Pick Up Artist

Friday the 13th I was at my usual bar with a friend of mine after work. Pretty standard night. Then an amazingly attractive girl sat down at the other end of the bar. Alone.

Glance, panic, glance, panic.... STOP GLANCING IDIOT!

I decided that I didn't have the proper energy level and still a little too heartbroken to talk to a beautiful girl cold. I mentioned all this to my friend. He insisted I go talk to her, "Nope, can't pull it off tonight." Not to mention, I think I've actually ever done this once before.

He was getting up to go have a smoke when he says loudly enough for anyone in a 10 foot radius to hear "Hey Bob, get that girl another drink and put it on Chronically Attached's tab!"

Oh god, now I'm on the spot AND look like a total pussy.

So, I spent 10 seconds devising a plan and walked over sweating like a boxing montage. I apologized for my friend embarrassing the both of us and started a chat. We talked all night. We made each other laugh and had a good time. I walked her to her car and she said "Man I am wired, what do you want to do?" (my inner dialogue) Huh? really? Wait... is this actually happening?

We went back to my apartment. As luck would have it I had a bottle of wine I brought back from Paris, a painting on an easel that I'm working on, clean bathroom, and my itunes was on point for her musical taste. I could not have been in a better position to wow a cool girl. The best part is that it was all legit. We talked for a bit, made out for a bit, moved it to the bedroom. I said "lets keep it light and not do it tonight" I saw her eyes light up and a smile flash on her face. We went to sleep around 5 am.

The next morning she said "we're hanging out again, right?" we exchanged numbers and kissed goodbye.

Totally awesome.

I'll call her Nurse Girl in future posts.

I may have met a mind blowing girl.

Friends

I've been meaning to write about my friendships, and how I've noticed changes in the dynamic. Alliances, wars, baby making, real jobs, marriage, divorce, alcoholism, petty betrayal, its all blowing apart and realigning.

I used to have a very tight core of friends for the better part of a decade. We went through our twenties together. We all survived, well... all but one, and held it together as a family, picking each other up when we fall. Laughing about all of the head wounds and broken teeth and nights gone daylight.

We are all friends still, but priorities have changed. Splits have happened. I'm feeling a little bit like I'm on an island.

There's the 9-5 weekend warriors that I never see since my career is the polar opposite. We don't have as much in common, they're settling in and I'm still searching for answers. They have an occasional BBQ or birthday party. These are the ones that were shocked and wide-eyed when I suggested shots one night out. Apparently when you're in your thirties its frowned upon in favor of micro brews that taste like ass.

There are the shut-ins who never want to go outside of a three block radius from their home and prefer the depressing corner bar. We still hang out and its fun once every couple weeks. We have meaningful conversations. However I feel like I'm the only one interested in trying anything new. My closest friend falls in this category.

Then there's the completely unreliable must-be-out-and-crazy-at-all-times, self servers. Who are on a constant quest to find someone to hook up with, or top the last crazy story they had. And don't seem to have an attention span for anything else. I guess I fall into this category the most. Except these are the friends who's retail and bar jobs don't really matter. My job is very important to me and I usually get annoyed with how drunk people get when they start either at work, or hours before I meet up. Their thing is a little more shallow than what I'm interested in.

The problem with these three camps is that each is its own subcategory of the whole, and they tend to criticize the others. My problem is that my schedule and interests being what they are, I don't feel a real connection to any one. I float in between, and feel like an outsider among people that I've never felt that way with. It bums me out and makes me feel lonely.

So what do I do?

I don't know.

I tend to go out alone a lot to "see what happens." I feel like a transplant in my home town because I don't really know anyone. I'm becoming a barfly. I went to Paris alone to be a barfly. I tell myself that it's cool because I'm a brooding artist drinking shitty beer, who could give a fuck about anything around me. Lies. I try to look interesting (whatever that means), so that I get into weird bar talks with other flies. The idea of forging valuable connections with new people seems pointless. I spent thirteen years finding the best of the best. I don't have the time, or the stupidity to do it again. I have met a couple new people that I really care about and count among my good friends.

I suppose I'm jealous of certain aspects of each of the groups my friends have divided into, but can't embrace the doctrine of any one.

I thought this blog was over.

I've been at it again.

This summer saw the demise of a couple girls that were unfortunate enough to meet me. I still haven't mastered the art of hanging out with a girl and not having them get all wedged into my life. I jump ship as soon as they start thinking I'm boyfriend material. I mean, I am but I'm not about to give up on whatever it is I'm failing to learn as a single dude.

