Fighting the forces of Darkness...day by day

Skillz

UPDATE: Men # 8 and 9 added!!!

I am known, among my coworkers and friends, for being quickwitted and glib.  I have a 1-liner for most situations--sometimes a 3-liner; it really depends on the situation.  Stories flow from my lips, making even the most boring events seem exciting.  I can talk to you about Farscape for hours.  Literally.  Hours.  Maybe days, I've never put it to the test.  I give a hell of an interview.  I say this so those of you who haven't spoken to me in a while will realize that I have not suffered a stroke or become a shut-in (you will probably also realize that I am a huge nerd but that's been going on a good while; I'm comfortable with it).

For 90% of my social interactions, I am a delight.  For the other 10%, I'm a catastrophe.  Those of you who know me (Kate) probably understand that these 10% involve talking to boys.  My default defense mechanisms for dealing with attractive males (or really any strange male attention) fall into two categories.

1: Tongue tied silence.
2: WE ARE JUST BUDDIES AND GREAT FRIENDS. (in which I overcompensate for our friendship by acting like 300% more "one of the guys" than I ever would)

That's it.  Those are my two modes.  I can't help it.  It's the reason that I can only effectively date someone with whom I am already friendly. 

In the past 10 years, I have been approached in public by exactly 7 men.

(I know that's sad.  I tend to send a "go to hell" vibe in public.  It keeps me from having to fend off the hoards of men who would otherwise attempt to speak with me*)

*That's a lie.

Man #1
Name: Unknown
Location: No Anchovies, Tucson AZ
Year: 2003

I slid up to the bar of No Anchovies, ready to order a pitcher of beer for my friends waiting outside.  I noticed the thick scent of patchouli and glanced to my left.  Someone was glancing back.  He wore a woven Rasta style hat, despite being a scrawny, sandy-haired white boy.  He was attempting to grow a beard, perhaps hoping that it would make him look wise beyond his years (his years numbering roughly 18, by my approximation), but more likely because he was simply too lazy to shave.  The overall effect was much like crops during the Dustbowl.  Straggly strands popped out about every inch or so.

Rasta-hat leaned towards me.  "What's a pretty girl like you doing buying the pitchers?"

I was confused.  I didn't know if some boy was supposed to be buying me a pitcher of beer (which would make me an alcoholic**)  I also thought maybe he was talking to some other pretty girl who was behind me and it would be embarrassing if I responded, assuming that I was the pretty girl.  Instead, I smiled and sort of jerked my head around in a neutral way.  It could mean "I acknowledge that you are speaking!" or "I like beer!" or "I'm deaf!"

Rasta looked confused, but doggedly continued.  "Would you like me to buy you a beer?"

Why would I want him to buy me a beer?  I had a whole pitcher right in front of me.  It occurred to me that he might be attempting to pick me up.  My initial reaction was to be horrifically insulted that he thought he had a chance.  My second was that my mother raised me to be a nice person.

I smiled and said, "No, thank you."

He was even more confused.  My words said "no" but my tone said "I'm not a bitch."  He decided to choose the tone as his cue.  "You sure?"

I was inexperienced dealing with boys, so I pointed out all the beer I had in my hand.

"Would you like to buy some pot?"

I turned around and left.

**In 2003, a pitcher seemed like a lot of beer. 

Man #2
Name: Unknown  (Jeff?  It seems it was something like Jeff)
Location: Starbucks, Jacksonville, FL
Year: 2005

This story and the story of Man #3 are told in full detail in this post.  I don't want to repeat myself, but I'll give a brief accounting of each.

I was sitting in a chair at Starbucks reading and periodically glancing up at the young man sitting in the armchair near me.  I'm a sucker for auburn hair.  That's really my only excuse.

"What are you reading?"

"Huh?"***

"What are you reading?" he said, slightly louder, assuming that my response was due to not hearing him rather than a desperate gambit to buy time.  ****

"Just a book"*****

"A good one?"

"Kinda."

"Would you like to get coffee some time?"

Maybe my dating problems are because people keep asking me if I want to meet later to get the beverage that I already have in my hand.

"Um...sure."

We met, a week or so later for coffee.  It was going really well until he started asking me about my relationship with Jesus.

