Sleuthing

I got a call from my strolling friend. I didn’t answer it, of course. Then I paid $14.95 to do an Internet search on his phone number. You can’t be going to coffee (or wine, as he suggested, which is a totally different ball of wax) without having a clue or two into the identify of your soon-to-be caffeinated friend. It’s kind of fun being a stalker. He’s from San Marcos, Texas. His full name is N___ A___ A___. He is — get this — 44 years old. I wonder if he has any idea how old I am. What’s the complement of a cougar? Does he know that’s what he is, or did he really think I was closer to his age? The years have etched plain patterns onto my face, so I can’t imagine he didn’t notice. The sun was, however, rather blinding that day. I’ll call him back later today. I wish he were older.

While I was seeking out information about him, I did a search for the single word Ginna, which is all the dirt he’s got on me. There’s an eponymous nuclear power plant near Rochester, NY. And this is what I found on Urban Dictionary.

A Ginna is a beautiful girl with no flaws, red hair, and beautiful eyes. You will know if you see a Ginna, because your eyes will be locked on her gloriousness. Angels will sing from the heavens. They will shine their light on you, and you will be enlightened. That will all happen because you saw a Ginna. I nearly passed out today because I saw one of those world renouned [sic] Ginnas!!!! I will never forget her wonderful eyes and fiery red hair.

I’m not kidding. I didn’t make that up.

Oh, wait. If he were trying to find me just by my first name, he would succeed. I’m the sixth and the tenth listing for Ginna on the first page of Google results. Ooops. I wonder if he’s checked that out.

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I just left a voice mail for N___. I have to tell him that my name is not pronounced GEEN-uh.

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N___ left a voice mail for me.

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I called N___ back. Who’s this? He asked rudely. It’s Ginna, I asserted. I don’t know a Ginna, he replied rudely. Yes, you do. We met on Solano Avenue, I asserted. No, we didn’t, he replied rudely. Is this 512.624.7634, I asked? Nope. Then I didn’t meet you on Solano Avenue, I agreed. I proceeded to call the number without transposing the digits this time, and made plans to meet at Fonda on Thursday at 5:30. I write this here so I won’t forget, and so that maybe you’ll join us there. Fonda is, according to my old boyfiend (a typo worth leaving as-is), a date place. I think we’re both nervous and shy. I am, anyway. Should I tell him that I did a phone search on him? Surely he’d understand that a girl has to be careful these days. Or maybe not. Nah, some things are better left unsaid. What on earth are we going to talk about? My age?

3 comments

  1. Just left a clever comment, and it poofed…..guess not so clever as I thought….just remarked how your picture is next to the Ginna definition, and that you should give your strolling friend a break…embrace the awkward, I say. Laugh at the obvious and give yourself and him a break….”don’t believe everything you think”, and stop with the old age comments fer gawds sake. You are a spring chicken, and I refuse to pretend differently.
    Your much older, friend, moi
    ( hispoom years)

  2. Just please do be careful, as you don’t really know anything about the mysterious stranger. How about having Jason at a nearby table, just in case? I know I’m old-fashioned, but I don’t trust it. But –it’s highly complimentary. in any case. What does Frank think? Perhaps he can be at the table next to Jason’s. Ma

  3. Talk about your 60th birthday party plans. Then, it’s all out in the open! Please let me know that you are still alive and well, tomorrow!

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