the evening. In no time, I have MF cornered. At this point, she has had her share of beer and is ready to listen to anything. I convince her that we are going to run her for Congress because of her innate ability to approach people and visit with them like they were long time friends. However, I would need to see her perform the one campaign technique I had not seen her perform—the cold call. After some discussion, MF has taken a seat next to the guy and struck up a conversation. All of sudden, into Crazee’s walks one of the most wonderful sights a single southern guy can behold—four (count ‘em) willowy, wispy, tall, model beautiful young ladies. For our ladies SE and ID, it is the worst nightmare (particularly for SE who had been scoping out one of the guys at the pool tables). All but one is a brunette. The most striking of all, and not because of her hair color, was the blonde. Tall, thin but well proportioned, and a way of gliding through the place and around the tables as if she had just stepped off of a fashion runway or a department store catalog. In fact, she was a model for a department store—Dillard’s. ID works for the graphic design at Dillard’s corporate headquarters in Little Rock and recognized her instantly. Continue reading to learn how I mocked a model After a few minutes and SE in full realization that one of the brunette’s has moved in on the guy she had scoped previously, SE and ID do what most women will do in the same situation: they begin to snip at the girls. At some point I hear one of them say about the blonde, “Look at her. She is just posing the whole time. She’ll walk some and then stop and pose. She’s even posing while she’s walking. Ugghhh!” I turn to look and, indeed, she is posing. Whether it was deliberate or simply natural grace, she was posing. I also notice that the Curious Mating Ritual of the Redneck Male has begun in earnest with the blonde. Being already possessed of some orneriness after the Congresswoman MF talk and with full understanding of the ritual now, my eyes lit up as I turn back to SE and ID and announce, “I’ll tell you what. I used to coach some girls in pageants. I know how this posing is done. For the next five minutes, I will walk around in the same area posing.” ID replies with, "You would not.” “Watch me.” I rise from the table and begin my orbit in the area of the pool tables using every catalog pose I can lay my memory around. After about three minutes of the mocking exercise, I come back by the table. Where I’m greeted with an even greater challenge from ID, “If you really want to impress us, go stand next to her and pose.” “Done.” I head towards the model with a few poses interspersed. However, given the continuing redneck mating ritual, I can’t get close enough to do my pose. I try and try and continue to get blocked. My five minutes of posing expired and I return to our table. “Told you, you wouldn’t pose next to her.” I explain that I was constantly getting blocked and couldn’t despite my best efforts. ID weighs in with a double or nothing, “You can make up for it if you’ll go over there, talk to her, and pose while you talk.” “Ohhh, I’m not so sure about all that.” “Oh, come on. I’ve already told you her name, you know she’s a Dillard’s model, you know three of the people in the graphic design division, I’ll tell you the name of the photographer, and you know one of the other models. Just go up and introduce yourself like that and talk.” I sit silent for a moment. I ponder the approach and realize I am armed with not one, but (count ‘em) five instant ‘ins’ for making the initial approach. I realize I don’t have to try to pick her up and don’t really want to at this point (some thoughts already of a rekindling of the old flame with ID). I say, “Alright, I’ll do it.” I approach her and say, “Hi. Please excuse me, but my name is Adam and you’re Amy right?” Her smile brightens the whole room as she replies, “Why, yes!” as she returns my handshake. I proceed to lay all four of my remaining instant ‘ins’ on her, and she is charmed. We talk about each very briefly. I pose throughout the conversation. I end the brief meeting with, “well, I just didn’t wanted to come by and introduce myself, say hi, and tell you that I really enjoy your very good work.” She answers with a full of pride, “Well, thank you so much, I’m so glad you did.” I smile warmly and return to the table where SE and ID, recovering from their initial shock, are mixing double thumbs up signs with golf claps. “Well, there you have it,” I say as I sit with my back to the blonde. After they have debriefed me on the conversation, we talk about other things for a while. Back in a pool game, MF comes by between shots and leans over my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t look now, but that blonde girl is checking you out.” YOINK! I look over at SE and ID and ask them to see if I am indeed being ‘checked out.’ They confirm it. I immediately ponder why she would be checking me out. I wasn’t the best looking guy in the place. I had offered no pick-up lines, no come on’s, nothing other than a hello and a brief conversation. Ding! Of course! Given my last experience of not playing the Curious Mating Ritual of the Redneck Male, it must be that I did not offer any come on’s, etc. If nothing else, she has to be intrigued by the one guy that came up and talked, complimented her work and not the standard appearance compliments, and then left with not so much as an invitation to coffee. She didn’t even have the opportunity to shoot me down. I’m afraid we may have short-circuited her by not sticking to the script of the ritual. I glance back over my shoulder and sure enough, caught her looking. I turn back to SE and ID and relate something along the lines of, “Well, isn’t that something? Certainly does the ego good, anyway.” After a bit I notice that her and one of the brunettes are about to leave. I then remind myself and them of the lines of Clint Eastwood from the movie In The Line Of Fire: “If she looks back, she’s interested.” I enlist their help to scan for the looks back. She did, and SE and ID confirmed it for me. I make a note to myself that if there is little sign of rekindling between ID and I that I will enlist her help in finding the model later. The night continues and finally we have reached last call. ID is beginning to feel very drunk. She has opted for seven & sevens and not the beer the rest of us have knocked back quite efficiently. However, I have seen her out drinking before and she is right at where she normally would be in regards to quantity. She should be fine, but she isn’t. She asks if I’ll take her home. I agree. Getting into the Jeep, she immediately slumps over on my shoulder. She is talking the entire way and protesting that she is going to be sick. I think great and immediately think back to when she got sick in MF's car. I resolve to not make any sudden turns, stops etc. She brings up the subject of why we haven’t talked. I tell her that I’m not going to talk about it. She slurringly presses me. I realize that I can tell her everything because she will not remember any of it in the morning. I tell her as much. She agrees. As we pull up to her house, I get her door and she leans on me as I take her to the front walk. Given the degree to which she is leaning, I realize I’m going to have to take her inside, up two flights of stairs, and into her room. With concentrated effort, we make it to her room where she collapses like a wet rag onto her bed. Seeing as how she is not moving, but still talking, I resolve to take things into my own hands. I unzip her boots and remove them, take her jacket off, remove her socks. She beckons me to come, sit down and talk to her. She wants to know why the absence. I tell her she knows why. She says she does, but she wants to hear it from me. I tell her that I’d like to hear her story first (I learned a long time ago that copious amounts of alcohol are the best truth serum and I was ready to get the full, uncensored, unedited truth). She says no, you first, I respond with ladies first. She protests, I protest, she protests, I protest (Methinks we both protested too much...). Finally, I lightly put my hand over her mouth so that she cannot protest again and she kisses it. Hmmm. I pretend it didn’t happen and get her to begin telling her side of the events. She holds my hand. She begins and then—“I’m going to be sick.” I follow her to her bathroom offering to hold back her hair. She begs me to allow her at least a shred of dignity and wait outside while she…you know. She returns and I ask if she feels better. She doesn’t because she wasn’t able to…you know. This cycle continues three times with more of the story being told in between each run to the bathroom and with me finally convincing her to change into her night clothes (shoes, socks, and jacket I can do, but we were nowhere near close enough for me to assist her any further.). However, on her third run, I felt the sleep monster jumping on my back. Leaving my boots on, I place a pillow against the headboard on the other side of her bed. I lean back, cross my legs off the side of the bed and close my eyes. I wake when she walks back into the room. She has finally changed into her pajamas, still has not been able to ...you know. She gets back into bed, grabs my hand again, and starts to talk again….and at some point I fade into the dark of sleep. 7:45--I wake. I look around and am not sure where I am. My jacket is off and I’m under covers in a bed. I’m not touching anyone. No one is touching me. I look over to my left and about a foot away is ID. Hmmm…nothing happened...that’s good. Very good. (Note: Another rule for yours truly is "don’t do anything with a drunk girl, unless she is your steady/committed girlfriend") I notice her stirring a bit and waking up. We talk until 8:30, at which point I rise because I have to get home and get ready for my trip up to Fayetteville for the Razorback basketball game. I put my boots on, retrieve my jacket and head for the door in a classic ‘When Harry Met Sally’ Harry-esque run for the door. I look back at her at the door and realize what I’m doing. I apologize, return to her bedside and give her a hug promising to call her later. Yet again, I’m driving home and can’t believe the odd, unusual, weird circumstance I have found myself in once again. And incredibly, it is once again with no harm and no foul towards myself or anyone else. To be continued with Saturday… (Note: If you re-read the “Decisions” post, you’ll recall that I mentioned possibly hearing from NLF. I did not all weekend. However, as I write this she has emailed. I did not reply. I just can’t for a while. Must demonstrate distance.) Comments
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