Hula Hoop Girl and The Great Snip-Snip

So, I'm gonna just cut right to the chase. There's this girl I'm into.

I see her at the gym all the time and I just can't keep my eyes off of her. It's like I'm hypnotized. And it's not just because I find her extremely attractive--which I do! Man, oh man, I do!!--it's because she hula hoops the whole time. Seriously!! The girl does this exotic (no, pervs...not the Jessica Alba/"Sin City" variety of exotic dancing) dance for 45 minutes to an hour listening to music. All the while, she manages to, um, hula her hoop. Must be some pretty great music.

And the thing is, I watch her every time I'm at the gym. Not in a weird, sexually-charged, I'm-a-salivating-creepazoid way, but well, I'm just--I find myself intrigued. I'm always turned on by women who beat to the tune of their own drummer. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, people have always told me that they'll never meet anyone like me. Truth be told, I guess I'm looking for someone who is kind of quirky and different like me.

Somehow, I'm thinkin' that a girl who hula hoops non-stop for an hour at a time seems to fit the bill on that count.

So, getting back to the point--I think there's a point, anyway!--for the last several weeks, this girl has caught my eye and I've really wanted to talk to her but for various reasons, I just can't. The most glaring of those reasons being that the girl is doing her own thing, ya know? She's doing her special Hula Thing to her tunes. What kind of approach should one have for that type of situation ("My, my, my!! You must be a hit at the Bar/Bat Mitzvah parties!")? I'm a nervous guy with low confidence to begin with, but THIS--it's impossible!!

On Sunday, though, a window of opportunity seemed to present itself. Unfortunately, it's kind of a mixed bag. You see, earlier in the day, I made the mistake of mentioning to my mom that I kind of dug Hula Hoop Girl. Well, we got to the gym later on and, to my horror, I saw that my mom <gasp!!> had decided to strike up a conversation with her. JESUS BLOODY CHRIST!!!

About 10 minutes later, their chat session ended and mom--Master of Subtlety that she is--scurried over to me to unload all of the information she got. If I'd previously never known what it's like to have my eyes glaze over, I certainly can't make that claim now. As my mom continued to tell me about Hula Girl, I could feel the color drain out of my face. I was mortified, to say the least.

Here's the deal, I love my mom. She's an amazing woman filled with soul, passion and life. Sometimes, though, she can be just a tad much. This was one of those times. Lately, I've been trying to make myself this self-sufficient individual but it's hard, because I know she wants nothing more than for me to be happy and that desire gets in the way of just letting me breathe, letting me live and just letting me be. And that's partially my fault. I've been so dependent on my parents for so long that now that I'm finally up to the challenge of going my own way, cutting that parental umbilical cord has become increasingly difficult.

And I appreciate what she was trying to do with this girl at the gym. I think it's so sweet how she's constantly trying to help me out, whether it be providing me with cooking utensils, food (one can never get enough Raisin Bran, people!!) and coupons or "helping" me out with Hula Hoop Girl. Like I said, my mom is a lovely woman who means well and has the best intentions. However, in the latter case, meaning well and doing well are two completely different things. And make no mistake, I already feel as though I've been struck upon the head by her Giant Magical Staff of Jewish Guilt for writing these words. And she hasn't even read this yet!!

On the plus side, however, despite my objections, my mom really did get some good info on Hula Girl. For starters, she's 23, single and, according to my mom, very nice ("Oh, my GAWD!! SHE IS SO SWEET AND RECEPTIVE!!!"). Plus, she got her name. YES!! Hula Girl has a name!! I'm in business, people!!

Oh, but there's just one thing: How the FUCK can I talk to this girl now?! I can only imagine what she'll think when I start talking to her (great...the guy had his mom pump info out of me for her son. Nice.) Now, not only do I not have an approach, but I also look like a Mr. Vagina Von Vaginasteen without an approach. Great! Yes, this is the kind of shit that goes through my head. I'm once and forever more the King of Over Analysis.

But I'd be lying if I said I'm completely at a loss for ideas.

See, music is a huge deal in my life. Well, listening to it anyway (I tried learning how to play piano but quickly realized that I was out of my element when, during my first and only recital, I fucked up the second verse of "Mary Had A Little Lamb." Yeesh!!) Music has such a profound effect on my mood as well as the way I live my life. So, having said that, I have to say, I've always been curious about what kind of music gets a girl pumped enough to hula her ass off for such an extended period of time.

So, in the next couple of days, when she's there, I'm going to go up and ask her about it. It's not exactly a grand introduction, but hey...ya gotta start somewhere, right?

Any (serious!!) suggestions from the Peanut Gallery would also be immensely appreciated. Drop me a few comments, peeps (yes, you read that correctly. I said "peeps." Gosh, I'm so street!), if you feel so inclined.

As for the Mom Situation, I think that, in time and after further conversation, she'll come to realize that hearing the inevitable snip-snip sound shouldn't be cause for fear, panic and anxiety. On the contrary, it should be cause for celebration and a newfound sense of hope and trust that I'll make the right choices, decisions on my own. Even if there's a twinge of pain at first.

Hell, is there ever not?