You Talkin’ To Me?

How do you talk to women when you’re not a conversationalist?

I’m really more of a situational talker then a conversationalist. I have to have something to talk about. And it can’t be me. I’m just not that interesting.

Anyone that has ever really talked to me knows that I’m fun to talk to. I have crazy conversations and talk about crazy things. I am honest and funny and witty and clever (and sometimes I try too hard), but never boring. I’m great to debate things with. I will talk about anything, and I do mean anything, but it has to be serious or completely silly or crazy or dirty or taboo. I just can’t talk about the weather. I can’t talk for the sake of talking. It’s beyond me.

So what do I do when I don’t know anything about a person? How do I talk to them out of the blue?

This is not a good dating trait!

Still single and very, very quietly working my way to dirty-old-bastard,

Scott

Advertisements

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?