First impressions
The first time I saw her, I thought she was gorgeous. She had an easy way about her. I was going through a whole, let's not drink for a while phase. My birthday was coming up, so either I was detoxing to prove to myself I could go out and not drink, or to justify going buck-wild on my birthday. I like to think it was the former, but the later may have came around to say hi, as well.
I met her on St. Patricks day, a day poised around Irish car bombs, the color green, and more Irish car bombs. Here I was, in the middle of one of the bigger bars in DC, hanging out of my social scene for my roommate, who at the time was dating J. (sweet girl), sipping over priced diet coke. It wasn't my choice, but commitments are commitments.
"I'm A., nice to meet you," she said.
"Dat. Nice to meet you, too." (and I think you are beautiful)
She put a hand through her crazy blonde lion's mane, smiled and continued collecting money at the door. It was that smile that got me. I stood by that door for a while that night, not really hoping for much more. March madness had just begun. I had a good view.
"That's like Dat Nguyen from the cowboys, right?" she asked.
(she knows football!) "Yeah, My mom's middle name is Nguyen."
"Cool. I bet I could throw the football farther then you," she said.
"Is that right?"
"I have a cannon, you know."
She just smiles, and I laugh to myself. We later laugh about this together.
I commented on the music and she said it was too main stream for her taste.
We danced that night. In one of those awkward circles adopted from an 8th grade dance. She busted out Napoleon Dynamite moves. I laughed and thought, "she's a dork ... Like me."
I spent the rest of the night by that door, sipping diet coke and talking to her girl friends, who kept on talking, and then kept on talking. They invited me to their party that weekend. I already had plans to go to another St. Patrick's Day house party in Capital Hill, sober. Although, I had thought about going. I knew A. had a boy at the time, and I thought what a lucky guy.
It rained all day that St. Patrick's day. Winter was ending, and rain is what we needed for the thawing soil.
I met her on St. Patricks day, a day poised around Irish car bombs, the color green, and more Irish car bombs. Here I was, in the middle of one of the bigger bars in DC, hanging out of my social scene for my roommate, who at the time was dating J. (sweet girl), sipping over priced diet coke. It wasn't my choice, but commitments are commitments.
"I'm A., nice to meet you," she said.
"Dat. Nice to meet you, too." (and I think you are beautiful)
She put a hand through her crazy blonde lion's mane, smiled and continued collecting money at the door. It was that smile that got me. I stood by that door for a while that night, not really hoping for much more. March madness had just begun. I had a good view.
"That's like Dat Nguyen from the cowboys, right?" she asked.
(she knows football!) "Yeah, My mom's middle name is Nguyen."
"Cool. I bet I could throw the football farther then you," she said.
"Is that right?"
"I have a cannon, you know."
She just smiles, and I laugh to myself. We later laugh about this together.
I commented on the music and she said it was too main stream for her taste.
We danced that night. In one of those awkward circles adopted from an 8th grade dance. She busted out Napoleon Dynamite moves. I laughed and thought, "she's a dork ... Like me."
I spent the rest of the night by that door, sipping diet coke and talking to her girl friends, who kept on talking, and then kept on talking. They invited me to their party that weekend. I already had plans to go to another St. Patrick's Day house party in Capital Hill, sober. Although, I had thought about going. I knew A. had a boy at the time, and I thought what a lucky guy.
It rained all day that St. Patrick's day. Winter was ending, and rain is what we needed for the thawing soil.
posted by Class Officers at
11:16 PM
1 Comments:
You really write beautifully.
First impressions don't last with me. Yes, I do have the memories of the very first impressions people make on me, but my views of people change, as they reveal themselves to me.
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