Letting one go...

There are many things that come along with being a guy. You must drink more, care less, and generally keep your breath minty fresh—although the guy that sat next to me in French class in high school would beg the differ. But one thing that is pretty standard with being a buy is having a good “game”. Now I’m not talking about beer pong game, flippy cup game, or sipa-sipa game—though these are extremely important. I’m talking of course of your generic “getting laid” game.

Now all guys have it, or at least they think they have it. I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to make you believe that I possess the ultimate game. I’m actually currently in a “game change” which is quite comparable to a golfers swing change…it’s a little rough at first (ex: David Duval) but it ultimately works itself out in the end (ex: Phil Mickelson). What I am going to share with you is a story that happened last night. Warning: if you like happy endings, this does not have one, in fact I will ruin the ending of this story right now, think Bill Buckner in game 6 of the 1986 world series or Jean Van de Velde in the 1999 British Open. What I did last night is comparable to striking out in slow-pitch….sober.

I decided last night to work out a little later. Usually I try to get over to my gym’s facilities a little after 5, but last night I ended up going at 6, I figured this wouldn’t change much, but I was ultimately incorrect. At 6 is apparently when the sexiest girl that has ever graced the Lakeview Park workout area decides is a good time to work out. I pretend not to notice her (which is impossible) and it is just her and I in this small room together. We both have iPods on…I don’t expect much to happen.

Around 2 minutes into the workout—in which I am staring at the ground while doing upright bench press to avoid eye contact—she gets off the treadmill and bends down to make eye contact with me. I pause my iPod and give her the “what?” face, accompanied by a hand to my ear. “You can change the channel,” she says, even though I’m not facing the t.v. I turn around. “No, I love Hannah Montana” I say. She laughs, I smile. I unpause the iPod and get back to work. About a minute later she gets off the treadmill and grabs her towel, a clear indication that she is leaving. I decide to ask her “why are you working out inside when it’s such a nice night to go running?” to which we get into a conversation about the horrible bug situation that comes along with living by a lake.

She then asks me “so are you new here?” which I take a wide open “I’m interested in you” tactic. Generally girls don’t make small talk with guys. And if they do, they rarely instigate this (unless drunk at a bar). I tell her where I’m from, then she asks what brought me to Nebraska, then where I work, then what building I live in. She is bombarding me with questionnaire questions—all of which with underlying real questions.
“So did you move here alone?” which means “are you seeing anybody?”
“Where do you work?” which means “can you afford to take me out sometime?”
“Which building do you live in?” which means “how long is the ‘walk of shame’ going to take for me to get from your apt. to mine the day after we drunkenly bump uglies”

I answer her questions and can instantly tell that this is going in the right direction. She is essentially putting the ball on a tee for me and standing back for me to hit it out of the park.

Suddenly I’m done with my workout. I should also note that not only did she stand around and talk to me, she got back on the treadmill for a “second run?” I guess.

Instead of asking her out, or getting her number, or anything. I just put on my shades and told her I was going to try and brave the outdoor run—regardless of the bug situation. She gave me a very disappointed look, as if she had failed, and told me “good luck” which could be interpreted as “good luck not swallowing a swarm of bugs” or “good luck ever meeting a woman ever…have you not seen the signs? I want you!”

I knew it was a dumb idea to leave that gym without closing the deal. I got about 2 miles out on my run and stopped…paused my iPod and said to my self “you are an idiot”.

Sad. Sad. Sad.