That doesn't matter though.

I had recently decided to break my long standing policy regarding ex's.

Which is: Friendly, not friends. No booty calls, or getting back together. Ever! and under no circumstances.

There was never a specific reason for this rule, I've always thought it was good common sense and abided by it. There have been plenty of difficult nights of weakness, in either the sad or wanting to do it ways, where I was severely tempted. I always held my ground and waited for the morning.

That changed in August, right around my birthday. She had a gift for me and wanted to take me out to dinner.

After a number of encounters with her, things felt good. We both seemed to have gained a lot of perspective on our lives. I could see the look in her eye, and remembered how exactly the same our sense of humor is. It was like a fire. I could tell she was still into me, and I realized I was too. So, I gave her a silver dollar and a kiss. I threw down my carefully prepared walls to let her in with everything I had. I didn't see the point in being cautious, my rule was broken and I didn't want to blow it by being timid. For the first time in 2 years invested emotions with someone.

It was awesome for a few weeks. It all felt right to me. We were back, and the near future looked fun. Then she started to retract. She was irritable, and less involved. Then she'd switch it up and be really into me. We had some talks, made some compromises, tried to understand. I felt my walls building themselves up again. I lost my usual swagger, and filled with uncertainty. I became her fool, bending and swaying to suit her mood. Not good.

On one fateful, beer inspired night of frustration I snapped. I called her out on her bullshit and said shame on you. The next morning feeling like I'd said too much, I tried to take some of it back and move forward with her. She wasn't into it, it ended.

Damn.

I licked the salt from my wounds and ran into the night on broken legs.

Yesterday I felt stronger, my blood was warm and pumping. My asshole demeanor and snarky arrogance were speaking to me once again. I felt like Frankenstein must have when he got zapped on the rooftop. It feels good.

I'm back on track. Single and not dating.

Quitting Smoking Day 5

Today is not hard, but not easy either.

I've been reading quit smoking journals, they help, but often come off as (pardon the expression) gay as shit! So here's my contribution to the gay bouillabaisse of quitting. Its like part of you is dying, while another forgotten part is coming back to life, the two collide and its hard to deal with.

I'm quitting smoking. It fucking sucks.

Solo missions

Errand running is an occasion when I really notice my singularity, like when someone you see every day gets a haircut. Two errands in particular really jump down my throat. Those being the laundry-mat and going to the market (yes market, grocery stores are for couples and families with cars).

At the market I always see some random middle aged dude with a lonely basket filled with heart healthy food stuffs. Likely all the stuff that he fought his now ex wife about when they were married.  I don't see many solo women, maybe they go in groups, like the bathroom at a bar.

I am a really great cook. When I'm with someone I really enjoy making excellent dinners. Needless to say Im not huge on it of late. I do still try to make myself something occasionally that isn't out of a box or a can. My basket is a lonely one. 

One small steak, not two

A bag of coffee beans that will last one person a week.

A pint of milk 

A loaf of bread (half will be frozen, they don't sell half loaves)

4 cans of cat food

A box of mac and cheese

A bagel for morning

A block of cheese for kicks

I don't feel down about the realization. I just look at what I'm buying and notice the lack of a second person in the quantity. I know I'll go home, make a nice meal and feel alright about it.

The laundromat with its quiet humming smelling of synthetic freshness. I go bi-weekly, that's when my underwear supply runs out. The lady there recognizes me. She's pushing fifty, round, grey, nice. Exactly the qualities I look for in a laundromat lady. We exchange pleasantries I go about my business.

I can't help but feel like I'm in an 80's movie when I'm there. The dated machines, florescent lights, the yellow and brown color scheme. I can imagine at any moment a sassy new wave girl to walk in smoking carrying a neon Benneton bag stuffed with laundry while dancing along to her walkman. With the rise in popularity of American Apparel gear I may yet see it minus the walkman and indoor smoking. It hasn't happened yet.

I live across the street so I do the pop in and out tactic when doing the wash. I enjoy folding my clothes, I didn't used to. My ex always handled that, it was nice. I still think its pleasant to have a neatly organized stack of clean, as opposed to my old pile method of clean, semi, and dirty. 

It's all mine though, no random shirt or panties mixed in with my stuff. I only see women in the laundromat, however they are older. I don't reside in a neighborhood with an attractive young populous. I go in the mid afternoon usually, maybe all the pretty people are working while I mix it up with house wives. This is where I really know that I'm on my own. I can feel it. Its not a bad feeling, but its as apparent as the smell of clean.