I don't even wanna talk about it.
(Read Yacht Girl Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3)
O hai. If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
Friday, 3 June 2011
Facebiter?
O hai. If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.
Ya thats right. Facebiter. Bit my face. On the cheek. Is this a story? Not really, but my face still hurts.
But who does that? Is that a whole other level of crazy? Or have I just been out of the loop that long?
Heres the scenario. Out, hanging with peeps, having cocktails. A friend of a friend shows up, she's a babe, we hit it off. (Though she seems a biiit aggro as she proceeds to drink, but nothing I can't handle or think is too bonkers.)
The night progresses, at some point on the dance floor a smooch occurs, and finishes with a lip nibble on her part. Ok, cool....some people dig that.
Shortly thereafter, she swoops in for smooch part deaux, this one ends in pain...and the faint taste of blood in my mouth. Whoooooooooooa...I'm not THAT drunk yet.
So I proceed to decline smooch three.
And am rewarded with a CHOMP on the side of my face.
Like a "wrapped her mouth around my cheekbone like she's tackling a Whopper" bite.
This is a relatively petite, pretty girl who seemed fairly normal - now standing there with this Chucky Doll smile on her face.
Just standing there. Staring at me.
Have you ever attempted to tiptoe slowly backwards out of a crowded night club? Ya, you can't. So its a standoff, Smiley Facebiter and me.
Her, perhaps expecting a return bite? Maybe I was supposed to pull her hair or something?
For what felt like an eternity she stood there with a look on her face like she was thinking stuff and that I was somehow listening to her thoughts.
Like she was having a conversation inside of her head with the inside of my head...and her head was winning.
Alas, the DJ saved my life that night, as the song faded into some top 40 mash up (Usher I think) and the dance floor was immediately swarmed by the entire club I literrally beelined for the door...I dont even think I paid my bill.
Needless to say, its a jungle out there, and some days, when I stare at myself in the mirror and ponder why I'm still single, I'm gonna think about that night and reassure myself that finding somebody isn't about just sorting through all the single people, its avoiding the Batshit crazy ones long enough to stumble across some awesome.
Till then, Keep fit, have fun, and don't stop believin'.
-D
Ya thats right. Facebiter. Bit my face. On the cheek. Is this a story? Not really, but my face still hurts.
But who does that? Is that a whole other level of crazy? Or have I just been out of the loop that long?
Heres the scenario. Out, hanging with peeps, having cocktails. A friend of a friend shows up, she's a babe, we hit it off. (Though she seems a biiit aggro as she proceeds to drink, but nothing I can't handle or think is too bonkers.)
The night progresses, at some point on the dance floor a smooch occurs, and finishes with a lip nibble on her part. Ok, cool....some people dig that.
Shortly thereafter, she swoops in for smooch part deaux, this one ends in pain...and the faint taste of blood in my mouth. Whoooooooooooa...I'm not THAT drunk yet.
So I proceed to decline smooch three.
And am rewarded with a CHOMP on the side of my face.
Like a "wrapped her mouth around my cheekbone like she's tackling a Whopper" bite.
This is a relatively petite, pretty girl who seemed fairly normal - now standing there with this Chucky Doll smile on her face.
Just standing there. Staring at me.
Have you ever attempted to tiptoe slowly backwards out of a crowded night club? Ya, you can't. So its a standoff, Smiley Facebiter and me.
Her, perhaps expecting a return bite? Maybe I was supposed to pull her hair or something?
For what felt like an eternity she stood there with a look on her face like she was thinking stuff and that I was somehow listening to her thoughts.
Like she was having a conversation inside of her head with the inside of my head...and her head was winning.
Alas, the DJ saved my life that night, as the song faded into some top 40 mash up (Usher I think) and the dance floor was immediately swarmed by the entire club I literrally beelined for the door...I dont even think I paid my bill.
Needless to say, its a jungle out there, and some days, when I stare at myself in the mirror and ponder why I'm still single, I'm gonna think about that night and reassure myself that finding somebody isn't about just sorting through all the single people, its avoiding the Batshit crazy ones long enough to stumble across some awesome.
Till then, Keep fit, have fun, and don't stop believin'.
-D
Wednesday, 11 May 2011
Yacht Girl Part 3....?
Ok, as far fetched as the original Yacht girl story was, it just gets gnarlier.
Please go check out Yacht Girl Part 1 and Yacht Girl Part 2 if you havent, its a helluva story, and will help this make a ton more sense.
So, where we left off with Yacht Girl was our weekend love affair fizzling out over time and distance.
Typical. I mean, she was a knockout, and hilarious, but how does something blossom between two very busy young professionals who live 250 miles apart? Not completely unfathomable...but difficult nonetheless.
Our texts became more and more infrequent, and eventually, we both went on with our lives.
Then. 6 months after that amazing night, I walked into my local spot. Rammed on a Saturday night, strolled up to my friends and out of the corner of my eye theres this gorgeous blonde just staring at me.
