Damn. Damn me to hell. I just now, not ten minutes ago, had a totally cool conversation with this sweet Italian girl at Starbucks. She sat down next to my table and, to make a long story short, I was able to introduce myself and found out she's a college student who is going to the university I'll be at this summer. We talked for about ten minutes and either she's real friendly with everyone she meets, or she was diggin' me.
Now, perhaps I read into things but when she put her hair up with one of those things that girls use to tie their hair up, and judging by her eye contact and the way she was moving forward a little -- she was into me.
Leanna. Jet black hair. Deep, big brown eyes that came alive against the backdrop of her olive skin. Lips looked sweeter than a plate of yams with honey on top.
I was able to talk about school and that sort of thing with Ms. Spectacular. I asked questions. I listened. We laughed a little. And then.....and then.....
I had to go. Now, I didn't really have to go, but I did. THAT'S my problem. That's always been my problem. Not initiating conversation, not in being cool or nice or even sexy. It's keeping the damn conversation going. My mind just can't take more than a few minutes talking to one girl. I either get kinda bored or don't want to "ruin a good thing" by saying something stupid. I just peeter out like some bad stock.
Now, I'm a pretty cool guy. I'm not Tom Cruise, but I ain't half-bad. This "ten-minute time limit" mental dilemma is killing my damn self, though. So, ladies and germs, what am I to do? Should I just memorize a list of one-hundred questions and keep asking them, building up my endurence like a marathon runner? Should I deal with uncomfortable silences better and just accept this as it is? Maybe I should just tell women, "You know, now's about the time I peeter out. Can I put you on pause?" ??
Can I have your number Leanna? Damn. I should've...
Bradley