*** Remember how I mentioned being glib?
**** I read pure trash.  The answer to "What are you reading?" is always embarrassing.  It's never "oh, Dante's Divine Comedy"
***** Isn't the wordplay scintillating?


Man #3
Name: Will forever be lost to infamy.  Alias: Baldy McBoobGrabber

Location: Square 1(nightclub), Jacksonville, FL

Year: 2006

 As with the Man 2, the full story (and it's a doozy) of Man 3 can be found here.  

I was out with my friends, after the decision to turn over a new leaf.  This new leaf meant that I would attempt to use multiple words in sentence-form when a man attempted to speak to me.******

A lumbering bald dude who was approximately 10 years my senior swaggered up and asked me to dance.  I have never before that and only once after been asked to dance by a stranger.  Already breaking my new leaf, I simply nodded, speechless.  

What followed was a travesty of epic proportions that involved theater groping and hand raping.  Also baby voice.  I was so appalled that I was speechless for much of this time.******* 

****** Since my current rate of men speaking to me was once every 2 years, I felt pretty safe with this decision. 
******* I think I might have mentally transported myself to another world like people do when they suffer from serious trauma.. Seriously...read the previous post.

Man #4
Name: Rasta #2
Location: Jacksonville Ale House, Jacksonville, FL
Year: 2006

2006 was a big year, two whole strange men spoke to me.*

This was an almost direct repeat of my experience 3 years ago.  I sat at the bar, sipping a Miller Lite.**   I was the first of my group to arrive, so I was enjoying the solitude that you can only get while pretending to watch a sporting event in a crowded bar.

I started to feel uncomfortable.  You know the feeling; where someone's staring at you and you haven't placed who it is yet.  It didn't take long to find the culprit.

He was about 3 stools down.  His sandy ponytail hung lank down to the middle of his back. ***  He rubbed the side of his beer bottle anxiously and continued staring.  I stared back for a second and then looked away.

"Can I get you a beer?" ****

"I have a beer."

"Would you like to buy some weed?"

"No."

"Are you sure."

"Yup"

*I have nothing new to say...I'm just getting tired of the multiple asterisks so I decided to start at 1 again.
**Don't judge me.  I no longer thought that a pitcher indicated alcoholism but I'd also greatly lowered my standards where beer is involved
*** Point of interest.  Hair past your shoulders is unforgivable unless you are a pirate, a rock star, or a vampire.
**** See?  This is a definite pattern.

Man #5
Name: Unknown
Location: Some bar
Year: 2009 (St Patrick's Day)

A little bit of background.  At this point, I'd dated someone for a year and a half and then been single for about another half a year.  I was about to move across the country, so getting back on the horse seemed like a good idea. 

Several beers had been imbibed by this time, meaning I was far more likey to speak in complete sentences.*  There was dancing and laughter.  There were people playing disco music while wearing afro wigs.  I sort of bobbed my head. **

A slender yet muscular man with skin the color of coffee and lips that you wanted to bite,wove over to me and grabbed my  hand.  This was going well.  I hadn't had to speak at all yet!

We sort of swayed on the dance floor.  He kept trying to kiss me.  I wasn't that drunk.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

He murmured something in a thick French accent.  I had no idea what he said but it was pretty to hear him talk.

I nodded.

He murmured something and then nodded his head at me. 

"My name's..." I quickly went through my list of aliases that I developed after Baldy McBoobgrabber "...Cindy?" ***

His eyebrow twitched.  I did my best to smile like a normal person who hadn't just provided an alias.

He murmured something at me.

"What?" I yelled back over the music.  Except the music had stopped so I just yelled it.

"Do you want to go to my place?"

"Oh, no, thank you."

"I'd really like you to."

"Maybe another time."

"Can I have your phone number?"

We were still dancing.  So I was in the awkward position of having to either provide my number or say no while in direct contact.  I didn't want to give him my number.  I made one up on the spot, instead.  Yes, I am that girl.

He didn't believe me.  I can't imagine why...only every bit of information I'd provided had been a lie.  He asked me to repeat it.  I did, happily parroting the number back.

He reached for me again and he kissed me briefly.  I let him.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

For some reason, he thought that my kissing him constituted a green light and he tried to make a move.  I stepped back.

"Oh, look, my friend's calling me!  K!  Bye!"

I never saw him again.