Obviously I think to myself, "What the hell is she staring at"... and then it hits me.
Fucking Yacht Girl.
Sitting with her friends, in my town for only a day shopping, and ended up at MY spot out of the literally hundreds of places they could have gone....miles away from their hotel.
Laser beams.
It took about 2 minutes of me standing there flabbergasted and yammering on like a clown for her friend to grab a chair, slide it beside her and say "Sit down".
And thats where I spent the entire night. Not with my friends. But sitting hip to hip with a bloody unicorn.
To say we started where we left off would be an understatement, it was a night of hilariocity coupled with a significant amount of rug-cutting. A perfect evening to sat the least. And to say I wasn't smitten would also be skirting the truth.
The surreal nature of how we came back together is only a testament to this single life I live. I mean, it couldn't have happened a different way to me.
Its bizarre and confusing for a boy who stopped believing in "Fate" a long time ago.
But its like the universe just dropkicked me in the neck as if to say "Hey asshole! It can happen to you too!"
So is there a fairy tale ending to this story? Well not yet, but it hasn't fizzled...yet...and hell, do I have a story to tell or what?
Holy Crap.
Please go check out Yacht Girl Part 1 and Yacht Girl Part 2 if you havent, its a helluva story, and will help this make a ton more sense.
So, where we left off with Yacht Girl was our weekend love affair fizzling out over time and distance.
Typical. I mean, she was a knockout, and hilarious, but how does something blossom between two very busy young professionals who live 250 miles apart? Not completely unfathomable...but difficult nonetheless.
Our texts became more and more infrequent, and eventually, we both went on with our lives.
Then. 6 months after that amazing night, I walked into my local spot. Rammed on a Saturday night, strolled up to my friends and out of the corner of my eye theres this gorgeous blonde just staring at me.
Obviously I think to myself, "What the hell is she staring at"... and then it hits me.
Fucking Yacht Girl.
Sitting with her friends, in my town for only a day shopping, and ended up at MY spot out of the literally hundreds of places they could have gone....miles away from their hotel.
Laser beams.
It took about 2 minutes of me standing there flabbergasted and yammering on like a clown for her friend to grab a chair, slide it beside her and say "Sit down".
And thats where I spent the entire night. Not with my friends. But sitting hip to hip with a bloody unicorn.
To say we started where we left off would be an understatement, it was a night of hilariocity coupled with a significant amount of rug-cutting. A perfect evening to sat the least. And to say I wasn't smitten would also be skirting the truth.
The surreal nature of how we came back together is only a testament to this single life I live. I mean, it couldn't have happened a different way to me.
Its bizarre and confusing for a boy who stopped believing in "Fate" a long time ago.
But its like the universe just dropkicked me in the neck as if to say "Hey asshole! It can happen to you too!"
So is there a fairy tale ending to this story? Well not yet, but it hasn't fizzled...yet...and hell, do I have a story to tell or what?
Holy Crap.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Texts From Last Month
O hai. If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.
Your day is not just yours. You share little bits of it with people all day long. You can't help it, but you have control over it.
I got out of my apartment the other morning and there was a girl waiting for the elevator. She looked at me as I turned around to lock my door. I made it to the elevator just in time to watch the door close.
What an effing jerk store.
If we happen to get in the elevator on my floor together...I'm pushing every damn button on the way down and I'm just gonna stand there and stare.
But...it effed up my morning. Only because I was like "Who does that?" Ugh.
The experience got me thinking about a time I had an effect on somebody. It starts with an anonymous text message I received while having a beer at a pub. It just said "I'm texting you against my better judgement, but I just wanted to say Hi."
I figured I'd most likely given my number to somebody whilst lightly toasted one night and forgot.
Typical, happens to all of us.
But I have serious anon-o-text anxiety. I HATE texting a person and getting back the "Who is this?" response. HATE it, so I tactfully responded with the ol' "Lost my phone sorry, with whom am I speaking?" reply.
This came back: "I'm a friend of a friend and you don't know me."
Huh?
Throughout an evening of text sleuthing this is what I figured out;
Three months earlier, at the Yacht Girl wedding I attended - an event that had me not only loving life, but being completely on fire - at some point during the reception when I was annihilating the dance floor I grabbed the hand of a girl and started dancing with her. I don't remember this.
There is a pretty robust pile of photographs documenting the weekend, and I've pieced together most of it through these visual aides, but this one moment I have absolutely no recollection of.
It probably lasted only 20 seconds, because a friend of mine immediately said, "Hey! She's got a boyfriend!" and I moved on to some other shiny object.
Apparently that moment kinda stuck with this person - who happened to be a friend of the family and was only there for a quick pop-in at the reception.
She indeed was hitched at the time but was gravitating towards single-dom, and our fleeting moment of salsa inspired connection was something that she actually thought about over the next few months.
