And then I would have gotten the shit kicked out of me. Cyborg style.
Alas. This is where I find myself as I sip on my sixth Corona and type to you (sloppily) this evening.
Bree* was a blogger that I've been reading for a long time, almost around the same time I started writing down my dating woes for the world to read. She was one of the few I read consistently from the start, because she was one of the few bloggers who actually had me laughing out loud in my cubicle.
It wasn't until Christmas of this year, when we actually made contact outside of blog comments. I suppose I should breakdown how I'm sure most bloggy romances come about. A quick flow chart, if you will:
Flirty blog comments > An email > multiple emails > gchatting/IMing > social networking friends > phone calls
That's about as far as I've gotten at this moment and thus, a great segue way into my regularly scheduled rant about dating.
* * *
As far as I can tell, Bree and I click pretty damn well. I've found that we have so many things in common, it borders on creepy. Like, cut from the same cloth.
Quick So@24 Checklist/Shortcuts to get into Valhalla:
- Shorter than me? Wow, not a deal breaker, but Check!
- Cute? Check!
- Atheist? Check!
- Liberal? Check!
- Career driven, but enjoys the sweet nectar of the Gods (see: booze)? Check!
- Swears that pho is the cure-all for hangovers? Check!
- Loves Strangers with Candy? Check!
- Listens to NPR / This American Life? Check!
- Knows that the original UK Office is far superior than the US version? Check!
- She's hilarious? Check!
- The One in a Million Question: Doesn't see what the big deal is about Flight of the Concords? Check!
Our phone conversations have averaged about an hour (at the very LEAST) each time. These phone calls range from playful drunk dials to discussing the intricacies of our families.
Yeah. Intense, right?
However, we've only been talking for a little over two weeks. I'd really like to make a trip up to San Fran to see her and see if there is any chemistry physically.
I'm not a patient man and I pride myself on my spontaneity. I don't like to wait around... what's the point?
The one quote always jumps out at me (although an extremely watered down version) from When Harry Met Sally. Billy Crystal is delivering an epic monologue to Meg Ryan on New Year's Even when he says to her, "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."
Alright, alright... I'm not a complete psychopath. I'm not saying this quote fits perfectly into my scenario, but the mentality behind it is true. What's the point of waiting around when you can find out right away?
During the last few conversations, I've tried hinting that I'd like to go up and see her. Especially since it was a 3 day weekend, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to hang out. She said that she "couldn't because she was set on putting up her headboard for her bed".
...
Did I just fucking lose out to a headboard? I'm not a smart man, but I know a sad excuse when I come across one.
Man, I thought things were going pretty well. I thought that she would be just as excited and interested in meeting up as I was. Apparently, this wasn't to be the case. Dejected and utterly confused, I confided in my blog friend Dolce.
So@24: She hates me. She fucking hates me. "I have to put up my headboard"? What the hell happened here? This is so humiliating.
Dolce: First. Calm the down. I hate when you do this to yourself. You need to be patient; 2 weeks is nothing. She's just hesitant. You have to try and understand where she's coming from.
So@24: This girl knows more about me than most people!
Dolce: I understand that, but you have to realize that you're still just "a guy on the internet"
There's some injustice to all of this.
It's totally socially acceptable for a guy who is at a bar on any given Saturday night to approach a girl and ask for her number and then to ask her out on a date. This guy knows absolutely nothing about this girl, except that she's physically attractive.
However, Bree has had full access to an extremely personal insight into my life (see: blog) and hours and hours clocked in of quality conversation. Yet, it's not socially acceptable to meet someone unless there's "more time"... just because he happens to be someone you met initially through the interweb.
Isn't this a fucked standard? With this mindset, I would have a better chance getting to meet her for a date if I were to be reeking of Crown Royale, drenched with sweat on a dance floor rubbing my boner on her thigh during the good part of J Kwon's "Tipsy" (I know I used this joke recently, but it fits so perfectly) and then asking for her number.
I thought girls liked the spontaneous guy. The one who goes with his gut, who's impulsive? Where's the romance in structured, planned-far-in-advance meet-ups?
Or was this over before it even begun?
* she has agreed to not read this post. ... what the fuck have I done...
