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Now entering Weirdsville. Population: Me

Hi.

I’ve always heard that women were crazy and did weird shit. Admittedly, I’ve lived through some strange occurrences, but just chalked up the “women are crazy” school of thought to bitter men. However, due to recent events, not only am I rethinking that perspective, but also my entire life strategy.

This crazy train to WTF land started yesterday at my local Verizon store. They were running a special on 2 for 1 Blackberries. So, my dad, lover of any kind of deal, and I trek up there to get new phones. Once we get in the store, the clerk at the door greets us and we head over to decide on which model to purchase. After a few minutes of deliberation, we decide to get the newer model. Executive decision made, we head over to the cashier to tell her what we want.

I had been in this Verizon store several times and seen this particular girl. I’m 6′1 and she is almost as tall as I am. Let’s say she’s 5′10. Red-headed, average bust, and an ass that goes for days. She’s kinda cute. My dad and I tell her that we want 2 Blackberry Tours. She explains to us that in order to do this we have to add an additional line to our service and 2 additional data plans. This would amount to around $70 bucks a month. We’re like fuck that so we decide to just get my dad a different phone and bail out on the Blackberry deal.

My dad is kinda pissed at the shittiness that is Verizon’s business practices, but what can you do? He’s pretty stubborn, and is starting to like the Blackberry so he makes the call to just go with one Blackberry. We tell the girl, to get us one Blackberry Curve. She goes to the back, gets our stuff and when she returns she is checking us out (pun intended).

With my history with women, I should have seen this whole love triangle coming, but alas, this is my life, so it ends with a hilariously awful ending. The whole time this girl is checking us out and setting up this new phone, she is being really flirty. At the time I didn’t think I was being particularly flirty back, but I went with it. As an aside, you must know that my dad is a pimp. Also, he is 62 years old. In my 20 year old mind, he’s just a goofy guy. I’m just kind of hanging out, making small talk with this girl and my dad is running his game. He just doesn’t give a fuck. The whole time this girl, my dad, and I are conversing, I think that the girl is into me, and my dad is just being retarded. Everything is going well, he gets his shit together and then the girl asks what phone I have. I say the LG Dare, unfortunately, as it’s not a very good phone. She’s asks if I have the latest software. I tell her I don’t have a clue. She takes my phone and then says that I need to update it and that she can do it for me. I agree. As she is walking to the back of the store with my phone, she adds this nugget of joy to the software update process: “I’ll put all your pictures on your memory card, too. That’ll make your phone faster.” I sheepishly say ok.

She disappears to the back of the store and I run scenarios through my mind. What kind of pictures do I have on my phone? Shit, there’s probably a semi-clothed picture of my crotch on there (Who DOESN’T have a picture of their own crotch on their phone?). Oh fuck me, there’s also some semi-clothed pictures of a girl on there. Great, theres also a picture of my hand with the letters J I L L drawn over my fingers. For those of you who aren’t 12 year old boys, “Jill” can be your girlfriend. By “girlfriend” I mean someone that you can get intimate with.

Really, what can I do but laugh my ass off? I’m sitting on the counter grinning like a opossum and she finally comes back with my phone. She acts as if nothing has happened at all, much to my relief. My dad is playing with his new phone and leans over to me and says that the date on it was wrong. I look at it and it says April 21st. My dad gives the girl some shit about programming his phone wrong. She’s like OMG, I have to tell you something. She’s really into this story, so I just grin and nod. She says that she had to enter in an order number for her store earlier. Her store has over 900,000 numbers and this specific one was 421. 421 being the date that was in my dad’s brand new phone. She says that 4-21 is her exboyfriend’s birthday. Once she says that, I realize that she is totally flirting with me. I’m trying to figure out how to ask her for her number in front of my dad when lightning strikes. SHE WRITES DOWN HER CELL NUMBER ON HER CARD AND TELLS US TO CALL HER IF WE NEED ANYTHING.

Dear god, shit like this just doesn’t happen to me. An attractive girl gives me HER number? Get the fuck out of here. I walk out of the store beaming, and my dad is telling me that if he was 20 he would be jumping on that deal. Being the sage that I am, I respond by saying, “Yeah, but she’s a redhead.” Oh, how right I was in that stereotype..

