For full effect, please download “Creep” by Radiohead, from iTunes, and play at full volume throughout the duration of this post.
Today’s insight into the world of dating will cover the topic of the difficulties of asking a girl out. Or as others may call it, how to get kicked between the legs and still manage to walk away from the crime scene. This will be another personal story regarding a character who is known by the rest of the world as Seizure Boy. And no, I am not proud of that blogalias.
Within the next 1208 words, a Ginger Aggie will be laughing in spite.
Let me paint the picture for you for full effect. Since the battle wounds have healed from prior relationships, I will say that I have been, “on the prowl” as those born in the 1920’s would call it. I have had my eyes open, been looking around for potential dates here and there. I’m not asking out absolutely anyone, because Seizure Boy is a picky person. (And yes, I did just refer to myself in third person, similar to “The Jimmy” in the 105th episode of Seinfeld did).
I’ve had my rounds over the last few weeks. First there was New Harmony Cardboard 5. Then there was Soulless Aquagirl. Neither one of them worked out too well. Only a couple weeks ago did I meet she who shall be named, “Girl of Gold’s”. It was only after having her check my I.D. as I headed into the gym when I thought to myself, ‘Hey Seizure Boy, that girl is pretty darn attractive. Why don’t you ask her out.’ Both the angel on my left shoulder and the devil on my right were in agreement to this fact. And so I made the goal that the next day when I went to check in, I would “make the move”.
Unfortunately she wasn’t there the next day.
And so, I went back.
And went back.
And went back.
And went back.
And went back.
For 11 consecutive days I went back to the gym to meet up with this girl again in hopes of retrieving the numerical code that would unlock her vault. At different times too. Sometimes on my lunch break, others at 10:30 at night. Heck, I even went to play ball at 5:30 in the morning just to see if she was covering the first shift. Call me crazy, call me a creeper, call me whatever you want to, I just think that I am persistent. And if there is something that I want to retrieve, I will work hard at getting that prize.
On Day 12, I was catching 40 winks after work when a text from Half-Empty Buffalo startled me. You see Half-Empty Buffalo anonymously and honorably took on the role of Wingman in this situation to assist me in accomplishing this feat. He was one of few who I had told about the persistent ventures in pursuit of Girl of Gold’s. And when I got a two-word text just after 6 p.m. saying “She’s here.” I was already in my car toting my gym shoes right on the verge of crossing the finish line.
My persistence had paid off I thought as I walked in, introduced myself and made small-talk with Girl of Gold’s. I thought I was playing my cards just right. You see, that is the difficulty and complex nature of initial contact and approach of a date candidate. One always puts on a façade about who they really are, and acts absolutely nothing like their original self. A pretentious, shallow, deceiving act that our culture has sculpted into the world of dating. But that discussion is for another post.
I ran the floor that night with a basketball in hand, playing with a confidence level unheard of. I was making steals, blocking shots, hitting contested layups and jump shots; making southpaw backhand bounce passes across court for easy baskets. I was on an entire different level. And maybe it was the energy I was experiencing for what I thought would be the victor’s crown. My confidence was through the roof, for in a few moments I would have that elite seven-digit code of Girl of Gold’s.
Walking out of the gym their seemed to be a small hurdle in the way, for Girl of Gold’s was attending to another customer, and for me to bombard my way in and flirt would only kill my chances. Therefore, I played the cool man’s role, and walked back out to my car.
But wait, what was I doing? I wasn’t going to just walk out of there without the prize that I had come for. If I had left, would I have to wait another 11 days for my next crack at Girl of Gold’s? NO! I was persistent! I was a man! I had gone to great lengths to get my shot at this girl, and I wasn’t going to blow a chance at a potentially great first date.
Walking back into Gold’s, I approached the counter, wherein the following conversation occurred:
Seizure Boy: “Hey, as douchebag-ish as this sounds, and I’m probably sure this happens to you by more than one meathead a day while you work here, but do you want to do something sometime?”
Girl of Gold’s: Flattered, blushing, holding back a smile. “Yeah, it happens every once in a while, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. Maybe some other time though.”
Cue testicle shot. Followed by gut-wrenching stomach pains while the sweat trickled off my forehead.
Seizure Boy: “Hey, that’s cool. Yeah, some other time.”
And with that I tucked my tail between my legs, grabbed my recently injured skin-coated urethra, and walked out the door in shame, who knows when I would be returning to that gym to play ball again.
While I was driving home, my mind stumbled around in a drunken sense of confusion. ‘She was seeing someone? What the heck?!’ For all I knew this someone was probably some other muscular meathead who flexed his Pecs on the way out while making sure that the frosted tips of his scalp stayed in place meanwhile listening to “Who Let the Dogs Out” from his iPod. She was probably seeing this eggplant excuse of a soul. What a load of crap!
My mind was in self-defense mode when it occurred to me that I had now fallen into the category of pompous pricks who Girl of Gold’s had to repeatedly shut down because they arrogantly thought that flexing their biceps brachii, pectoralis majora, and latissimus dorsi while hitting on her would achieve greatness. I was now classified as one of those popped-collar Mcdoucherson’s. I was now a Chase Loveridge.
After the dust had settled and a few episodes of Tosh.0 managed to comfort the fractured remaining strips of self-esteem I had left, reality decided to check me in the gonads and put things into perspective. The guy that Girl of Gold’s was seeing probably wasn’t a shallow cousin of a 10-point I.Q. inbred West Virginia family. He was probably a great guy. Probably was working hard on his degree. Probably treated her like a queen, like she was supposed to be treated. Heck, I’d probably be friends with the kid any other day of the week. The only difficulty in this situation was that I was too late.
And so I sat in the kitchen of my apartment with a bag of Sun Chips and a Mountain Dew (the male equivalent to Ben & Jerry’s) while two great men, Rock Steady and Roger Winston Eddingbright the 3rd consoled me and repeated that there were other opportunities out there.
“There will be other girls out there man.” Rock Steady prodded. “You just have to keep looking and remember that the grass is always greener.”
Yeah… I’m sure it is.
I am Ted Mosby.
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