I guess became sort of an inside joke during this very emotional time for her, between her and the mutual acquaintances we shared - completely unbeknownst to me - and as that part of her life was becoming finalized, she wanted to reach out.
For me, if there is some random, wacky way I am ever going to meet somebody, it's exactly like that. A cleverly worded attention grabbing anonymous text message. That just screams me.
Obviously, I was taken aback. Flattered beyond comprehension. So naturally, being a gobbler (I gobble up everything I want. Hamburgers. Music. Girls. Nomnomnom.) I neeeeeded to meet this person. We texted the first night, facestalked each other and talked the next and met on the third at a coffee shop at one in the morning. (She is a student/waitress so daytime doesn't exist for her).
From her facebook I knew I didnt know her. At all. Zero memory of her face. Even when she walked in to the coffee shop I was still clawing at my brain for a glimpse of her from that night. Nuthin.
She sat down in front of me and didn't say anything. She just stared at me.
It was the greatest look anyone has given me in years.
A secret about me: I know that I like somebody when I can't talk good at first, or when I realize they're rad. I am generally quite the wordsmith, I rarely get nervous or embarrassed but those few people that kind of "get" me, make me actually realize that I don't have to talk all the damn time. I think it's hilair because I stumble and stutter.
This girl had me blathering. And she smelled good.
She was also easy to talk to, liked to listen to me and we seemed to hit it off.
Also, have I mentioned how she looked at me?
This was about 4 months into being single. And though I had met many wonderful people, over the next few days I actually felt what it might be like to eventually one day maybe actually care about somebody again.
Here's my weird neurotic assessment of where I am at in my singledom:
Every once in a while I picture myself walking down the sidewalk and running into my friends with a girl, I then walk myself through an imaginary introduction of said girl. Based on what happens in my brain, I know where I'm at. To me, since my friends are so important to me, what I feel like with somebody around them validates it all for me. (I know, wiiiierd.)
One of the first girls I met, the thought of running into my friends with her on my arm made me feel barfy. With this girl, I could almost fathom the possibility of being ok with it. Big step.
And she kept getting better. She danced. (If you don't know my perspective on dancing, go here now.)
Within the first week we ended up out and drunkenly dancing until the wee hours. It was pretty damn cool.
But then, the wheels came off.
She'd mentioned quite early on that she seemed to have really poor timing.
It turned out that though she was just going through a breakup with her bf...it was more of a literally in the middle of a break up...as in, still in the same house just in different rooms middle of.
I immediately time warped to being in that exact spot when I was breaking up with my ex. And I panicked.
Why?
Because I was a FREAKING MESS. Like almost unstable. And that realization sucked....because I knew what I was...
I'd turned into the shiny object.
Crap.
Even when we are at our most normal, we are still very emotional creatures...and timing our current state of neurosis with meeting somebody compatible is a bloody crap shoot, I know this.
So no matter how flattered and intoxicating the thought of meeting a beautiful girl that thought of me as this amazing dream dude was...I knew that this was never moving anywhere. She was noooowhere near a spot where any of this was actually real. It was cool, but we all know how we are during break-ups - we're just warped, needy and troubled versions of our former selves. Usually for a while.
And (thankfully) I was right, and after a few weeks of anxiety filled contemplation and interaction...it fizzled. ILooking back, I don't regret the experience, it still makes me feel awesome that I'd had that kind of effect on somebody, and sometimes when I'm at a melancholy point in my day, thinking of this story helps a ton.
Speaking of leaving impressions though, I CANNOT WAIT to run into elevator girl again, I'm gonna leave a helluva impression.
Your day is not just yours. You share little bits of it with people all day long. You can't help it, but you have control over it.
I got out of my apartment the other morning and there was a girl waiting for the elevator. She looked at me as I turned around to lock my door. I made it to the elevator just in time to watch the door close.
What an effing jerk store.
If we happen to get in the elevator on my floor together...I'm pushing every damn button on the way down and I'm just gonna stand there and stare.
But...it effed up my morning. Only because I was like "Who does that?" Ugh.
The experience got me thinking about a time I had an effect on somebody. It starts with an anonymous text message I received while having a beer at a pub. It just said "I'm texting you against my better judgement, but I just wanted to say Hi."
I figured I'd most likely given my number to somebody whilst lightly toasted one night and forgot.
Typical, happens to all of us.
But I have serious anon-o-text anxiety. I HATE texting a person and getting back the "Who is this?" response. HATE it, so I tactfully responded with the ol' "Lost my phone sorry, with whom am I speaking?" reply.
This came back: "I'm a friend of a friend and you don't know me."
Huh?
Throughout an evening of text sleuthing this is what I figured out;
Three months earlier, at the Yacht Girl wedding I attended - an event that had me not only loving life, but being completely on fire - at some point during the reception when I was annihilating the dance floor I grabbed the hand of a girl and started dancing with her. I don't remember this.
