mathyou (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mathyou) wrote,@ 2005-11-02 19:05:00 |
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The Plague
The plague that is rapidly finding its way, here in Minneapolis, toward my empty heart is the plague of self-consciousness. There is nothing less attractive to me than a woman who absolutely cannot stand herself, and has to make up for it by announcing how much she can't stand herself.
Karl called me on Saturday evening and asked if I wanted to go to a Halloween party with him. It was being held in a warehouse in Northeast, and Karl swore up and down there would be hot chicks.
I almost didn't go, since there was a $20 charge for people not in costume, and while I was certainly dressed in a nice suit, I wasn't really wearing a costume, per se (although Karl lent me a pair of glasses with a penis for a nose, which garnered so many offended looks I felt like I'd at least paid in karma). But, for some reason, when I walked in, I wasn't asked to pay. I quickly tore the dick nose disguise off my face. What my not paying meant, however, was that every time I went outside to smoke, I had to chance getting caught coming back in, since my hand hadn't been stamped. So when I found a designated smoking area inside the warehouse, complete with four chairs and swiveling naked woman sculptures all contained under a little canopy, I made myself cozy.
It's safe to say that 99% of the chicks there were heinous. I guess L.A. spoiled me. At ne point, Karl ran off to get a drink, and when he returned he told me that a chick had approached him, said she had seen me walking around, and wanted to talk to me. Karl, who's a genius, and who totally has my back, tells the chick that I'm a writer, I just moved from L.A., and I'm a little frustrated with the party, so I'm hiding out. He also tells her that it would be a little awkward if he brought her over to me, so she should stop by my seat on her own. Karl then raced to the tent area and told me what had just transpired.
I sat alone for a few minutes wondering if this chick was part of the 1% of decent looking women at the party. Actually, I wasn't wondering as much as I was praying. My odds were very slim.
About five minutes later, a really cute girl dressed in red, translucent shawls approached me. With a guy in tow. The girl – who was definitely one of the best-looking chicks there – had brought her gay friend along. The gay friend was incredibly nice and chatty, but the girl, Katie, was completely silent. So I sat and talk to the gay friend for five minutes. Then, when he was ready to leave, one of Katie's female friends approached us and started yacking at me, so there's another five minutes that I'm not talking to someone who's supposedly interested in me.
Once we were finally alone I had to figure out what to say to this girl, who I wasn't even certain I wanted to talk to since she had just stood around silently for the past ten minutes, and needed chaperons.
The only thing less attractive than being shy and boring is being so self-conscious that you doubt every last personal attribute, and you do it out loud. Katie instantly started putting herself down, and she started doing it in a mousy little girl voice. For as cute as she was, it was incredibly unattractive. Within five minutes I had learned all about her failed marriage to a German dude, her alimony checks and trust fund money, her ex-boyfriend, and whatever other peripheral information you could potentially vomit forth in less than five minutes.
At one point we're talking about kids, and Katie's eyes sort of get big. She opens her mouth, gasps a little, then says, "Oh. Um, there's something I forgot to tell you." She says this like she's breaking bad news, like she knew I would be completely disappointed in what se was about to admit. She creates this tension, like she's going to drop a bombshell. And the bombshell is, "I forgot to tell you...I have a kid."
You know, that's not really even a bad surprise. I'd date a single mom. What I mind is a single mom who makes a big issue out of being a single mom within ten minutes of meeting me.
This has become so commonplace recently, too. I keep meeting these completely downtrodden chicks who seem to have given up on the world, and haven chosen to live out the rest of their lives in a state of anguish.
Katie gave me her number. I'm too much of a perv and a jerk to not call. I know it will be a trainwreck, but she was hot enough to merit another conversation. A miserable conversation.
Later on that night I met a cute Eastern European girl whose number I got. As I was leaving the party, one of my friends clued me in that the girl had dated a mutual friend of ours, and the girl was evidently a little wacky. Like, she had a weird sex hang-up or something. Great. Why are all the hot ones fucking crazy? And why do they find their ways to me?
