Everybody's Somebody's Tad Hamilton (Yes, This Is THAT Post)

leap (v.):
1. To spring or bound upward from or as if from the ground; jump: leaped over the wall; salmon leaping upriver.

2a. To move quickly or abruptly from one condition or subject to another: always leaping to conclusions.
2b. To act impulsively: leaped at the opportunity to travel.

The Leap (adj.): Bill Simmons vernacular for having a breakout moment, performance, or season

Lookitcha.

All hyper and sitting there with popcorn in your hand TELL US WHAT HAPPENED YOU BASTARD!

*sigh*

Well...all right.

I shower like an ex-con on his first day out of the pen. I put on the new shirt I got Friday with Amanda's ever-keen seeing eye and jeans--not quite casual but not quite wearing an Armani suit.

I wait for her. I get there really early which in retrospect was stupid because she's notoriously late and I don't know if you noticed but I've got a small streak of paranoia. But she's on time or close enough and she dressed like I did. Not exactly the same because well that would be creepy and veering into Chaz territory, but a fuzzy gray sweater, jeans, and black boots.

Movie tickets bought seperately. DID pay for the popcorn and the water she offhandedly mentioned she wanted.

So Win A Date With Tad Hamilton. It is what it is, a slightly above average romantic comedy. Kate Bosworth's eye turns different colors which is pretty cool. Topher Grace plays an excellent straight man. Perhaps the fact we were leaning into each other, arms and heads against each other as we were whispering intermittedly played a part in my review, but I was (mostly) paying attention to the flick. Most enjoyed by us--esp. considering this all started over THE joke in Office Space was Gary Cole (LUMBERGH~) as Bosworth's dad.

I think of asking her out then, but there's still more of the evening to go.

Pictures in a photo booth that are currently burning a hole in the back pocket.

We also played pool (she beat me 5 out of 8--one time "Cry Me A River" was playing, one time the 8 ball bounced off BOTH the corners, and another she brought up work and then sufficiently rattled she sank 4 in a row right after. ALL THOSE under protests.)

Bought her a rose.

And we had shakes at Ghiradelli's.

She talked a lot about her jobs and family. I know her better than most of my family now. She talked about being a substitute teacher and we get into a couple discussions of materialism vs. spirtuality, in part thanks to the movie. I lost track of how many of her thoughts I finished after 10. We talked about religion and family and immigration laws. Time flew and flew and flew at Ghiradelli's. I had more fun getting rooked at pool, but Ghiardelli's reinforces the fact while the physical is all well and good, her mental is real and it is spec-tac-u-lar.

There's also this thing where guys fall in love with her the second they see her, but since it was at the earliest the third time I'm going to gloss over it 'cause it don't apply to me no sir.

I'm not going to lie to you and say the possibility of chickening out despite our fun at pool and deep talk didn't occur to me. Cowards die alone. New Butch lives on.

There's only so much I can take, y'know? With that perfect imperfect smile and the bangs and the sort of looking like a Latina Sarah Silverman and the last 8 hours and whatnot.

So, the question.

As Hemingway would put it, hm, the question. The question. Yes, the question.

She doesn't even really look at me. Not in disgust. Bashfulness. Brown eyes coming at me. Any will I had is dead. All that is left know is to obey my heart and these things I feel to be right.

She says "Why?". Not in a "how dare you *mace*" sort of way but a "you think I'm girlfriend material?" sort of way. I put my hand in hers--small and warm and I stare her right in the eyes.

I've only been waiting for this question how long? You think maybe I just might be able to pull this answer out of the recesses of my mind?

[This is DVD commentary, because about .2 seconds after the y got out I sold like a Lexus dealer on the pipe.]

"You're a great person. I know a couple people I'd consider cooler; you're the best person I know. You're nice, but you still have a spine. You're smart, but you're not an intellectual snob. You're cute, but you're not a slut. You make me unbelievably happy. I love when you laugh. I love it when you giggle. And when I'm not making you laugh or giggle, there's this voice in my head that's saying 'I wish Cristal was here so I could make her laugh and/or giggle. I don't need an answer now, this isn't Final Jeopardy. But you are the type of girl that I've always wanted.'"

This just in: AFFLECK AIN'T SHIT, BITCHES.

(This is going down as #1 in the Panthenon of Great Rosser Ad-Lib Speeches. Sorry, wedding.)

What was I going to do, not say anything? I've lived my whole life not saying anything and Kevin, damn his French-loving ass, was right and I said as much to her: if she rejected me, oh, well, I'd still have an awesome friend. But having her for a girlfriend would make me such a better person it couldn't help but change my world.

And by the way, now's her stop. I kiss her and tell her to really think it over. She looks at me with that fucking smile and the rose and thanks me--promises a call--and she's gone.

I look for her.

She looks at me.

It pulls away, with that red rose illuminating the 11:00 darkness as I speed off into the night. I've got a smile on my face to beat the band, Da Band, and Who The Band On Stage. I finally semi pull out of this stupor (because about two hours've gone by and I'm not out of it, and I damn sure don't plan on it going) and the guy across from us/me is looking at me with a mixture of shock and awe on his face.

"She's yours." he says. I can only laugh. "I really should've been writing down that whole part in the middle."

I shrug. "I can sit on the sidelines and watch someone else realize how awesome she is or I can do it myself." We do that aggressively male TRUE nod.

And now I'm here.

There's nothing more I can do or say. She believes or she doesn't. I will say I provided about as flawless a date as can go despite every paranoid fantasy that danced through my head last night. My adrenaline's flying and for the first time all day my heart is producing a Neptunes track (somehow making these posts has become the Vegas pay window of my life for one)...I don't know how I'm gonna sleep. Don't really care. I'm seeing that smile on her face as she smells the rose and remembering with Wonder Yearsian fondness That Look at the end.

The foreperson hasn't spoken, but I do believe the jury is in.

And poor Old Butch. Poor sad lonely Old Butch I do believe is about to get the death penalty.

Couldn't be happier. Almost.

And since others've said it better, I'll let them.

Get busy living, or get busy dying. That's goddamn right... I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I imagine it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey, whose conclusion is uncertain...I hope.

The last lines of Coldplay's "Amsterdam":

Stood on the edge
Tied to the noose
But you came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose
You came along and you cut me loose...