tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353882232024-03-07T03:23:14.375-05:00Awkward Things I Say to GirlsI HAVE MOVED: <a href="http://awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com">awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com</a>Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-7337980173692250022006-12-27T14:56:00.000-05:002006-12-27T14:57:25.610-05:00I have moved!You can find my new home at <a href="http://awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com">http://awkwardthingsisaytogirls.com</a> - which, if I do say so myself, is freaking awesome.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-20449022230641825822006-12-25T00:36:00.000-05:002006-12-25T01:06:09.567-05:00"Are you saying things to me?"I'm typing this post from my old bedroom on Christmas Eve. There is an awkward thing that I will get to later on, but first there are two things I want to mention about how my blog is going these days.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder if I can keep this up for much longer. I mean, I have to run out of things to talk about, right? Then I remember these two facts:<br /><ol><li>I have a list of old awkward things I want to get to someday, but it keeps getting longer as I think of a thing to write about more than once a week.<br /></li><br /><li>I'm running a backlog of current awkwardness, too. I have 3 or 4 (actually, probably half a dozen) stories from the past week alone that I will have to mete out over the month of January, unless something else good comes along. We can play it by ear, you and I.</li></ol><p>And, hell, if worst comes to worst and I start dating someone and have nothing new to write about on Mondays, I am still toying with the idea of serializing that feature-length Awkward Adventure I've alluded to a few times. I mean, my friends sure know that I never get tired of telling <em>that</em> story.</p><p>Wait. Who am I kidding? If I start dating someone, this will become a daily blog. Anyhow, here's your Monday awkwardness, because, baby, you know I treat you right.</p><p>--</p>Imagine that there are seven friends sitting around playing a board game. We're all chatting happily, enjoying the good company, awash in the good feelings you get spending time with good friends during the holiday season. There's a contented, excited buzz of conversation floating about the room. Everyone is having a noisy good time.<br /><br />Now imagine that, all at once, everyone finishes what they're saying and there is a lull of silence.<br /><br />Well, there's a lull of silence for everyone but me. (Imagine that.) I had turned to the girl sitting next to me to look into her eyes and say, over-loud in the sudden conversational vacuum:<br /><br />"Are you saying things to me?"Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-5097637683385120432006-12-22T10:14:00.000-05:002006-12-22T10:32:36.688-05:005 Awkward Things You Don't Know About MeI've been <a href="http://haduken.com/2006/12/5-things-you-probably-donât-know-about-me/">tagged.</a> And, frankly, it's about time I let you behind the curtain a little bit.<br /><br />Also, don't be surprised if you notice that a Christmas Miracle has happened to this website the next time you stop by. We're turning it up to 11 over here at Awkward Things, just in time for the new year.<br /><br />Okay. On to the five things!<br /><br /><ol><li>I've had the songs "I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire" (made famous by Horace Heidt and His Musical Knights in 1941) and "Chances Are" (the first #1 hit for Johnny Mathis) intermittently stuck in my head since around 1997, when the Clover Hill High School show choir performed them together as a medley ballad in their competition show. I was in the band that accompanied them at competitions, but, since they did this part of the show a capella, I didn't have to play and could just listen.<br /><br />From my perspective at the back of the stage, all of the gorgeous choir girls singing the song were backlit by the auditorium lighting, so that all I could clearly see was the back of their heads framed in a white glow, with little glints of loose hairs sparkling against darkness. Naturally, I was hopelessly in love with each and every one of them. No wonder I sing those songs to myself in my head all the time, almost 10 years later.</li><br /><br /><li>When I solved a tough homework problem in college, I would get up in its face and trash talk it. Here's something I might say: "What? You think you can come in here and fool me with that little-girl time-independant Hamiltonian? Listen, bitch, I was strapped with partial differential equations when your punk-ass was still getting spanked by your momma for stealing cookies." Like, out loud. I'm not making that up. </li><br /><br /><li>When I'm by myself, and, say, driving or maybe even walking along, and I see extra-cute little kids, I say "Oh my goodness!" in a super dopey voice. I generally don't say it when I'm with people. Sometimes I can't help saying it when people are around, and in that case, I just try to modulate my voice so it sounds more like a real adult. I sure hope no one ever catches me saying that in my normal way, though.