Sholiz

So I "finally" got to meet Real World's new man last night. Real World, her man, the Prototype, and myself met up at a local Earl's Court student pub called Scream. It's where we went on Friday and decided to go back because it's the cheapest place you can drink that isn't your living room.

I have to say, Real World's man was not what I expected. First of all, she has consistently described him as "beautiful", which, coming from the Real World, it makes one think he's going to be either a model or incredibly ugly. See, I was out with her at a dodgy pub called Jaguar Shoes a month or so ago (as loyal readers well know) and the guys she was pointing out as attractive were all universally older, balding, or just generally unattractive. So I really didn't know what to expect. Punchline: I was surprised to find that he's a decent looking guy, but this is probably the only situation not involving his mother in which he'll be termed "beautiful".

I also had such trouble trying to understand him. He's from Manchester, which apparently has a completely different accent. The Prototype described it as more sing-songy. To me, it's the classic British symptom of not opening the mouth and enunciating their words. After a bit, I got adjusted to a reasonable level.

He seemed like a good fellow, so he gets the friend stamp of approval. I'm sure she'll want to know my perspective on Monday, but it's hard to say more really. We were in a bar that became a club - not exactly conducive to real talking. He did seem like a pretty smart fellow, so that's good at least. And of course, they were all over each other at times, which prompted the Prototype to inform them that "there's no sex in the champagne room". Somebody had to stop them, it was gettin' nasty.

Anyway, going out with the Prototype was once again a blast. I had forgotten something about her, something that I should not have forgotten. She's the most honest woman I've ever been involved with. In my impatience and frustration of the last few weeks, I had ignored that simple fact. So when she says "I want to take things slow" she's not kidding. I no longer feel that she's keeping me around until she finds something better or any of that nonsense. That would be totally dishonest and totally out of character for the type of person she is. Not only that, she's once again initiating the small gestures of intimacy (hand holding, etc), but this time, she's comfortable doing that in front of people we both know, i.e. Real World. At this stage, I maintain my emotional detachment, I live in the moments that we share, and I focus on being excellent in life's pursuits.

After I got home last night (around 2), I went over to my neighbor's for about an hour. One of them was out of town, so the other one wanted to chat. Good times. We talked politics. I really like those guys because they're a sounding board for some of my ideas. Not only do they listen to my rants, but they give a European view on the things I find important. Last night's rant was about the ongoing genocide in Darfur, Sudan.

When I finally went back to my room, I just couldn't go to be right away. I was in too good of a mood, really. So, I was forced to listen to Nappy Roots. For a long time, Outkast has been my favorite hip hop band and they still may be. But Nappy Root's "Watermelon, Chicken & Gritz" CD is making a strong case. I think that many of life's pursuits are about rhythm and melody - whether it's working in a kitchen, an office, or writing (blog, letter, academia). For me, music sets the rhythm. Or, I should say, that things just click when I have the right music playing in my ears. (In fact, I'm listening to the Nappy Roots right now.) So, if any of you good people out there with an interest in hip hop want to hear some good southern beats, try out "One Forty", track 15. Great, great song.