I’m In Love With A Girl That Doesn’t Exist

It’s true. I’m in love with a girl that doesn’t exist. I don’t even know her name. Actually, she doesn’t have a name because she lives in my head. I don’t even really know what she looks like. Sometimes I think she looks like Zooey Deschanel. But most of the time she’s kinda of a blur.

Mostly I know that she doesn’t like all of the same things I do, thinks different from me, and makes me laugh. I like her because she’s “real” with me.

Yeah, I’m in love with a fantasy of a girl that gets pissed at me and tells me no!

I guess I’m kind of a realist when it comes to fantasy (at least the kind of fantasy I can freely divulge on this blog). I think I know why though. I think it’s because deep down, at the core of it all, I’m a desperately practical man. As much crap as I talk, as crazy as I’m able to think, deep down I analyze the situation and take the safe, easy route. The one that won’t land me in jail. The one that won’t rape my wallet. The one that won’t make me look attractive to the kind of girls I really (think I) want to meet.

God I have a lot to change…

Well, my rum and coke is empty, so I guess I’ll stop there.

Is this a good post? I guess I don’t care. I have rum to drink and girls in bikinis in tropical Mexico to watch.

Oh,  and the whole “changing the inner-me” stuff to work on.

Still single and sitting alone in a hotel room drinking rum and thinking about life, my core being, and girls in bikinis,

Scott

[FYI Context Update: As of 1:42 am the author would like to note that a 750 ml bottle of Tommy Bahama (yes, of the Hawaiian Shirt variety) Rum that was 1/4 empty prior to the nights events is now standing at 3/4 empty! Yes, I drank half the bottle tonight! Oops! Scott]

Date Night Jitters

It’s 1:20 pm on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the apartment is clean, soft jazz is playing in the background while the cats lounge in front of the balcony door chattering at the birds eating at the feeder. There’s not a cloud in the late summer sky, the thermometer reads 81 degrees, and the forecast is for a high of 90.

It’s 1:20 pm, I haven’t showered yet, I’m smoking like a chimney, and watching the clock. I tried watching football, briefly worked on some writing I have to do, and have even done some last minute strengthening exercises. Nothing works. I still hear it, the “Click! Click! Click!” of the clock. No matter what I do, I hear it. “Click! Click! Click!”

This is a problem, you see, because my clock is digital, doesn’t display the seconds, and doesn’t actually make a sound. I hear it though, none the less. “Click! Click! Click!” in my head it goes.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m keeping time…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…going nuts…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…second after relentless second.

“Click! Click! Click!”

The plans are set. The place and time agreed upon. It’s actually going to happen…

“Click! Click! Click!”

…if I don’t go nuts first.

“Click! Click! Click!”

We’re meeting at 5:00 o’clock for drinks at the Island Cafe. It should be perfect. A floating, outdoor-patio bar with fancy tropical concoctions, fish and chips, and beer. The faint breeze off the harbor and the shade of the umbrella should keep the temperature pleasant while the sun sets in the West. We can watch the ducks in the harbor scrabble for each fry we toss them. We can watch as the power boats, yachts, and occasional kayaker go putting by. We can talk.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But it’s only 2:00 and I still haven’t decided what I’m wearing.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I’m leaning towards the clever and funny “Zombie Love” t-shirt and shorts.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But will she appreciate the zombie homage to our first conversation, or will she think me weird for wearing something with bloody zombie heads on it for our first date?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Maybe I should wear something black and slimming?

“Click! Click! Click!”

At least I got my hair cut last night and don’t have to worry about that.

“Click! Click! Click!”

But I still have to put product in my hair.

“Click! Click! Click!”

Spiky or flat?

“Click! Click! Click!”

Combed or stylishly mussed?

“Click! Click! Click!”

It’s still too early to shower.

“Click! Click! Click!”

I need a smoke…

“Click! Click! Click!”

Single and suffering… still,

Scott

“Click! Click! Ring!”

It’s 2:15 pm, my phone just rang, and clicking of the clock has stopped. It’s my date. An emergency with a friend. Babysitting. Sorry. We just have to laugh at this point. Monday or Tuesday after work? I promise it will happen. A text tomorrow to figure out the day. Sorry again.

The soft jazz is still playing. The cats are sleeping. In my head…

silence…

a little sad…

a little relieved…

a lot funny.

I wonder if Travis still has that tee-time reserved?

Huntin’ Cougar: Part 2

A huntin’ we will go! A huntin’ we will go! Heigh ho, the dairy-o, a huntin’ we will go!

Welcome back, kiddo’s! Have you all been studying your bibles? Good!

Before we go a huntin’, let’s review what we learned last episode. For our packs we’re going to need our gun (loaded), casual attire (to blend in), your bible (that you’ve been reading), and a ring (to lure the cougar into your trap). Let’s see, we also learned there are lots of cougars out there and we have to be very selective, they live primarily in the hills around a large city, and they have a good coat, nice nails, and pearly-white teeth!

Well, I think that’s everything! Let’s go huntin’!