* I'm far more talkative when tipsy.  In fact, it's a problem  I have yet to find the perfect mix where I talk enough but not too much.
**I suck at dancing.  Even intoxicated, I rarely attempt a solo dance.
*** Cindy?  That wasn't on my list.  I definitely hadn't meant to add the question mark.

Man #6
Name: Unknown
Location: Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA

Year: 2011

I was walking in the park with a friend from South Africa.  A big dude was walking in the opposite direction and giving us eyes.  I wondered if he was looking at her or at me.  I also wondered if he was going to mug us.

"Would you ladies like some weed?" He asked, jovially.

"No, thank you." I replied*

*It seems weird to add this to the list, I know.  But I meant it literally when I said that strange men around my age never speak to me.  Also, apparently I look like someone who really wants some reefer.  Just for the record, I don't.

Man #7
Name: Unknown
Location: Safeway, Belmont, CA
Year: 2011

I was sleep deprived.  I just want that on the record.  I had my ipod headphones in my ears and I was buying catfood.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall man looking at cereal.  He was cute.  Like, really cute.  I never see cute men buying cereal at 10 at night.*

I ran into him several more times.  Each time, I held eye contact a fraction too long for it to be merely polite.  This wasn't because I was being coy or had a plan.  It was mostly because I was too tired to move my head.  Also because, as mentioned, he was really cute.

My Safeway experimented with wheeled baskets for a while.  They were like rolling luggage, only you toss your produce in them.  I was skittering down a hallway, wheeling my cat food and my broccoli** towards the cash register.  I felt a presence behind me.  Pure instinct took over and I started walking faster, like I was in a hurry to get somewhere.

"I've never seen a basket like that before." He said

I looked back over my shoulder, to verify that he was speaking to me.  This is a reflex.  I could write another blog post about cute boys who I actually thought were speaking to me but weren't.***

"Yeah, they're new." I said.  My voice was about an octave higher than normal.  Why was I talking so fast?

"They're pretty neat, let me take a look at that."  I stopped while he assessed my basket. ****

He finally stepped away and looked up at me.  I could tell a conversation was immanent.

"Ohhh, open cash register!"  I bolted.

I am 28 years old.  I have lived alone for 10 years.  I was afraid that the cute boy would ask me out and that I would have to contend with a whole evening of conversation. 

*Roughly 50% of my grocery shopping is done at night.  Really weird people are at Safeway after 9.
**Kraft Mac and Cheese
*** But I won't.  Because that's the whole story.  There were cute boys.  I thought they were speaking to me.  They were not.
****Not a euphemism.  Probably.

Men #8 and 9
Location: San Mateo, CA (parking garage, 11:00 pm)
Year: 2011

I was in downtown San Mateo, for a going-away party.  I split from the group and meandered towards my car, in the center of a parking structure.  Two large men with full tattoo sleeves and ball caps were standing by my car.  Their shirts were over-sized and they kept glancing at me as I approached.  In my mind, I called them Thing 1 and Thing 2.

It was sketchy but there were some other people in the garage and I had a knife so I didn't feel too bad about the situation.  The men started towards me as I unlocked the drivers side door.

"Is this your beetle?" Thing 1 asked.

No, I had unlocked and was getting into a stolen vehicle.  "Yeah, it's mine."*

"Why does it say 'Turbo' on the back?" This was Thing 2.  He was standing by my trunk, eyeing it.

They apparently really liked asking obvious questions.  "Because it's a turbo."

"Really?"

"Yup."

"We've both had old bugs and really loved them.  I didn't even know they had new bugs in turbo," Thing 1 effused, "Um...can we see it?"

"Sure." 

I popped the trunk and they examined my engine. **

Apparently it's just like a Porsche.  They talked about VW's for a while longer and then Thing 1 looked at me, hopefully. 

"Is it a stick?"

"Of course it's a stick."

"Oh my god.  I want to hug you but I'm a complete stranger so, uh..."

Then Thing 2 gave me a high-five.  So did Thing 1. They went their way and I went mine.  I like to think that this indicates growth.  I spoken several sentences, all in the right octave and at the right tempo. 

*I can't talk to a nice boy at Safeway but a parking garage in the middle of the night apparently doesn't phase me.  Then again, my mother has told me that when I was a toddler, I once befriended a motorcycle gang in a McDonald's.  
** Again, not a euphemism.