Trouble, Trouble, Trouble

I noticed you right away, your hipster glasses calling to the Brooklyn girl in me. And here I was, dolled up to the nines, looking all punk-rock glam city girl at a house party. It was a themed party, after all. I blame my intense eye-makeup (and my friends) for giving me the boldness to approach you. I thank them for it too. I think. 

The friend of a friend aspect has always been appealing to me… the kismet of the thing, the easy social overlaps, the lack of a phone screen as our first interaction. I like the idea of it. I like the idea of you.

And I’m intrigued.

But I see orange flags everywhere. You are too much my type… my old type, my old mistakes. There is something in you that calls to the nostalgia of my youth, traits that drew me in at 19 and never quite worked out in the reality of a relationship.

I felt the potential trouble of it all, but I hoped you would talk to me all the same.

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– – – – –

I picked up a couple things from our conversations, particularly the ones before the alcohol flowed too freely. You seem sharp, that easy back and forth banter interspersed with spot-on word choices was delightful. That’s the first one that got me. You seem genuinely intelligent, with proper grammar and an expansive vocab and everything. (Not a topic I’ve been shy regarding my feelings on.)

The sorta-starving writer/artist/free-spirit thing? Anyone who knows me well knows that creative is catnip to me. Someone with a plethora of passions (if not the best focus or follow through) is just fundamentally appealing.

Self proclaimed nerd? Get in line, boy. I read G.O.T. loooooooong before it was a tv show. I can play the “who is nerdier and reads more” game all day. And I get the feeling that you could give me a run for my money.

And I dig the slightly hipster look too.


You remind me in some ways of my serious ex. Traits seem like they might be there which I both adored and loathed about him. After one evening of casual conversation I can already name at least six reasons why it would never work between us.

(My love of over-thinking something before it’s actually anything… strikes again!)

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– – – – –

But darn it, if I am not intrigued anyways.

Maybe history doesn’t have to repeat. Maybe this could be a chance to work through previous mistakes, maturity instilling new reactions and solutions and possibilities. This could be life sending a pre-packaged lesson my way, a ready-to-go opportunity to grow and learn and be a better me.

Or maybe someone should tell me where that darn cart is because this horse hasn’t seen it for ages.

– – – – –

(Looking for an out…)

The positive thing? We met at a party. There was drinking involved. Yes, you got my digits, but I may not hear from you. I have no idea how much of an intoxicated haze there was over your memory, impression or interest in me. I don’t really know you and you certainly don’t know me.

This could just be one more fun exercise in me over-thinking. One of my favorite games! Yay!

And perhaps that would be for the best. I’m not sure if us interacting could possibly lead to anything other than bad, for either of us.  I’m not sure I can rewrite history or myself, afterall. That’s a pretty cocky stance. I’m not sure I should try if given the chance.

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If nothing else, it’s been a while since I’ve been genuinely intrigued by someone. So there is that, at least.

It was fun.

I haven’t had a good over-think in a while.

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