I am about to do something that I would never normally do unless I was completely shit-canned wasted. I broke the rules by not blogging yesterday, and my excuse has been that I've spent too much time with a 32 year-old (with the body of a 24 year-old; trust me you would spend time with her too). Anyway, I've been derelict from the perspective of Game: On Boston so it's time to get back in shape.
I slow down, lean back, and smile:
Me: "Hey what's happening girl?" [Yes, I just said that]
Her: "Whaat?"
Me: "Uh, I mean, it's awesome out here, are you on your lunch break or something?"
Her: "No, I cut hair. I just stepped outside." She motions to her left and I see the hair salon next to her.
I attempt to lay back a little and try not to be the office-boy stiff that I must look like to her.
Me: "Cool. I should come by y'alls place sometime for a fade" [fuck, I think I just mixed up country and ghetto in one sentence. This is not going well]
Her: "Yeah, ok that would be nice, you should." She smiles.
Me: "I will. Listen, why don't you give me your number and I'll call you sometime." [You gotta be direct with the Latin and Black chicks, right? They give you props for that, I think...]
Her: "I can't, my boyfriend wouldn't like that."
Me: "Alright, it was nice to meet you," as I scurry away picturing a 6'4" black dude named Tyrone as her boyfriend. He would probably squash me like a bug if he knew I was angling his girl. Time to go back to my existence as an office cockroach.
Back to this afternoon: I'm walking back from grabbing lunch downtown when I spot a girl with an unbelievable body standing outside of a doorway on Summer Street (in case you haven't gotten the idea I'm more of a body guy than a face guy). But...she is also the ultimate stereotypical Latino chick: her name (or her baby daddy's?) is tattooed in large, flowing script on her neck; she's wearing too-tight, faded jeans; her hair is pulled back tight and, you guessed it, she has those huge, gaudy hoop earrings hanging from her earlobes. To further set the stage, I am wearing a button down Charles Tyrwhitt shirt, dress pants, and matching Johnston & Murphy shoes/belt. This should be interesting.
I slow down, lean back, and smile:
Me: "Hey what's happening girl?" [Yes, I just said that]
Her: "Whaat?"
Me: "Uh, I mean, it's awesome out here, are you on your lunch break or something?"
Her: "No, I cut hair. I just stepped outside." She motions to her left and I see the hair salon next to her.
I attempt to lay back a little and try not to be the office-boy stiff that I must look like to her.
Me: "Cool. I should come by y'alls place sometime for a fade" [fuck, I think I just mixed up country and ghetto in one sentence. This is not going well]
Her: "Yeah, ok that would be nice, you should." She smiles.
Me: "I will. Listen, why don't you give me your number and I'll call you sometime." [You gotta be direct with the Latin and Black chicks, right? They give you props for that, I think...]
Her: "I can't, my boyfriend wouldn't like that."
Me: "Alright, it was nice to meet you," as I scurry away picturing a 6'4" black dude named Tyrone as her boyfriend. He would probably squash me like a bug if he knew I was angling his girl. Time to go back to my existence as an office cockroach.
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