</li><br /><br /><li>My nickname in the college ultimate frisbee scene was "Prefontaine." As in, Steve Prefontaine: the runner who ran faster than you, just to piss you off. That guy was a badass, and, you know, maybe, so am I.</li><br /><br /><li>Four years ago, in the middle of a mild Midwestern mid-July, I went to a fancy wine store and bought a reasonably expensive bottle of champagne. I did not put it on ice, but instead wrapped it in some towels to keep it somewhat cool. I put it, along with some wine glasses that were totally inappropriate for champagne, a fact that I didn't know when I was 21, in a duffel bag.<br /><br />The next morning, I packed some clothes and CDs in another duffel and, bags in hand, walked the half-mile or so from my apartment to the Cedar Avenue light-rail station in Cleveland Heights. I got on a train to the airport. At the airport, I rented a car, which I drove to Onekama, Michigan.<br /><br />I went on this crazy goose-caper because I was in love with a girl.<br /><br />But what with one thing or another, which phrase, by the way, is a placeholder for, literally, an entire feature-length romantic comedy, I never drank the champagne with that girl. I kept the bottle for a few years in my closet in Cleveland, but it just never worked out that a romantic opportunity to chill it and drink it with her materialized.<br /><br />But that's okay. And, anyway, lots of people know that story. Here's the thing people don't know: over the course of the past four years, "I'm keeping that bottle to drink with her" somehow morphed into "I'm keeping that bottle to drink with someone who loves me back." It's a symbol, like the mountain in Brokeback Mountain, except that I'm hoping a girl is involved. I won't open it until I'm good and ready, but you can bet that, no matter how much damage time and temperature have done to it, if and when it gets popped open someday, it's going to taste pretty good to me.</li></ol>Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-48175020846292082372006-12-21T09:20:00.000-05:002006-12-21T09:29:26.816-05:00"Where does my nose go?""Do you mind genuinely kissing each other on stage? Because we could do fake stage kisses if you want, but it just wouldn't be the same."<br /><br />It's the early summer of 1998. My junior year of high school was just about over. I had just found out that I had won the male lead in the fall musical. The drama teacher had gathered me together with Female Lead to have a discussion about what that means.<br /><br />Apparently, that means kissing.<br /><br />After some glances back and forth, we told the director that, well, sure. Kissing is fine. Whatever, I mean, you know. It's not like it's that big of a deal.<br /><br />Right.<br /><br />No big deal at all. I mean, I was 17. I had kissed lots of girls before then - there was the one time in pre-school when I got in trouble for kissing a girl a couple of times, and then my first real kiss when I was 15. That's, like, 3 times total. So I was practically an expert.<br /><br />Plus, I mean, it's not like I daydreamed endlessly about Female Lead since, say, the sixth grade, because of how much I liked her. Good thing there wasn't that.<br /><br />Like I said: no big deal at all.<br /><br />--<br /><br />"Justin!" The drama teacher was seated out in the back of the auditorium. She could be loud when she wanted to be.<br /><br />"Yeah?" We were in rehearsal, several months later. I had just finished delivering what I felt to be a key monologue for establishing my character's behavioral trajectory and for creating, in the audience's mind, a more tightly-drawn tension through my character's delayed maturation process to the final Independence he shows from societal definitions of both family and profession, which, ultimately, allows him to pursue the family and profession that he truly loves. I think my exact line was, "I am a man!" delivered to Female Lead.<br /><br />"I want you to kiss her right now."<br /><br />"Okay." I made a note of it in my script, then continued with my lines.<br /><br />"Justin!"<br /><br />"Yeah?"<br /><br />"I meant, right now. As in, you need to kiss her now."<br /><br />"Wait, for real?" I say. There is a pause. Some chorus girls giggle. Guys shift awkwardly. "I mean, right now?" I turn to look at her. Then I look back at the drama teacher. "Are you sure?"<br /><br />"Yes!"<br /><br />Okay. I can do this.<br /><br />I looked back at Female Lead, who looked up at me. I ignored the stage lights, all fifty other cast members who were extras in the scene, and the assorted stage crew looking on from auditorium seats. I tried to think like my character, who had been dating Female Lead's character for eight years, but was only now discovering who he truly was and how much he truly loved her. I stepped closer. I bent my head down towards hers slowly, then slower still.<br /><br />I hesitated.<br /><br />Then I stepped away, turned to the drama teacher, and shouted:<br /><br />"Where does my nose go?"Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-28448899382193050002006-12-18T09:26:00.000-05:002006-12-18T10:26:35.649-05:00"Let me think about it."About a week and a half ago, I was at a bar with a friend. He's married, and, lucky for you, I'm not.