Previously, on As The Blog Turns, JamieSue ventured into the world of Real People at a Local Bar, was stalked by a bunny lover, and ultimately accepted a date with a hot hip hop guy who will heretofore be known as The Fonz.
Why The Fonz? Well, of course, because he was cool and everyone knew him. The bartenders knew him, the people lounging on the couch by the dancing knew him and shouted at us, people just coming in knew him, the bikers knew him, the old guys knew him, the black guys knew him, the white girls knew him, the Indian Bunny Guy did NOT know him. And, even more impressive, he seemed to know all of them too. He did back slaps and half arm hugs and he smiled huge and talked with them all and introduced me with his arm around my shoulder. Clearly, The Fonz. And I gave him my cell number.
I met The Fonz in downtown Sarasota Saturday afternoon so he could give me a tour of his town and the beach. The tour involved walking, talking, and at some point hand holding. The Fonz was interesting. He was my about my age, from Tunisia originally but moved to the US when he was 21, spoke several languages, had been in the army and jumped with guns out of planes, and he was happy. So happy that people walking down the street around us smiled and nodded and The Fonz smiled and nodded back and if the people had a dog, The Fonz said “LookAtThatBoyWhatAGoodBoyThat’sMyBoyOhLookAtThatBoy” and then we stopped and talked to the people and The Fonz pulled out his cell phone and showed a picture of his dog (a tiny Zsa Zsa Gabor dog) and then there were dog stories and the people told us their names and their lives and we were talking for ten minutes and everyone was smiling and everyone was happy and eventually we finally left those people and started walking…until we passed someone else with a dog and the event started over again. You get the idea. And several times while we were walking people came up to us on the street who knew The Fonz and there was talking and smiling, and The Fonz said to me many times, “I am a happy guy. This is me. I am happy.” Or “Life could be worse. Life could be better, but life could be worse” or his personal motto, “It is what it is. It can’t be anything other than what it is. So it is.”
And Sarasota was beautiful. We saw sailboats and fishermen and people taking wedding photos and at one point we ran like kids along the bridge to follow three dolphins that kept breaking the waves, the sun glinting off their backs. Eventually, after an hour of walking we reached the beach with white sand and clear blue water and we sat and talked and walked by the waves and the sun made The Fonz’s tan glow, and his big brown eyes glimmer, and his perfect amazing smile glint, and when he took off his shirt his completely ripped stomach practically twinkled like hero in a Disney movie, and we were walking holding hands and the surf was crashing and we stopped and he turned toward me and leaned in and...
So here’s the thing. I like geeks. If you have ever dated me for any length of time, you are a geek. In fact, there is high likihood that you have surpassed geek and slid hopelessly into dork. I can’t explain it, really. Maybe it’s the glasses, or the humility, or the social awkwardness, or simply that I identify with them, but it’s true. Nothing gets me weak in the knees like a bad pun or a joke with an xkcd reference. Nothing makes my heart flutter more than accidently mismatched socks or a misaligned button-up shirt. And for true love, make him know a lot about something I don’t and make him willing to explain it for hours and draw diagrams on napkins. Or best of all, have a white board in his apartment, oh, Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Well, I’ve distracted myself, where was I…
So The Fonz, the hottest, great dancer, super happy, most popular, most well-built guy to ever even know my name was leaning in to kiss me, the recent dumpee, on the white sand beach with turquoise water and dolphins surfacing in the distance and I, well, I said, “Umm.. I’m not really feelin’ it.” Yes. These were my precise words. And then, I began to back peddle rapidly and say what a great guy he was and how nice he was and how attractive and how and how but I just didn’t feel the same way.
Now, a friend has pointed out that as a recent dumpee in strange town that I would be leaving in two days, why on earth wouldn’t I kiss the hot boy. I’m not against kissing on a beach. I’m not a prude. And I did like him. But, the honest answer was the one I gave. I just wasn’t feeling it, not even for the kiss. I’m not the girl who dates The Fonz. I’m not even the girl who dates Richie Cunningham. I date Wesley Crusher or Alex P. Keaton. Or, well, Giles.
But, I’m proud of myself because I didn’t just kiss him and run or come up with a story about my recent heartbreak or a boyfriend that didn’t exist. I just said the truth. I’m just not really feeling it. I was not a pansy. And it all turned out okay, though there is one important lesson I learned that day, a truth like “I’m not really feelin’ it” should be said, oh, a few steps from the car, not a walk of an hour and a half.