There is a pretty robust pile of photographs documenting the weekend, and I've pieced together most of it through these visual aides, but this one moment I have absolutely no recollection of.
It probably lasted only 20 seconds, because a friend of mine immediately said, "Hey! She's got a boyfriend!" and I moved on to some other shiny object.
Apparently that moment kinda stuck with this person - who happened to be a friend of the family and was only there for a quick pop-in at the reception.
She indeed was hitched at the time but was gravitating towards single-dom, and our fleeting moment of salsa inspired connection was something that she actually thought about over the next few months.
I guess became sort of an inside joke during this very emotional time for her, between her and the mutual acquaintances we shared - completely unbeknownst to me - and as that part of her life was becoming finalized, she wanted to reach out.
For me, if there is some random, wacky way I am ever going to meet somebody, it's exactly like that. A cleverly worded attention grabbing anonymous text message. That just screams me.
Obviously, I was taken aback. Flattered beyond comprehension. So naturally, being a gobbler (I gobble up everything I want. Hamburgers. Music. Girls. Nomnomnom.) I neeeeeded to meet this person. We texted the first night, facestalked each other and talked the next and met on the third at a coffee shop at one in the morning. (She is a student/waitress so daytime doesn't exist for her).
From her facebook I knew I didnt know her. At all. Zero memory of her face. Even when she walked in to the coffee shop I was still clawing at my brain for a glimpse of her from that night. Nuthin.
She sat down in front of me and didn't say anything. She just stared at me.
It was the greatest look anyone has given me in years.
A secret about me: I know that I like somebody when I can't talk good at first, or when I realize they're rad. I am generally quite the wordsmith, I rarely get nervous or embarrassed but those few people that kind of "get" me, make me actually realize that I don't have to talk all the damn time. I think it's hilair because I stumble and stutter.
This girl had me blathering. And she smelled good.
She was also easy to talk to, liked to listen to me and we seemed to hit it off.
Also, have I mentioned how she looked at me?
This was about 4 months into being single. And though I had met many wonderful people, over the next few days I actually felt what it might be like to eventually one day maybe actually care about somebody again.
Here's my weird neurotic assessment of where I am at in my singledom:
Every once in a while I picture myself walking down the sidewalk and running into my friends with a girl, I then walk myself through an imaginary introduction of said girl. Based on what happens in my brain, I know where I'm at. To me, since my friends are so important to me, what I feel like with somebody around them validates it all for me. (I know, wiiiierd.)
One of the first girls I met, the thought of running into my friends with her on my arm made me feel barfy. With this girl, I could almost fathom the possibility of being ok with it. Big step.
And she kept getting better. She danced. (If you don't know my perspective on dancing, go here now.)
Within the first week we ended up out and drunkenly dancing until the wee hours. It was pretty damn cool.
But then, the wheels came off.
She'd mentioned quite early on that she seemed to have really poor timing.
It turned out that though she was just going through a breakup with her bf...it was more of a literally in the middle of a break up...as in, still in the same house just in different rooms middle of.
I immediately time warped to being in that exact spot when I was breaking up with my ex. And I panicked.
Why?
Because I was a FREAKING MESS. Like almost unstable. And that realization sucked....because I knew what I was...
I'd turned into the shiny object.
Crap.
Even when we are at our most normal, we are still very emotional creatures...and timing our current state of neurosis with meeting somebody compatible is a bloody crap shoot, I know this.
So no matter how flattered and intoxicating the thought of meeting a beautiful girl that thought of me as this amazing dream dude was...I knew that this was never moving anywhere. She was noooowhere near a spot where any of this was actually real. It was cool, but we all know how we are during break-ups - we're just warped, needy and troubled versions of our former selves. Usually for a while.
And (thankfully) I was right, and after a few weeks of anxiety filled contemplation and interaction...it fizzled. ILooking back, I don't regret the experience, it still makes me feel awesome that I'd had that kind of effect on somebody, and sometimes when I'm at a melancholy point in my day, thinking of this story helps a ton.
Speaking of leaving impressions though, I CANNOT WAIT to run into elevator girl again, I'm gonna leave a helluva impression.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Addicted to Interaction
Press play:
I don't do drugs (besides the ol' drink). I have enough energy. And my mischievousness tends to lead me to some level of bliss on its own.
But I think I may have an addiction to interacting with people.
I love it. I love to know about you. I love drunken late night talk-a-thons. I love surprising people with my story. I love being surprised with theirs.
I am attracted to the unique or the inspiring.
I don't mean grandiose philanthropic inspiration, I mean life inspiring.
We all have a big, badass story. And many of the regular people around us that seem so average have dealt with and overcome more than we can imagine.
And I'm addicted to knowing about them. I'm fascinated by it.
I'm addicted to the organic evolution of a relationship.
How a joke turns into a conversation then turns into a friendship that turns into the legitimate "giving a crap" about a person.
I love the moment it occurs to you that you may be talking to somebody awesome.