Fast forward to a few hours ago, I decide that I would send that bitch a smiley. My first text to this lovely lady was a fairly standard approach.

“Hey, it’s the random blackberry guy from yesterday, what’s up?”

I sent this with visions of sugar plum fairies sucking my dick dancing through my head.

She responds with a disheartening response:

“I can’t say I know who that is…I sell a lot of blackberries lol”

Hmmm, ok, playing hard to get. Let’s put on the irresistible charm..

“Don’t you remember the cute guy and his goofy dad? :) ”

Foolproof. She’s going to be asking for my address to come fuck me in half.

“Yea is this the dad?lol”

My initial reaction was to have a brief period of approximately 15 seconds of total brain death. Once I came to, I rationalized her response to her being funny. AWESOME. Girls with a sense of humor = a win in my book. I know exactly how I’ll respond.

“Nope, do you want it to be?lol”

Haha, what now, sweetheart? The only way you can get out of this one is say you love me and then we can live happily ever after.

“Double or nothin lol”

Did she just insinuate that she wants to have a threesome with my dad and me? Can you do that? What the hell is going on here?

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? lol”

Best I could come up with at the time. Creative brain cells died at the part where she wanted to fuck my dad. It happens to the best of us.

“I think it’s past your bed time little man lol did you need something?:)”

You know how they always say nice guys finish last, girls love assholes, etc? I’m leaning towards that school of thought, but you cannot say you want to fuck my dad and then call me a little man in the same conversation. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war.

“You shouldn’t smoke crack, It’s bad for your health ;) ”

Suck it. Crazy bitch is crazy. The only course of action is to nip this one in the bud.

“How old are you anyway?”

Oh, you want to be friendly now? Ok, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.

“19, how old are you anyway? 33?”

Or not. There is no off switch once dick-mode is engaged.

“Lol 23, too old for you:) thank for the text though! If you or your dad need anything feel free to call anytime”

I retired to my quarters confused, as per usual. I guess I can chalk this one up to a learning experience. Hopefully I’ll never have to refer to Verizon Girl vs My dad vs Me for precedence on threesomes in the future.

Posted 05 September 2009 † admin § Failure ‡ Comments (0) °

Entry the first or Great Things to Come..

Hi.

For no particular reason, I guess I’ll start with the story of my very first date. I suppose you could say that I was a late bloomer. This “date” (I use that term loosely), occurred in March of 2003. At that point in my life, I was 16. I don’t know how I didn’t manage to have a date in any capacity for the first 16 years of my life. Don’t judge.

In hindsight, this date was a slow motion train wreck before it even started. When school started back again for the Spring semester, I had taken a fancy to a girl by the name of Nancy. Nancy was  everything that I had thought that I wanted in a girl: she was smart, she was pretty, she was athletic, good GOD THE TITTIES. I imagine that when she wasn’t at school she had a wheelbarrow to carry them around in. Anyway, I thought she was cute. Looking at current photos of her, she’s nothing special, but at the time, she was the end all, be all of females. My Helen of Nashville, if you will.

We had, I believe, 2 classes together: Honors Physics and Honors Chemistry. Yeah, I know you’re thinking, “Attractive girls in Honors Physics?” Well, you have to understand there were about 400 kids in my High School, with 86 in my graduating class, so I wasn’t working with very much. We would exchange furtive glances at each other in both classes. As a typical guy, I was completely clueless. By the time I actually noticed she was attracted to me (maybe a month?), she was already moving on. When I say moving on, I mean this upper class man was trying to poach my soul mate. I’m not a big guy. At the time, I was probably 5′10 and 175 pounds. This other dude probably had a couple inches and 10 pounds on me, but I was still ready to stab his annoying ass.

