Suzanne Blue

Last week, in the midst of all my computer problems, I took a break and strolled over to a nearby fancy restaurant just to get away. Upon entering, I carefully positioned myself at the bar next to a promising-looking nubile young woman – I love the word “nubile,” it implies so much without actually saying it – and ordered a nice glass of water, all the budget could afford. The woman I sat next to was tall and slender with long dark hair and had a lovely back. I had ample opportunity to observe this back because it was turned to me as she talked to the guy on the other side of her. I trust that it goes without saying that the man to whom she was speaking was a substandard dork.

Fortunately he was not with her, and eventually I was able to speak to her as she turned back to resume eating her burger. And I promptly fell madly in love with her. Not because of the half-eaten burger on her plate, which was frankly sort of gross, but because she was gorgeous to die for, with golden green-brown eyes and a lovely smile and a curvaceous body in spite of the tall and slender gig she had going on. (This is my own polite way of saying that she seemed to have nice tits, of course.) She also had a shiny glowing face, which she informed me resulted from her just having had a facial across the street.

Her name was Suzanne, and in spite of the fact that I wanted to have steamy dirty sex with her every fifteen minutes for the next 3 years of my life, the thing that was remarkable about her was the way she spoke.

At first I thought she was just another airhead, since her sentences tended to veer off into some land that logic forgot. But as I listened to her I eventually realized that she was really quite intelligent and imaginative and creative, and was just having fun as she talked with me -- and she talked a lot, trust me. Right off the bat he told me she had received a gift certificate from someone for the facial and was dining in this particular restaurant afterward to “see how it felt to be a rich person,” as she glanced at her burger with a smile. I decided right there that I liked her.

As our conversation continued I became more and more enamored of Suzanne. She launched into story after story, all the while beaming at me with a beatific smile on her radiant freshly-scrubbed face. And her stories were wonderful. It wasn't that the subject matter was particularly interesting per se, it was how she wove the images into unexpected creations. Since meeting this woman last week I've been puzzling over how I could possibly convey her manner of speaking in a blog entry, and the best I could come up with was this: listening to Suzanne spin her stories remarkably resembled winding one's way down the spiral ramp of the Guggenheim, looking at abstract paintings that don't necessarily make overt sense but somehow still manage to convey subtle and sublime expressions of beauty. Suzanne spoke, not in sentences, but in abstract paintings. And I really had to resist writing every single word she uttered down in my notebook, they were that wonderful.

For instance, she told about recently moving into a new apartment. She had arranged with the landlord to thoroughly clean it ahead of time, and ended up with a box full of mouse shit, an M&M, and a baggie of crack that she found on a shelf. The picture she painted of this was vivid, and unfortunately I am not able to do the story justice here. (And incidentally, she passed the crack on to her landlord if you're curious.)

Later we were talking a bit about her work. She was involved with at one time with some web design projects and wondered aloud if one could patent a particular shade of blue she developed for a site: “I'd call it 'Suzanne Blue,' she said cheerfully.

Still later we were talking about scuba diving. She had never done it, but said she wanted to do deep-water diving in Minnesota, to “get down to the bottom of the lake where the big gars lived with teeth growing up through their head.”

Later: at one point she made me smell her post-facial hand and said, “Doesn't this smell like what a king's toothpaste would smell like?” The really scary thing was that she nailed the scent exactly in that one sentence.

So enough examples. Those are the only ones I dared take time out to write down as we were speaking, but the whole conversation was wonderfully lyrical and fanciful and I loved it. I recall at the time desperately wanting her to follow me around all the days of my life so I could just listen to her talk. The dirty sex every fifteen minutes would just be a bonus.

Alas, such was not to be the case. She eventually left me sitting at the bar, but damn if I wasn't overjoyed to have spoken to her. It renewed my faith that there are interesting and attractive people out there in real life besides you. I have been feeling of late like the only people fitting that description are those of you who read this blog, so it's nice to have a tete-a-tete with a flesh-and-blood female unit that isn't pale and insipid.

So take heart, those of you who are single and alone like me – there are Suzannes out there somewhere, they're just hard to find sometimes.

Too bad they all have boyfriends. Bitches.

-- Hulles