Okay, once you think you’ve spotted you’re prey (remember, we’re going for the “golden” cougar, not the average neighborhood stray), you’ll need to track ‘er for a while. Stay back, get the lay of the land and watch her from a distance. Calculate your approach. Look for any advantages you might have. Is she alone? (Make sure there are no cubs or spouses lingering about.) Does she look comfortable and healthy? (There’s nothin’ worse then a sick or jumpy cougar, because they can turn on you in a second, and if that happens you won’t stand a chance.)

Good. You’ve finally found your cougar. Now’s the time to use the ring and make a carful approach. The whole she-bang rests on how well you approach your prey. Circle around her and come in from her backside, confident but not too quickly, while slipping on the ring (no hands in pockets, she’s got to see the ring for it to work). Don’t go directly to the prey, you have to work your way into her inner circle first. Just get within a few feet and loiter there, letting her get comfortable to your presence. If you just go straight in she’s liable to tear your head off! And remember, always have an escape route planned out ahead of time and keep your cool, they can smell fear!

Now each situation is different. Here’s a common situation and ways to make first contact.

The Drinking Hole:
If you find yourself at a drinking hole, come up casually beside her and get yourself a drink. It’s what she’s there for and she won’t suspect that you’re actually on the prowl.

Now, depending on the temperament of the cougar, different tactics will get you different results.

Mothering/Nurturing Type:
If she looks to be the mothering/nurturing type, you’re gonna need to look wounded. Not too wounded, you have to maintain a certain dominance and charisma, but a stoic-woundedness, like you’re trying to keep it at bay, will go a long way. Let your ring tell most of your story. Play with your drink. When she’s watching, act like you just noticed your ring (you can even “accidentally” clink it to draw attention) and you just can’t wear it anymore. Slip it off and place it, like it hurt you, a little ways from you. Make sure it’s far enough away to signify the pain of it, but not so far that you’ve given up on it. This will play on their need to fix everything and should draw her in through sympathy. Start conversation with with a mumbled apology about having a “really bad day”. Most of the time they will feed you your story with their questions. Go with it.

The Bitch-Kitty:
If she looks like a true bitch-kitty, you’ll probably have better luck going with the pissed off angle. Slam your ring down. Mumble some mild curse words under your breath. Take long, deep drinks. Act like you need a distraction. Like you are searching for a distraction. Be prepared to let a few minor details of your anger slip through as you “don’t want to talk about it” with her.

Congratulations! Your camo has worked and you’re in her world. Now it’s all up to you. I’ve prepared you as best as I can. It’s time to use the ring and the knowledge gathered from the bible. Don’t be deterred if you’re rebuffed initially, she’s just checking to make sure you’re not a pretender. Be patient but present, make sure she knows you’re there. Remember, each situation and she-beast are different. A lot of your success is going to depend on your ability to adapt, so be ready to change your approach at a moments notice.

Now go make me proud and get yourself a trophy cougar!!! Ain’t nothin’ quite like the first time you get to use your gun on a cougar! Just remember to take lots of pictures! There’s no point in a trophy if you can’t brag about it later!

Join us for our next adventure: Huntin’ Chicks! Where we’ll show you how to get your lips around some tasty tail-feathers!

‘Til next time, remember our motto, “Practice makes perfect”, so keep it up!

Still single,

Scott

Sabina, get out of my head!

I know, weird title, but really, Sabina, would you please stop using my arguments for being single! I mean, come on, I have always been the one that says, “Well, I don’t know where I’ll be in…”, and “I would, but I really like the flexibility of…” I’m the one that pays too much in rent because of the what ifs. What if I buy something and then actually do meet someone and they don’t like the house? Or what if I buy a house and then lose my job and I find another job, somewhere else, and I can’t take it because I have the house I bought?

This is my head! These are my excuses! Stop it!

As for the commitment thing, I’m not afraid of commitment. Never have been, never will be, and I don’t think you are either. What I’m afraid of is committing to the wrong thing. I’m not looking for just anyone, like most people seem to be. I’m looking for “The One”. I’m not going to settle. Period. I like who I am far too much to just settle for the next girl that looks my way. I want someone just as unstable and perfectly fucked-up as I am.

Is that too much to ask for? Probably. But it’s not going to stop me from trying. And I think that’s what you’re doing. Like me, your happiness is far too important to just throw away on any ol’ guy. You’re not going to settle until you find “The One” either. Unfortunately for us, that means there are probably 5,999,999,999 “Not The Ones” out there just looking to screw things up. We’ll just have to wade through the muck and hope we don’t meet any land-mines on the way.

So, in short, keep your head up and keep looking! They’re out there somewhere. I’m sure of it. (At least there better be, or what the hell are we bothering ourselves over!)

And enjoy the benefits as much as possible. Sure, it’s like playing with dynamite, and you might get a little damaged when things do blow up, but what’s life without a little risk?

Okay, now get out of my head!

Still single,

Scott

P.S. I still think friendship and sex can lead to a lasting relationship. I just don’t think it can lead to what we’re looking for. I think what we need is best-friendship and sex. We need a life-long partner in crime that likes to have sex with us to! In fact, I think I’ll refer to this (as of yet imaginary) person as my BFFF (Best Fuck-Friend Forever). S.