<br /><br />A girl sits down with us who my friend knows and who I don't. She is definitely pretty, but she seems really distracted. I wonder to myself: what is she distracted about? She looks over at my friend and asks the worst question ever.<br /><br />"Do you think I'm good looking?"<br /><br />Yikes. I think the only way to deal with this situation is to induce vomiting and call a doctor. My friend takes the safe route and punts, citing his marriage to a wife.<br /><br />But not me. I'm dumb.<br /><br />"Oh! I'll tell you. Hang on, let me think about it."<br /><br />Awkward silence. I'm actually thinking about the question. I'm serious, there are gears turning in my head. They are stupid, idiotic gears, but they're turning away.<br /><br />"If you have to think about it so long, the answer must not be good."<br /><br />What? Oh, no. She's misunderstood me.<br /><br />"No, I'm trying to think about how good looking my friend would think you are. Personally, I think you're beautifully gorgeous. So, what do you do?"Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-46282761509361326602006-12-14T16:19:00.000-05:002006-12-18T09:29:12.933-05:00"Did you just alternate rows between knit and purl?"Several years ago, I said an awkward thing that worked out great.<br /><br />I was at a party in college just, like, dominating the meningitis-pong table, when I noticed a girl with dark hair and a unique fashion sense somewhere across the apartment. <br /><br />I don't believe in types, but I do believe in statistics, and I will say this: based on the available empirical evidence, if you're a girl with "dark hair" and "a unique fashion sense," you can reject the null hypothesis with a pretty high confidence level, because I have a crush on you. <br /><br />This girl was no anomaly. Before long I was talking to her about literature and movies, and as has happened just way too many times, she was blowing my mind. Alcohol makes me affectionate, and I was quite amorously sloshed that night. So it should come as no surprise that I asked for her number, and it should be only a minor messianic miracle that she gave it to me. <br /><br />Then she went to get her coat so she could go home. <br /><br />Now, we need to pause a moment and have a little chat about how much of a badass I am. Here's an example: in a baseball game when I was 13, I broke a catcher's hip stealing home plate in the championship game. They had to bring an ambulance out on the infield to take him away. Here's another: two paragraphs down, I'm going to split an infinitive, right in the face. I mention these things only to point out that, in case you were wondering, I'm hard like the streets of Compton. <br /><br />Okay. Glad we settled that. Also, here's a fact: I know how to knit. <br /><br />It's true. I have two colors of yarn and two sizes of needles in my apartment right now. I used to make scarves in college to give to homeless people. Well, I made one. The rest of the time I just made squares. Lots of squares. <br /><br />Maybe you think that makes me soft, and not like the streets of Compton at all. Usually people laugh when they learn that I knit, and when they do, I don't waste time talking about being able to, with my time and energy and creativity, give (in the face!) actual physical insulated warmth to another person. Instead, I stop dicking around with grammar and tell them the end of this story. <br /><br />When we last left our brunette hipster heroine, she was retreating into a bedroom to find her coat so she could go home, and she still was unaware of both my knitting ability and my callous indifference to the plight of infinitives. She came back to say good night, and I thought to myself: I've seen a scarf like that before. <br /><br />In fact, I knitted one just like it. It's a really simple pattern, and it always tends to curl up lengthwise, so it's easy to recognize. Now I'm curious - did she do it herself? Because that's pretty cool. <br /><br />So, as we're standing in the doorway to the apartment, her about to leave, me waiting for some friends to wrap up their own little drunken interactions, I ask, <br /><br />"Did you knit that scarf yourself?" <br /><br />She looks at me cutely. "Yeah, actually, I did."<br /><br />"What, did you just alternate rows between knit and purl? I made one like that, too, once." <br /><br />I kind of half-felt her heart skip a beat. I was looking directly at her scarf, though, so I didn't notice when, after the brief moment it took her to defibrillate, she put her hand behind my neck. The noticing started immediately thereafter when she pulled my head down, kissed me hard, then vanished out of the apartment building in a clatter of clunky shoes on wooden stairs.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-13710661875110218492006-12-11T08:52:00.000-05:002006-12-11T09:28:02.972-05:00"That guy who was hitting on you, how was he?"Up until now, all of the stories I've told in this blog have been depressing tales of misery and woe, where awkward failure has inevitably brought a quick and hilarious end to any asking- or making-out that I had been trying to accomplish.