… to get through this thing called life. You know the line. Apparently I am 80s obsessed and couldn’t think of my own original blog name. The title is appropriate. Allow me to introduce myself, I am The Kid, and yes, that’s what they called Prince in the Movie. I coulda gone with Fight Club, and maybe I should have. I digress.
Where do I start? It starts with a breakup. Every good story should start with a breakup. That and it should skip the beginning. Yeah, who needs beginnings? They make for good flashbacks as LOST has proven.
Breakups should never happen near or around national holidays or big events, yet for some fucked up cosmic circumstance they do anyway. Mine did and I was wrecked. I played it off. I lied to people and said she was on vacation or was busy working, etc. Eventually I owned up to it, after spending at least a month crying my eyes out every night. Add two parts bad economy and another 3 parts stress to the breakup and 4 parts emotional terrorism I endured and I had a nice Molotov built to ruin me. Yup, I was that close to the edge. Closer than anyone who knows me will ever want to see again, according to my friends.
Here I am, a few months later. We go to a bar that I love in Hollywood right off Vine. We are crowded around the lounge, myself (The Kid), Hipster, Big Boy and The Doc. Pause one moment as I must explain I will spare real names to save anyone the embarrassment of ending up written about in these pages. In walk these two girls. I won’t give them nicknames because I really don’t remember their names to be honest. One was cute but obviously doesn’t own a gym membership, and the other was the same build but lacking the face.
We somehow end up talking. I’m sure I said something stupid and flirty to start things off, but I am not sure what I said. Regardless, they wouldn’t have sat down beside us if they were totally repulsed. Right? Well, let’s assume. Fifteen minutes pass and I decide to spread the love, and pull Hipster into the conversation. He gravitates to the cuter one pretty darn fast. It doesn’t matter, since I owe him. Usually when guys pick up on girls, there is at least one in the group that is a cock block of the greatest magnitude. She is often very unattractive and incredibly annoying. We call these girls “Grenades”, after the old war movies where a member of a platoon would jump on a grenade and sacrifice himself to save his comrades. Hipster has willingly jumped on many grenades for me, the least I can do is take one for the team for a change.
Things seem to be moving well, and then a group of lame tools come in. You could say that’s just my opinion, but you’d agree if you saw them. They are friends of these two girls and pull them away. *Shrug* Oh, it happens. Ten minutes later, the less cute of the two comes over and says, “Hey, those guys are our friends so we can’t ignore them, but we are gonna find an excuse to come back over here and hang out with you.” Ah, back in business.
I am normally not this lame or not this much of a loser to get excited that a girl talked to me. Let’s be real now. It must be my aura or something, but I have had no game for months and I imagine the scars from my last relationship follow me everywhere to the point I can’t seem to get it right with women. I think I have found a new profession as a Turn Off. Okay, I am being a drama queen here. Enough!
Amazing! The two ladies return. Flirtation continues and I subtly resent being stuck with a girl I find pretty unattractive. I mean, her laugh, her teeth, her face, all turn me off. She isn’t ugly or anything, just not my type on every level, so I feel like “Why am I trying?” On the other hand, I feel a spark of my flow and confidence coming back. Its about damn time! What’s there to resent? There’s no pressure when there is no attraction. Isn’t that the best part? It is! Indeed! This is so liberating! I can’t begin to describe!
Finally, the moment of truth arrives as I ask for her number. She turns me down saying she doesn’t want any stalkers. I tell her I don’t have time to stalk anyone but I fully understand. She laughs, 2 minutes more of banter and she offers her number. On the way to another bar I text her something flirty, she flirts back, and that’s a good thing. Hipster insists I tell her that he thinks her friend is cute. Are we in High School? I shouldn’t have done it but I relented. She texts back kinda pissy, and I don’t blame her. She wants to be flirted with, not to hear that her friend is cute. Hipster should speak for himself damn it.
Note to Guys: Don’t have anyone do your dirty work, its lame!
Note to girls: Sure you get away with sending your friends to do your dirty work, but in the end cool guys don’t like lame girls, and you are being lame!
Oh, and the point of this story, if I finally think I am back in business!
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