I love looking into the eyes of somebody and giving a fuck.
I never leave a room without saying goodbye.
I am generally happy to see people.
It's not a sexual thing, I just love people, and their stories.
Unfortunately, I have been made to feel as if this wasn't a good thing. I forced myself not to care as much. It's taken these last few months of singularity to let that part of me blossom again.
I started this for therapy. Because I was so confused and terrified of this loneliness ahead of me. A loneliness I knew I couldn't avoid.
This one, this time....it was all me.
And that scared the living shit out of me. It still does.
They said I should write. And I decided to. I thought it would be my semi-funny stories of all the people I end up running into.
But now I'm starting to interact.
I'm finding that loneliness doesn't exist without other lonely people.
There is an honesty in this anonymity that I would never be able to find outside of this little secret world I've created.
I don't know if its working but it's making me actually feel like writing stuff that isn't just tales of my silly shenanigans.
Stuff that makes me feel.
I dont want to be a writer. I think my lack of authored eloquence is a disservice to some of the ridiculously talented but completely unknown writers in this world.
My inability to articulate my feelings is something I can't unlearn. I am not this expressive am I?
I talk to everybody. You can't stop me.
Take me to the opera or a monster truck show, it doesn't matter, I will end up in a corner surrounded by people, telling some ridiculous tale.
But talking about me? The real me? Pfffft. HA!
My mom died last December. I didn't tell anybody.
People I spend countless hours with every week, they had no idea. I just didn't tell them. Who does that?
That...is...fucked.
This experience in writing about how I actually am is so ridiculously alien to me.
But I've found people. REAL people. Out there. That share this awkwardness and pain. Some of it a million times worse than mine. People that are getting through it and not even blinking.
But people that understand. That reach out to a strange twitter URL without hesitation. Without apprehension. The opposite of my bizarre neurotic introverted emotional cone of silence. People that understand.
And I don't know what I think about it.
Shit, I don't know if I'm even going to publish this. But I can't ignore whats happening to my brain.
I'm hoping you'll understand.
Fuck it, I'm going in for the kill.
I don't do drugs (besides the ol' drink). I have enough energy. And my mischievousness tends to lead me to some level of bliss on its own.
But I think I may have an addiction to interacting with people.
I love it. I love to know about you. I love drunken late night talk-a-thons. I love surprising people with my story. I love being surprised with theirs.
I am attracted to the unique or the inspiring.
I don't mean grandiose philanthropic inspiration, I mean life inspiring.
We all have a big, badass story. And many of the regular people around us that seem so average have dealt with and overcome more than we can imagine.
And I'm addicted to knowing about them. I'm fascinated by it.
I'm addicted to the organic evolution of a relationship.
How a joke turns into a conversation then turns into a friendship that turns into the legitimate "giving a crap" about a person.
I love the moment it occurs to you that you may be talking to somebody awesome.
I love looking into the eyes of somebody and giving a fuck.
I never leave a room without saying goodbye.
I am generally happy to see people.
It's not a sexual thing, I just love people, and their stories.
Unfortunately, I have been made to feel as if this wasn't a good thing. I forced myself not to care as much. It's taken these last few months of singularity to let that part of me blossom again.
I started this for therapy. Because I was so confused and terrified of this loneliness ahead of me. A loneliness I knew I couldn't avoid.
This one, this time....it was all me.
And that scared the living shit out of me. It still does.
They said I should write. And I decided to. I thought it would be my semi-funny stories of all the people I end up running into.
But now I'm starting to interact.
I'm finding that loneliness doesn't exist without other lonely people.
There is an honesty in this anonymity that I would never be able to find outside of this little secret world I've created.
I don't know if its working but it's making me actually feel like writing stuff that isn't just tales of my silly shenanigans.
Stuff that makes me feel.
I dont want to be a writer. I think my lack of authored eloquence is a disservice to some of the ridiculously talented but completely unknown writers in this world.
My inability to articulate my feelings is something I can't unlearn. I am not this expressive am I?
I talk to everybody. You can't stop me.
Take me to the opera or a monster truck show, it doesn't matter, I will end up in a corner surrounded by people, telling some ridiculous tale.
But talking about me? The real me? Pfffft. HA!
My mom died last December. I didn't tell anybody.
People I spend countless hours with every week, they had no idea. I just didn't tell them. Who does that?
That...is...fucked.
This experience in writing about how I actually am is so ridiculously alien to me.
But I've found people. REAL people. Out there. That share this awkwardness and pain. Some of it a million times worse than mine. People that are getting through it and not even blinking.
But people that understand. That reach out to a strange twitter URL without hesitation. Without apprehension. The opposite of my bizarre neurotic introverted emotional cone of silence. People that understand.
And I don't know what I think about it.
Shit, I don't know if I'm even going to publish this. But I can't ignore whats happening to my brain.
I'm hoping you'll understand.
