At Times I Am Downright Maniacal

I have never been particularly great with the fairer sex. “But JD,” I hear you cry, “you are so handsome and charming and witty to boot!” Thank you. That is so kind of you to say. You are a good person. “True,” I reply, “I am all these things and more, but how can I showcase my humor and linguistic grace if I never actually start a conversation?”

The fact of the matter is that I’m a bit shy and nervous about these things. I’ll go out with a friend or two, cruise the bars, have a few beers or what-have-you, but I don’t talk to strangers. (This is good advice, actually. They should teach that to kids.) I’ve never actually done the singles scene outside of college. So what the hell do I do? It is a social scene for which I have little frame of reference. The first night out I watched people. Since I’m over six and a half feet tall, I can easily look down on a somewhat crowded bar and observe. Some guys would simply go up and introduce themselves, hand outstretched. They looked a bit like used car salesmen. Still others would just go up and begin dancing with the girl of his choice sans her consent. I do not approve of launching myself headlong into someone else’s personal space, so this is not the route for me.

Furthermore, once I’m in the conversation, things are going well, good times all around, I have no clue how to segue into the “well how about you give me your number and I’ll give you a call sometime.” Aside from the fact that a lot of people have told me “no one really picks people up in bars, not for real relationships” it IS (and I know I run the risk of sounding like a misogynist but here I go anyway) almost like a score. A touchdown, if you will. Katie, my comrade in arms for these skirmishes in the battle of the sexes, and I have a running game to see who can get more numbers on these bar outings. The score is lame to depressing in the first quarter. She has home field advantage, though. She’s a girl. To change metaphor-gears into something a bit more historical, she’s a gatherer, she’s supposed to gather. As the big hairy man, it is my task to stalk the plains and hunt.

Hunt for numbers? Yes indeed! My pride is on the line now that there’s a running challenge. So be it, then, Katie, bring your A-game. Tonight is round three. The score is currently a very 1960’s luv-all, but I have a fresh batch of confidence and some beer money. Game on!

Trackback URI | Comments RSS