At the time of writing, I’m about 3 weeks clean and in rehab for an addiction. My addiction was World of Warcraft. Hi, I’m a single guy and I’m addicted to World of Warcraft. It happens, sue me. My logical thinking at this point had taken a back seat to my love of large breasted women. With this clouded thinking I did the only logical thing to do at this point: seek relationship advice from my guildmates in World of Warcraft. Let me take an aside at this point to inform anyone who doesn’t know what World of Warcraft or what a guild is. World of Warcraft aka Virgins Anonymous is a Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game. You know those guys that put on tights and shout magic spells at each other? Yeah, World of Warcraft addicts are the people that are too socially awkward to do that in real life, so they do it on their computer. These people form groups called “guilds” which can accomplish certain feats such as storming castles, killing dragons, and not getting laid.

I had sought the advice of a certain level 60 warlock in my guild.

Pros: She was a girl.
Cons: She was batshit crazy.

During the whole time I was actively seeking her counsel, she was breaking up with her boyfriend, being a drama queen, and an attention whore. She advised me to write Nancy a note. I agreed. The least amount of talking I actually had to do with Nancy the better. After laboriously drafting God knows how many notes, I carefully folded that bad boy up and stuck it in my wallet. I probably should have just flushed it down the toilet and then punched myself in the balls.

Just to recap, Nancy is moving on at this point because I’m retarded and a pussy and didn’t act on her advances. So now, I’ve got, what I think, at least, is a golden ticket to Tittiesville in my wallet. The problem is logistically, how do I give her this note? I could hand it to her, but that’s just stupid. I could try and give it to her during class, but with my godlike luck, the teacher or someone else would open it and read it. I’ve got it: I’ll just put it in her locker. Problem: I don’t know her locker number.

I did what any confident, rational, suave pick up artist would do. I staked out her locker. I know, I know, at least there was initiative. Locker number in hand, all I had to do was land the Eagle in the Sea of Tranquility. Fast forward three weeks and I’ve worked up the courage to drop this note in her locker thats been burning a hole in my pocket. My approach was flawless. I got out of class to “go to the bathroom” and made sure no one was in the hall. In a scene fit for a Judd Apatow movie, the only thing that was lacking when I opened her locker was the Hallelujah Chorus. I managed to wedge that note between her books. She couldn’t miss it. I’ve never done drugs, never been high, never been drunk, basically, never done anything fun. I can now sympathize with the so called “adrenaline junkies”. Up until that point in my life, I had never experienced such a high.

So on my mental check list, I’ve 1. written a note 2. delivered the note 3. waited to receive correspondence. By the end of the day I’m freaking out. Holy shit, did I put the note in the wrong locker? Oh Mary mother of god, please let me have put it in the right locker. I haven’t gotten a note nor heard a word from her. I go home that day more depressed than I ever have been in my life. I’ve got to come to terms with dying cold and alone.

The next day, I eagerly open my locker again to emptiness. Total despondence is the only way I can describe this. My dream girl has rejected me. Just when I’m making a list of what I want to include in my suicide note, class ends and I drudgingly make the trek back to my locker and behold, the goddess has written me back. From crestfallen to rapturous, I now officially have a date. FUCK. You mean I actually have to talk to her now? Oh god what have I gotten myself into. Ok, ok, maintain, you got this big guy. Her note says her parents are going to a movie or something. The devil’s in the details as they say, and how right they are.

After school, I (sweatily) talk to her and confirm our plans for Friday night. This was early in the week, so lets say it was  Tuesday. The rest of the week goes by painfully slow. Finally, Friday rolls around. By lunch time, I am beside myself with nerves. My brain can’t fully comprehend doing something outside of school with a girl, so I’m just on auto-pilot. We had agreed to a movie theater that is close to both of our houses, but the critical oversight here was that even though I was 16 I didn’t have my driver’s license yet. Being dependent upon my parents for transportation, I asked Nancy to call me before she left her house. Our conversation went like this:

Me: “Hey, Nancy, could you call me before you leave so I know what’s up?”
Nancy: “Um, well, I’m not allowed to call boys.”
Me: “Um, right, ok. See you tonight”

I realize now that I should have totally bailed on this situation and had my own pity party that night instead of going through with this miscarriage of a “date”, but damn torpedoes, full speed ahead I’m going.

