Odd doings..
Jun. 1st, 2009 10:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodaLast night at Pub, Sherry and I sat there after Tim bugged out, completely worn to a nubbin by his travels and adventures (but hey, it was great to see him and he stopped by just to show he was safe!), we sat and drank and toasted friendship and talked and were approached by a gypsy girl. How do I know she was a gypsy? Well... she was dressed like one. Yellow bandanna tying her hair back, yellow dress with skirt about 2 inches above her knees, bodice cinched tightly, but not tightly enough to hide her cleavage. You know... a gypsy. Sherry and I thought she might have come from the Ren Faire, as she was carrying a tiny little wooden mug from which she would drink whatever it was she was drinking.
She sat at the far end of our table and made small talk with us until we waved her over to sit closer.
Her story was thus: Her name is Illyana, and she was born in Alaska on May 7th, 1968. She is of russian decent, and is married to a horrible man from Brazil. He never lets her go out or talk to other people, and she wishes there was a way to get away from him, but he has convinced her that she was unattractive to everyone else and nobody would ever want her. She said she was 30 years old (yeah, do the math.. 2009 - 1968).
Simple story, but with holes. Her makeup was expertly applied, by which I meant you couldn't really tell if she was wearing any unless you looked closely. An indication of someone that knows she's attractive and takes the time to enhance it. And she was pretty enough. Hard to hide that fact.
She had taken her wedding ring off recently, either to go bar-prowling or because she just ended the relationship. The difference in skin tone between Oklahoma tanned and Oklahoma pale was pretty evident.
During the conversation, she repeated her story, in parts, pretty much verbatim. She had practiced this tale, and it may actually work with some folks that run towards the more sympathetic towards women than I do. Another problem was that she didn't show any real emotion telling the story. No inner sadness, no regret for lost time or relationship. It was a fabrication.
I also didn't feel anything from her, in the way of outpouring of emotion or spirit. What I did feel was someone who was hiding secrets. That feeling of looking through a transparent crystal matrix but unable to push through sort of feeling. She was carefully numb, but that could also have been the alcohol she was drinking... if it was alcohol.
Sherry said the girl was tearful in the restroom when she was hearing the girl tell the story to someone else, so who knows... it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong. Perhaps the story is real and the girl is looking for a savior. It certainly wasn't going to be me... not with my history of pretty girls who needed saving.
Sherry gave her some excellent advise about how to deal with an abusive situation, and I babbled something inane, I'm sure. Eventually Illyana got up to wander to another table full of men, just to 'See if anyone thought she was sexy'. Ooookay.
Fortunately, Sherry and I had already tabbed out, so we took that as a good time to leave. Illyana had left her little drinking mug on the table, but took her purse with her (nice purse, black leather clutch, probably in the 50.00 to 70.00 range at the Faire.)
It's an interesting fact that nothing in my life is boring. There may be times when the world is slower than usual, but it is never, ever boring.
*edited due to most of this post being lost under a bad tag... grr.
She sat at the far end of our table and made small talk with us until we waved her over to sit closer.
Her story was thus: Her name is Illyana, and she was born in Alaska on May 7th, 1968. She is of russian decent, and is married to a horrible man from Brazil. He never lets her go out or talk to other people, and she wishes there was a way to get away from him, but he has convinced her that she was unattractive to everyone else and nobody would ever want her. She said she was 30 years old (yeah, do the math.. 2009 - 1968).
Simple story, but with holes. Her makeup was expertly applied, by which I meant you couldn't really tell if she was wearing any unless you looked closely. An indication of someone that knows she's attractive and takes the time to enhance it. And she was pretty enough. Hard to hide that fact.
She had taken her wedding ring off recently, either to go bar-prowling or because she just ended the relationship. The difference in skin tone between Oklahoma tanned and Oklahoma pale was pretty evident.
During the conversation, she repeated her story, in parts, pretty much verbatim. She had practiced this tale, and it may actually work with some folks that run towards the more sympathetic towards women than I do. Another problem was that she didn't show any real emotion telling the story. No inner sadness, no regret for lost time or relationship. It was a fabrication.
I also didn't feel anything from her, in the way of outpouring of emotion or spirit. What I did feel was someone who was hiding secrets. That feeling of looking through a transparent crystal matrix but unable to push through sort of feeling. She was carefully numb, but that could also have been the alcohol she was drinking... if it was alcohol.
Sherry said the girl was tearful in the restroom when she was hearing the girl tell the story to someone else, so who knows... it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong. Perhaps the story is real and the girl is looking for a savior. It certainly wasn't going to be me... not with my history of pretty girls who needed saving.
Sherry gave her some excellent advise about how to deal with an abusive situation, and I babbled something inane, I'm sure. Eventually Illyana got up to wander to another table full of men, just to 'See if anyone thought she was sexy'. Ooookay.
Fortunately, Sherry and I had already tabbed out, so we took that as a good time to leave. Illyana had left her little drinking mug on the table, but took her purse with her (nice purse, black leather clutch, probably in the 50.00 to 70.00 range at the Faire.)
It's an interesting fact that nothing in my life is boring. There may be times when the world is slower than usual, but it is never, ever boring.
*edited due to most of this post being lost under a bad tag... grr.