The plague that is rapidly finding its way, here in Minneapolis, toward my empty heart is the plague of self-consciousness. There is nothing less attractive to me than a woman who absolutely cannot stand herself, and has to make up for it by announcing how much she can't stand herself.
Karl called me on Saturday evening and asked if I wanted to go to a Halloween party with him. It was being held in a warehouse in Northeast, and Karl swore up and down there would be hot chicks.
I almost didn't go, since there was a $20 charge for people not in costume, and while I was certainly dressed in a nice suit, I wasn't really wearing a costume, per se (although Karl lent me a pair of glasses with a penis for a nose, which garnered so many offended looks I felt like I'd at least paid in karma). But, for some reason, when I walked in, I wasn't asked to pay. I quickly tore the dick nose disguise off my face. What my not paying meant, however, was that every time I went outside to smoke, I had to chance getting caught coming back in, since my hand hadn't been stamped. So when I found a designated smoking area inside the warehouse, complete with four chairs and swiveling naked woman sculptures all contained under a little canopy, I made myself cozy.
It's safe to say that 99% of the chicks there were heinous. I guess L.A. spoiled me. At ne point, Karl ran off to get a drink, and when he returned he told me that a chick had approached him, said she had seen me walking around, and wanted to talk to me. Karl, who's a genius, and who totally has my back, tells the chick that I'm a writer, I just moved from L.A., and I'm a little frustrated with the party, so I'm hiding out. He also tells her that it would be a little awkward if he brought her over to me, so she should stop by my seat on her own. Karl then raced to the tent area and told me what had just transpired.
I sat alone for a few minutes wondering if this chick was part of the 1% of decent looking women at the party. Actually, I wasn't wondering as much as I was praying. My odds were very slim.
About five minutes later, a really cute girl dressed in red, translucent shawls approached me. With a guy in tow. The girl – who was definitely one of the best-looking chicks there – had brought her gay friend along. The gay friend was incredibly nice and chatty, but the girl, Katie, was completely silent. So I sat and talk to the gay friend for five minutes. Then, when he was ready to leave, one of Katie's female friends approached us and started yacking at me, so there's another five minutes that I'm not talking to someone who's supposedly interested in me.
Once we were finally alone I had to figure out what to say to this girl, who I wasn't even certain I wanted to talk to since she had just stood around silently for the past ten minutes, and needed chaperons.
The only thing less attractive than being shy and boring is being so self-conscious that you doubt every last personal attribute, and you do it out loud. Katie instantly started putting herself down, and she started doing it in a mousy little girl voice. For as cute as she was, it was incredibly unattractive. Within five minutes I had learned all about her failed marriage to a German dude, her alimony checks and trust fund money, her ex-boyfriend, and whatever other peripheral information you could potentially vomit forth in less than five minutes.
At one point we're talking about kids, and Katie's eyes sort of get big. She opens her mouth, gasps a little, then says, "Oh. Um, there's something I forgot to tell you." She says this like she's breaking bad news, like she knew I would be completely disappointed in what se was about to admit. She creates this tension, like she's going to drop a bombshell. And the bombshell is, "I forgot to tell you...I have a kid."
You know, that's not really even a bad surprise. I'd date a single mom. What I mind is a single mom who makes a big issue out of being a single mom within ten minutes of meeting me.
This has become so commonplace recently, too. I keep meeting these completely downtrodden chicks who seem to have given up on the world, and haven chosen to live out the rest of their lives in a state of anguish.
Katie gave me her number. I'm too much of a perv and a jerk to not call. I know it will be a trainwreck, but she was hot enough to merit another conversation. A miserable conversation.
Later on that night I met a cute Eastern European girl whose number I got. As I was leaving the party, one of my friends clued me in that the girl had dated a mutual friend of ours, and the girl was evidently a little wacky. Like, she had a weird sex hang-up or something. Great. Why are all the hot ones fucking crazy? And why do they find their ways to me?