Fuck it, I'm going in for the kill.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Why You Can't Pick Up A Waitress
I've worked in the hospitality industry for a very long time. As a waiter, bartender, bar back, busser, promoter, host....you name it, I've done it. Even to this day I stay involved in the nightlife here and there. I love being social and out and about.
Now guys we've all tried it. Sometimes you can't help yourself...you have a few in ya, some attractive and charming young lass is making eyes at you, striking up a conversation, laughing at your terrible jokes. Its a perfect storm of libido stroking and false hopes. The best waitresses and bartenders make you think you've got a shot. But what so many dudes forget is...ahem...that's their FREAKING job!!
I know it can be very confusing for us boys, but there are a few things you need to consider here; one - she being paid to feed you. And two; hitting on a girl who can't get away is awfully creepy. If she's not interested, she's still stuck hanging with you for another hour.
Also you need to know something; you treat beautiful girls differently than not beautiful girls. You probably don't know it, but subconsciously you do....and the problem for you is that they know it. How do I know this? Because I have worked/work in the industry, and have been around those people for a long long time. I've watched it happen a million times.
These people are professional flirters. Their rent depends on it. It's not to say that they are all completely insincere, but these people get hit on for a living. By dozens and dozens of dudes every single day. They've heard every line, done every shot and received every advance imaginable.
But, you thinking you have a chance has a direct correlation to how much money they make...and they know that.
It doesn't help that for the most part, servers and bartender are skewed to the better looking end of the population, and oftentimes they've spent their lives being good looking, so you end up with a cornucopia of people confident in that part of themselves with hours upon hours of practice exploiting it.
Pretty much, you don't stand a chance of avoiding the web of awesome they will spin around you if they feel like it. You're playing pick-up basketball with Kobe here.
This post is here simply to give you perspective, because I watch guy after guy get their hopes up, drop a fat tip and then get blasted when they try to close it.
This is a public service announcement. Just stop. I'm sure you're rad, but just understand what you're getting into, you're probably not the only guy she is currently serving that she's making feel like a million bucks.
Of course it happens, and some dudes have a lot of success with the ladies in that arena, but I'm guessing most of us don't, so I'm saving you the trouble.
I say hey, just keep tipping, they still work their asses off and its not like it doesn't feel AWESOME to have some beautiful charismatic lady pay attention to you for a few hours while you eat or watch a game right?
Don't take offense, and don't think less of them, just know that if they were a dental hygienist you proooobably wouldn't leave the office thinking that she wanted to make out with you.
Now guys we've all tried it. Sometimes you can't help yourself...you have a few in ya, some attractive and charming young lass is making eyes at you, striking up a conversation, laughing at your terrible jokes. Its a perfect storm of libido stroking and false hopes. The best waitresses and bartenders make you think you've got a shot. But what so many dudes forget is...ahem...that's their FREAKING job!!
I know it can be very confusing for us boys, but there are a few things you need to consider here; one - she being paid to feed you. And two; hitting on a girl who can't get away is awfully creepy. If she's not interested, she's still stuck hanging with you for another hour.
Also you need to know something; you treat beautiful girls differently than not beautiful girls. You probably don't know it, but subconsciously you do....and the problem for you is that they know it. How do I know this? Because I have worked/work in the industry, and have been around those people for a long long time. I've watched it happen a million times.
These people are professional flirters. Their rent depends on it. It's not to say that they are all completely insincere, but these people get hit on for a living. By dozens and dozens of dudes every single day. They've heard every line, done every shot and received every advance imaginable.
But, you thinking you have a chance has a direct correlation to how much money they make...and they know that.
It doesn't help that for the most part, servers and bartender are skewed to the better looking end of the population, and oftentimes they've spent their lives being good looking, so you end up with a cornucopia of people confident in that part of themselves with hours upon hours of practice exploiting it.
Pretty much, you don't stand a chance of avoiding the web of awesome they will spin around you if they feel like it. You're playing pick-up basketball with Kobe here.
This post is here simply to give you perspective, because I watch guy after guy get their hopes up, drop a fat tip and then get blasted when they try to close it.
This is a public service announcement. Just stop. I'm sure you're rad, but just understand what you're getting into, you're probably not the only guy she is currently serving that she's making feel like a million bucks.
Of course it happens, and some dudes have a lot of success with the ladies in that arena, but I'm guessing most of us don't, so I'm saving you the trouble.
I say hey, just keep tipping, they still work their asses off and its not like it doesn't feel AWESOME to have some beautiful charismatic lady pay attention to you for a few hours while you eat or watch a game right?
Don't take offense, and don't think less of them, just know that if they were a dental hygienist you proooobably wouldn't leave the office thinking that she wanted to make out with you.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Yacht Girl - Part 2
If you haven't yet, Read Yacht Girl Part 1 Here.
Also, If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.
We eventually arrive at a club. Ya, right on the water. I've driven up to a club in an Aston Martin - but seriously - this is the way to arrive anywhere.