So I get to the movie theater, swim through the multitudes of pre-teen kids there and don’t see Nancy. Fuck, don’t panic, she’s probably not here yet. Relax. Take a deep brea- is that her Mom? And her brother? And her sister? And her other sister? Oh god, oh god, what do I do? YOU CAN TURN AROUND AND LEAVE RIGHT NOW. JUST DO IT, SHE’LL GET OVER IT. Some where between “JUST DO IT,” and “SHE’LL GET OVER IT.” I made eye contact with her mom. Game over. Alright, lets man up and do this. What’s the worst that could happen?

Me: “Hey Mrs. ILoveYourDaughter, how are you?”
Mom: “I’m good, Nancy is in the bathroom.”
Me: “Oh, ok, cool.”
Mom: “Nancy’s Dad has gone to get the tickets.”
Me: “Buh, almighty… Hey Nancy! How are you?”
Nancy: “I’m good.”

Blah blah, small talk, whatever. About 10 seconds later, her dad shows up with the tickets. Mentally, I’m thinking ok, well, sweet, free movie. What was about to happen next did not ever occur to me. This Brady Bunch from Hell and I traipse into the movie theater and find our seats. I’m thinking that Nancy and I are going to sit together somewhere in this packed theater. Consequently, I thought wrong. The seating arrangement that actually transpired was Sister, Sister, Brother, Nancy, Myself and then Mom and Dad sitting directly behind Nancy and I. Yeah, you’re right, it was romantic as fuck. For the life of me, I still don’t see why I didn’t try to motorboat her right there. Unfortunately for me, I sat there beside Nancy for an hour and a half during some shitty movie with no physical contact between us. I was just glad I got out of there without her Dad beating me to death with his pocket Bible.

Once the movie ended, we stood in the lobby of the theater and talked for awhile. By “we” I mean her brother and I talked because Nancy had gone off to talk to a friend she saw there. I don’t blame her, but fuck, help me help you. My parents were MIA, so I was just stuck until the cavalry could rescue me from the barbarians at the gate. After I awkwardly tried to pay for Nancy and my ticket, her mom offered to drive me back to my house, but I politely declined.

After this glorious entry into the dating fray, Nancy never went out with on an actual date with me ever again. I asked her out the following week, but she said she was busy and I didn’t push it. This is just the beginning of a line of high school fail that culminates in a fateful voyage aboard the F.F.S. Failtanic.

Posted 01 September 2009 † admin § Failure ‡ Comments (1) °

Welcome

Hi.

Nice to meet you. I’m writing this for therapy, I suppose. If I didn’t find humor in these, I would probably end up in tears. First of all, I’m a single guy. By single, I mean I’ve never been kissed. Oh, did I forget to mention I’m nearly 20 years old? Yeah. Almost half way to landing the star role in a Steve Carrell movie sequel. That’s not to say I’m against philandering, I’m just bad at it. Bad, at it, yes, but definitely not for a lack of trying. Some of the highlights in my love life would include:

- Go on a date with the girl’s parents attending (and by attending I mean sat directly behind us in a movie theater for two hours. How romantic.) Check.
- Have a girl show up at the appointed meeting place with her boyfriend in tow and having her greet me by saying, “So, are you good at writing papers?” Check.
- Fall in love with a girl that is banging a teacher. Game set and match.

I’m really starting to believe that some deity has a personal vendetta against me having a female companion. My love life has become the running joke for all of my friends. That’s not to say I’m bitter. A wise man once told me, “It is what it is”, and that’s what it is. In hindsight, these stories are humorous, but at the time, they were gut wrenching (and perhaps they still are).

Before you dismiss me as a bigoted, misogynist, hear me out. I’m the nice guy. The guy that always holds doors, is polite, and you would love to take home to your mother. I just want a steady relationship with an intelligent female, that’s all. I’m certain that my future posts will vindicate me, and eradicate and sense of scorn you may have for me. I’ve just had a lot of bad (good?) luck.

So, without further adieu, I present to you the rantings of a single guy.

Posted 25 August 2009 † admin § Failure ‡ Comments (0) °