I have to hurry this post up. Nathan and I have plans to go out and drink every Friday night, and by go out and drink I of course mean make a failed attempt to pick up girls. The actual goal isn’t to get a girl, it’s just to try and then fail. The reasoning behind this is that if we were ever to actually get a girl that would be more than we could ever hope to achieve again, so there would be no point to go out again. As long as we keep getting rejected we’ll continually have something bigger to hope for, until of course we get rejected so many times that we become hopeless and almost succumb to homosexual activities but instead just jerk off in our respective corners of the hotel lobby bathroom.
I’m not excited about tonight and it’s because for me taking home a chick and drunkenly banging her crazily was never my ultimate goal (for any of you that listen to the podcast this is a spoiler for Sunday’s episode). Last week at the bar, due to a confidence heightened state due to lots and lots of alcohol, I approached two absolutely gorgeous women and started up a conversation with them that lasted for about an hour and a half before they had to go. As they were leaving I forced upon one of them my phone number and by the grace of God she actually accepted it. And in an act more miraculous than when Sully Sullenberger landed that plane on the Hudson River the girl actually texted me later that night which for all intents and purposes was her giving me her number (let’s not forget that she had a few drinks, so that might have aided in her poor decision making that night) hey, shut up (just stating facts).
So I texted her back the next day when I was sober and I got no response, which was a big sad face moment, except for the fact that this week has been fantastic so when otherwise her not texting me back would have sent me into a depressive spiral reminiscent of diarrhea getting flushed down the toilet, I instead just brushed it off my shoulder and proceeded to masturbate vehemently to the few memories I had left of her. Not true about the masturbation part, although not a bad idea. However I did make one last attempt and texted her the night previous to when I am writing this (precisely six days after I met her at the bar) and guess what? (You spelled guess ‘gusse’ three times in a row before spelling it right?) Well yes, but more importantly she texted me back (Oh my God!) huge smiley face moment.
We had a couple back a forth texts before she had to drive back home from visiting some family and then get to sleep for work tomorrow (otherwise known as an excuse not to talk to the ugly guy from the bar who she’s regretting having gave her number to) I’m in such a good mood I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I strongly doubt she’ll ever go out of the way to text me, but now I have reason to believe that I can text her at least one more time without having the cops called on me. This of course won’t lead to anything, for various reasons which I might talk about soon in an upcoming blog, but can’t now because I have to shower in preparation for disappointment at the bar with Nathan tonight, which brings me back to my original point.
We went to the bar and I had a conversation with two beautiful chicks, and I got the cuter, and no offense to (let’s call her K) K, and the more interesting one’s phone number. For a guy whose most relatable moment ever was when I heard George Costanza say that he couldn’t ever envision a scenario where he would have sex again – only I couldn’t ever imagine when I would ever have sex for a first time – talking to a beautiful chick in person and getting her number is about as good as I can ever hope for. If I didn’t still have a little bit of hope that an Arrested Development movie will be made I could have died happy then and there.
To speak of the music for just a moment, Northstar is one of my favorite bands and they’ll have a couple more songs on the list. I’m sort of happy I don’t have much time tonight because that disallowed me to write what I was originally going to, which was going to start about being the child of a porn star and lead to some sexist, but also flattering, thoughts on why women tend to have a more public, whorishly, sexual proclivity. It would have been very awkward, offensive, and enjoyable for all.
By the way, as I post this I am naked, but I have reason to believe that at some point clothes will be put on (and as the female readers hear that clothes will be put on they cheer in a style reminiscent of how an Oprah crowd screams when it’s announced they’re all getting free cars).