Monday, May 23, 2005
"...doesn't mean I don't care."
Living a life of convenience makes it difficult to post frequently. I have no poignant knowledge to drop on all y'all, just thought I'd give everyone a little taste of what's running through my noodle.
I have a pseudo-date lined up for tomorrow's The Good Life show. Even I can't wait to see how I botch this one. I'm completely in over my head on this one. Granted, I met her at an after hours party where she was one of four ladies. And it was pretty dark. And I was pretty drunk. Real drunk. But I fought off the four other suitors to grab this lady's digits. She talks a mean indie rock game. Comes from a small town. Works at a museum. Neither quick-footed nor quick-witted, it took me a while to plant the seed of a follow-up hangout with this girl. Like the Tortoise, I passed all of the other suitors on the side of the road and finally balled up and got Mary's phone number. Amazed that she handed it out, I called her bluff on the phony looking phone number. She countered with an "Oh, yeah? Why don't you call me and find out?" Hells yeah. So I did. And her phone rang. I won. 1-0. Things looked pretty damn good.
Then it happened. In conversation, ages begin to get mentioned. I happen to still be eligible for The Real World. She happens to be 27. And she says that as if it's a bad thing. She calls me a young pup. Really? Needless to say, everyone walked to their own cars that night.
Then it happened. Again. In what's to become my trademark move, I leave the drunken message. "Um, I'm really sorry if you thought I was making fun of you for being 27, 'cause I wasn't. This is Rick. From tonight. Sorry."
I play it off partially because I didn't remember it, but also partly because I never hear back from the girls to let me know how much of an idiot I am. But less than 12 hours after ruining any chance, something fantastic happened.
I GOT THE CALLBACK!!!
Turns out she likes sleeping all day on Sundays. Sweet. Turns out her roommate and her still want to go to the show. Awesome. I guess I'll see her tomorrow and probably embarrass myself. Routine.
Check back in about three weeks for details on the painfully awkward dissolution.
I have a pseudo-date lined up for tomorrow's The Good Life show. Even I can't wait to see how I botch this one. I'm completely in over my head on this one. Granted, I met her at an after hours party where she was one of four ladies. And it was pretty dark. And I was pretty drunk. Real drunk. But I fought off the four other suitors to grab this lady's digits. She talks a mean indie rock game. Comes from a small town. Works at a museum. Neither quick-footed nor quick-witted, it took me a while to plant the seed of a follow-up hangout with this girl. Like the Tortoise, I passed all of the other suitors on the side of the road and finally balled up and got Mary's phone number. Amazed that she handed it out, I called her bluff on the phony looking phone number. She countered with an "Oh, yeah? Why don't you call me and find out?" Hells yeah. So I did. And her phone rang. I won. 1-0. Things looked pretty damn good.
Then it happened. In conversation, ages begin to get mentioned. I happen to still be eligible for The Real World. She happens to be 27. And she says that as if it's a bad thing. She calls me a young pup. Really? Needless to say, everyone walked to their own cars that night.
Then it happened. Again. In what's to become my trademark move, I leave the drunken message. "Um, I'm really sorry if you thought I was making fun of you for being 27, 'cause I wasn't. This is Rick. From tonight. Sorry."
I play it off partially because I didn't remember it, but also partly because I never hear back from the girls to let me know how much of an idiot I am. But less than 12 hours after ruining any chance, something fantastic happened.
I GOT THE CALLBACK!!!
Turns out she likes sleeping all day on Sundays. Sweet. Turns out her roommate and her still want to go to the show. Awesome. I guess I'll see her tomorrow and probably embarrass myself. Routine.
Check back in about three weeks for details on the painfully awkward dissolution.
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