Rarely, do I indulge the notion of “love at first sight”–all men do at some point. The simple concept that any woman can ensnare our imagination based on simple physical features, is the cliche in the “mating game” or “rules of attractions”.(for you James Vanderbeek fans) Heaven forbid any man, too preoccupied with drowning in this sea of pointless pussy; finally meets his Cleopatra–his detached opposite, yet their union completes one another.

We I see an attractive female I immediately study her–really I just fan of women, in general. I collect all the “kiss the cook” merchandise, I listen to all their albums; wear the “I’m with stupid ” novelty apparel and keep all the sappy valentines day candy and cards until it is not longer cute, anymore.

I hate the feeling  of the “missed opportunity” moment when I’m stricken with the impression; there could have been something but the feeling passes like a Snapchat story. She meet someone, else. And the romanticized carnival ride of us together in Venice Beach: fades into the self-loathing highlight reel.

I recently met and she is like a female version of me. Witty, funny, not of trace of narcissistic tendency, neither a obsession with making her plumper by hovering one ass-cheek  over the bathroom sink, while taking a selfie. The fours words that best describe her: the girl next door. She makes me excited and afraid at the same time. Normally, people gravitate to me and I decide if they are cool enough to be on the V.I.P list; but, with her it’s different. Maybe, it is because I met anyone from such a rich ethnic background; maybe it’s because she has the same type of  humor; hell, maybe it’s because she from New York–the city I always spray paint my own insignia on subway train.

A vacuum in time and space opens up and sucks me in, closer and closer in her direction and I don’t even know if I’m just another random dude, friend, business association, colleague etc…

For the first time, I have someone to talk to without dumbing-down my lingo; and all I want to do is put my car in park and watch the stars. I know I don’t own her–never been my style, anyway. I just want remember what it is like to talk to a female that has more on the brain Mascara and Twitter followers.

What’s her name you ask?

See…there’s this Girl.

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