Single Guy Rant

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.