So up to the club we scurry. I head towards the bad-ass line up near the front when one of the yacht dudes stops me by saying, "This way, we're going in the back door....they don't like us up there..." I'm immediately like "ahhh, I'm with theeeese guys"....and realize that we'll probably just roll up to the back, the dude with a giant yacht will grease the door guy, aaaand we're in. Nope. Turns out the bouncers at the back door weren't too fond of them either, and as I stand there trying not to pay attention to them negotiating with the doormen, I score some serious awesomepoints.
I hadn't been to this town much, but know a few people from here, and as I stood there deciding whether to call a cab or not, I look onto the patio of the club and see a face staring at me with bewilderment. I quickly realize that its a waitress at the bar, and that I had met her and her friends in Mexico on vacation - she was bff's with some of my bff's. She recognized me and freaked out. I do the obligatory long lost friend hug and "OMG OMG OMG!'s" and turn to my new found yacht-posse with the, "Hey, can me and my friends come in?"
Score one for cockblocking out of town tag-along guy.
Now immediately upon getting in something becomes blatantly apparent. I don't know a goddamn soul in here. And one of my most hated things in the world is being surrounded by people and not being able to interact with them. Yacht girl is running into friends, yacht dudes are making their way to wherever, I immediately find myself alone in a club of drunken revelers all waaay too far into their respective nights to just strike up a convo with. So I come to point #2 in the evening when I begin to think I should cut my losses, be happy with how I got here and bail. Then its awesomepoints score #2. I go to the bar, buy the boat owner a beer, thank him for the ride, turn around and run into an old co-worker from my bartending days, a guy who is at least as boisterous as I am, and due to the random nature of my arrival, he loses his freaking mind...just as yacht girl walk out of the restroom.
So to recap, random out of town bar dude gets everybody into the club and then is greeted like I'm he's back from spending a month trapped in a mine. Whaaat!?
This is literally the opposite of blurting out something inappropriate when out for dinner with people you just met.
Like making a bald joke when there's a bald guy you don't know at the table.
And hey, we can always use a little help in the impression Olympics right? I'd love to be so overwhelmingly awesome that any interaction with me made me look infallible, but I'm not.
SO here I am, I got yacht girl back, with more old friends, at a club. Not to shabby. Next up, lights come on and I'm back on the boat nuzzled up with yacht girl rocketing through the blackness at a million miles an hour. Happy as a clam.
Where to now? Not a clue. I was just enjoying the company of a sassy lady using me as a heating blanket when suddenly the engines cut and we're gliding along into the darkness. I don't see anything but city lights in the distance out the back of the boat. Then I feel a bump. I look over the side of the boat to notice we are docking, beside a shiny cigarette boat and a half a dozen Jet Ski's all hoisted out of the water on this super pier.
House party.
This house was bonkers. Like, Harley's in the foyer bonkers. It was night, but it was castle huge. Once again though, it was to a point of awkwardness as I sat in an enormous kitchen as everybody who was at least vaguely familiar with each other pranced about. Still, I had such a great effing day/night I didn't really care what happened. It was the closest that had ever been to zen I think. I don't do yoga, and at times can be the poster child for attention deficit disorder...but I felt really balanced, calm and...oh ya...drunk.
At this point, very large and at times scowl-y owner of the house looked at me from across the kitchen, stared at me for aboutfive solid seconds and said:"Wanna see my Man-Garage?"
Me: "Fuck Yeah."
Sooo, what's in a "man-garage" you ask?
A Ferrari elevator. Oh, and a Bellini machine. And a giant BBQ made out of a car engine. And a bunch more Harley's. And me.
For the rest of the evening I ended up crushing an entire Bellini machine of Grey Goose and Veuve Bellini's and talkin' shop with the fellas, who I managed to eventually beat into submission with my awesome. Me and yacht girl got along quite swimmingly, and I managed to partake in one of the best make-out nights I'd had in a long time.
My last memory of the night is my fondest: as the sun rose, me and the two ladies left casa de Ferrari and jumped into a cab back to my hotel, Yacht Girl and I embraced for a final goodnight neck before I departed, as she leaned back onto the cab and I kissed the hell out of her face, my eyes were drawn through the back window of the taxi where her friend sat, giving me the double thumbs up through the back window.
Awesomepoints moment number three.
Yacht Girl DID come back to the hotel to visit the next day for a few drinks. I introduced her to all my friends...who weren't sure she even existed...and I'll tell ya...she was freaking gorgeous. Like. Whoa.
But alas, I'm way more funny and better looking the drunker you are, so after a sober meet up, well, our magical spark fizzled away eventually and the mystery of the Yacht Girl remained the lore of that wedding weekend.
To this day it still feels like I got to make out with a unicorn.
Holy Crap....theres a Part Three...check it out here...
Also, If you've just run across this blog, check out my first post, it might explain this a bit more.
