a mixed bag of deez nuts

maggies is the kinda meet market bar that used to drive me nuts.

the music is loud. the trixies are cute. the meatheads are plentiful. and the scene is so effin vanilla.

in other words, it typifies all that is lincoln park – everything i love, and everything i hate.

including everything i love to hate.

BUT it is stumbling distance from my new home, which makes it a perfect launching point either before heading out, or for closing a night out.

in other words it’s a perfect place to be stupid.

which is why it shouldn’t surprise you (or me) that THIS is where i chose to break ALL of my dating conventions by asking for a cute waitress’s phone number.

and of course she had a ‘rule’ – i.e. not to give out her number to bar patrons – so the night ended with me shrugging my way home alone, and laughing at my own stupidity.

stupid maggies, i should have known better.

and the worst part, is that i DID know better.

i knew that she probably had a rule.

i also knew that i probably wasn’t cute enough for her to break her rule.

and even if she DID break her rule, i ultimately knew that id probably be stupid and always worry about how many drunken lecherous assholes she had previously broken her rule for.

so it’s a good thing that she didn’t give me her number, because i am an emm effin jerk, and i definitely deserved to walk home alone that night.

but having said that, it wasn’t a completely wasted experience – in fact i drew two major epiphanies from the evening…

(one) old-school hollywood romance can not survive in the year two thousand and five. grandiose gestures, and over-the-top sentiments are no longer the bread and butter of relationships. every girl wants to be swept off her feet, but many a girl wouldn’t know the difference between a broom and a toothbrush. in the unlikely event that a guy DID showed up with his game face on (and his broom in hand), most feminists would be inclined to wallop his ass for simply trying to subvert their domestic independence. ha!

i write this in jest, but there is a certain level of truth to this observation – dramatic attempts to win a girls heart are no longer acceptable. in fact, (in this day and age) they can sometimes be downright stalkerish and creepy.

maybe even illegal.

as i finished up my beer, and stepped out the door of maggies, my mind skipped through ALL of the different ways that i could convince ‘my’ waitress to give me her number – meet her after work, talk to her boss about giving her a five minute break, drag her outside of the bar, grab the microphone from the dj and propose to her in the middle of the shitty beer sludged dancefloor – each one of them a GREAT idea if i was living in ‘the notebook’ (and SO worth the humiliation for rachel mcadams), but a bad idea if im grounded in reality..

and an even worse idea if i don't look like ryan gosling. ha!

(two) the dating approach is so precarious. there are so many checks - and - balances - and - opportunities - and - failures - and - moments - of - luck - and - divine - intervention that it’s a wonder that ANYONE is dating.

meeting someone is tough. getting their number is tougher. calling them is even worse. having a good first date is horribly difficult. and yet we continue to smack our heads against the wall.

its pavlovs dogs all over again.

and the worst part (for me) is that im too easily hungup on the phone number step.

i meet PLENTY of girls.

that’s actually pretty easy for me.

unfortunately i have difficulty capitalizing on the meat-and-greet to get their number. most of the time i get too hung up on figuring out if im interested enough. the entire night, im like a big effin squirrel who keeps tilting his head from side-to-side while trying to figure out if the acorn he holds in his hand is big enough, and juicy enough, and soft enough, and tasty enough.

sometimes i need someone to shout, ‘just eat the acorn you fucking nutjob!’ (ha!)

because i FORGET that committing to eat the acorn is still a far cry from actually tuckin’ into some planters peanuts. there are still PLENTY of opportunities for things to go awry.

case in point – my dad promised to call my mom after he asked her to write her telephone number on a dollar bill... and then he spent it. ha!

in their case it worked out for the best (i.e. my mom hunted my dad down to kick his ass). unfortunately don’t think i can depend on being so fortunate. ha!

ULTIMATELY i need to get out there and and i need to get the digi’s – there will be plenty of opportunities for head tilting at a later time and on a later date.

i really am a fuckin nutjob. ha!

nuts! is compliments of threadless tshirts~