We eventually arrive at a club. Ya, right on the water. I've driven up to a club in an Aston Martin - but seriously - this is the way to arrive anywhere.
So up to the club we scurry. I head towards the bad-ass line up near the front when one of the yacht dudes stops me by saying, "This way, we're going in the back door....they don't like us up there..." I'm immediately like "ahhh, I'm with theeeese guys"....and realize that we'll probably just roll up to the back, the dude with a giant yacht will grease the door guy, aaaand we're in. Nope. Turns out the bouncers at the back door weren't too fond of them either, and as I stand there trying not to pay attention to them negotiating with the doormen, I score some serious awesomepoints.
I hadn't been to this town much, but know a few people from here, and as I stood there deciding whether to call a cab or not, I look onto the patio of the club and see a face staring at me with bewilderment. I quickly realize that its a waitress at the bar, and that I had met her and her friends in Mexico on vacation - she was bff's with some of my bff's. She recognized me and freaked out. I do the obligatory long lost friend hug and "OMG OMG OMG!'s" and turn to my new found yacht-posse with the, "Hey, can me and my friends come in?"
Score one for cockblocking out of town tag-along guy.
Now immediately upon getting in something becomes blatantly apparent. I don't know a goddamn soul in here. And one of my most hated things in the world is being surrounded by people and not being able to interact with them. Yacht girl is running into friends, yacht dudes are making their way to wherever, I immediately find myself alone in a club of drunken revelers all waaay too far into their respective nights to just strike up a convo with. So I come to point #2 in the evening when I begin to think I should cut my losses, be happy with how I got here and bail. Then its awesomepoints score #2. I go to the bar, buy the boat owner a beer, thank him for the ride, turn around and run into an old co-worker from my bartending days, a guy who is at least as boisterous as I am, and due to the random nature of my arrival, he loses his freaking mind...just as yacht girl walk out of the restroom.
So to recap, random out of town bar dude gets everybody into the club and then is greeted like I'm he's back from spending a month trapped in a mine. Whaaat!?
This is literally the opposite of blurting out something inappropriate when out for dinner with people you just met.
Like making a bald joke when there's a bald guy you don't know at the table.
And hey, we can always use a little help in the impression Olympics right? I'd love to be so overwhelmingly awesome that any interaction with me made me look infallible, but I'm not.
SO here I am, I got yacht girl back, with more old friends, at a club. Not to shabby. Next up, lights come on and I'm back on the boat nuzzled up with yacht girl rocketing through the blackness at a million miles an hour. Happy as a clam.
Where to now? Not a clue. I was just enjoying the company of a sassy lady using me as a heating blanket when suddenly the engines cut and we're gliding along into the darkness. I don't see anything but city lights in the distance out the back of the boat. Then I feel a bump. I look over the side of the boat to notice we are docking, beside a shiny cigarette boat and a half a dozen Jet Ski's all hoisted out of the water on this super pier.
House party.
This house was bonkers. Like, Harley's in the foyer bonkers. It was night, but it was castle huge. Once again though, it was to a point of awkwardness as I sat in an enormous kitchen as everybody who was at least vaguely familiar with each other pranced about. Still, I had such a great effing day/night I didn't really care what happened. It was the closest that had ever been to zen I think. I don't do yoga, and at times can be the poster child for attention deficit disorder...but I felt really balanced, calm and...oh ya...drunk.
At this point, very large and at times scowl-y owner of the house looked at me from across the kitchen, stared at me for aboutfive solid seconds and said:"Wanna see my Man-Garage?"
Me: "Fuck Yeah."
Sooo, what's in a "man-garage" you ask?
A Ferrari elevator. Oh, and a Bellini machine. And a giant BBQ made out of a car engine. And a bunch more Harley's. And me.
For the rest of the evening I ended up crushing an entire Bellini machine of Grey Goose and Veuve Bellini's and talkin' shop with the fellas, who I managed to eventually beat into submission with my awesome. Me and yacht girl got along quite swimmingly, and I managed to partake in one of the best make-out nights I'd had in a long time.
My last memory of the night is my fondest: as the sun rose, me and the two ladies left casa de Ferrari and jumped into a cab back to my hotel, Yacht Girl and I embraced for a final goodnight neck before I departed, as she leaned back onto the cab and I kissed the hell out of her face, my eyes were drawn through the back window of the taxi where her friend sat, giving me the double thumbs up through the back window.
Awesomepoints moment number three.
Yacht Girl DID come back to the hotel to visit the next day for a few drinks. I introduced her to all my friends...who weren't sure she even existed...and I'll tell ya...she was freaking gorgeous. Like. Whoa.
But alas, I'm way more funny and better looking the drunker you are, so after a sober meet up, well, our magical spark fizzled away eventually and the mystery of the Yacht Girl remained the lore of that wedding weekend.
To this day it still feels like I got to make out with a unicorn.
Holy Crap....theres a Part Three...check it out here...
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