<br /><br />Recently, though, a conversation I was having with a girl in a bar rose from the ashes of awkwardness like an adolescent phoenix to end up being kind of cool.<br /><br />I was at a bar with a few friends, who themselves had a couple of girls with them who were their friends. We were introduced briefly, and I think one of my friends wanted me to hit on one of the girls, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them.<br /><br />Before long, two guys came over to talk to the girls whose names I had already forgotten. I was on the other side of a table in a crowded bar, so I couldn't hear anything.<br /><br />Now, I'm instantely fascinated by what is happening. What are these guys saying? Are they failing horribly, or is it going kind of well for them? Judging by the body language, I think it's going well for one of the guys and the girl he is talking to. What is the girl saying back? The guy seems like he's hanging in there for quite a long time. Oh, look, the guys are consulting with each other - well, dude who was doing well, you need to ask for her number now! There he goes - the cell phone's coming out. Oh, awesome. Great job, buddy. Good work.<br /><br />But then I'm thinking: I kind of want to know what he said to her and how she felt about it. I've never hit on a girl before when I wasn't there, so how would I know what other people do? But here's a girl who I've been introduced to, but who I barely know. She would have no reason to not be totally honest. What's stopping me from asking her about it?<br /><br />Other than decency, common sense, and the trappings of thousands of years of human civilization, nothing.<br /><br />So I walk up to this girl and I ask her,<br /><br />"How did that go? That guy who was hitting on you, how was he? What made you decide to give your number to him?"<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />"The guy you gave your phone number to. What was it like when he hit on you?"<br /><br />"Oh, well, it was really flattering."<br /><br />"Well but see, the thing is, I'm awful at talking to girls I don't know. I always say some terribly awkward thing that my friends think is incredibly hilarious when I go back and tell them. So I just saw that guy hit on you, and he looked like he did a good job, so I was just curious about how it went, what kind of stuff he said, that kind of thing."<br /><br />What you have to believe is that I was totally honest about this stuff as I was saying it. The entire reason I was talking to her is because I thought she had something interesting to say about getting hit on by a guy, but that's it. I mean, sure I thought she was cute, but I think everyone is the cutest girl I've ever seen. I was interested in facts.<br /><br />But before long, we were deep in conversation about what it is and isn't good to say when you meet a girl, what kinds of things we wanted in relationships, and how tough it was to find those things, sometimes. And as I looked at her while she talked, it was as though her eyes had softened somewhat into the sort of liquid empathy that absolutely slays me when I see it in a girl's eyes. Then I started thinking how incredibly sweet she was to actually take me seriously and legitimately want to help me hit on girls, which she seemed honestly to do.<br /><br />I guess I decided that I liked her a little.<br /><br />So, after maybe 20 minutes of chatting about, you know, emotions, and after a natural break in the conversation, I said, "Listen, I didn't come over here to hit on you at all, but can I call you sometime? Would you think it would be fun to go out with me?"<br /><br />And, after a nerve-wracking few minutes when I spelled her unimaginably common name horribly wrong into my phone (I need to practice putting new names my phone, because, seriously), I had her phone number. Obviously I'm not the only one, but hey - even if we never go out, she thinks guys who ask for her number are flattering, and I think girls who want to help me out are sweet. That's a more than fair exchange.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-77320046674694814622006-12-07T08:55:00.000-05:002006-12-07T08:59:14.256-05:00The most awkward kiss I ever had"I don't want to make out with you, Justin."<br /><br />Yeah, I think I can accommodate that request. "Uh, okay," is probably all I managed to say, but I was a little confused. Because seriously, it's as though she had just told me that she intended never to levitate. She was cute, smart, fun, interesting, and everything you could want in a person to make out with. Even so, I pretty much decided I would not kiss this girl ever since the uncomfortable, awkward maybe-date we had gone on to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding a year before, when I showed up with shaving cream still behind one ear. Plus, I still don't think she thought it was a date. It definitely wasn't a date.<br /><br />But that was in, like, 2002. By the fall of 2003, we had been good friends for a long time. She lent me books, and I helped move her out of her dorm room while I was still high on a whole six-pack of cherry coke, after pulling an all-nighter to finish a take-home exam. We were medium-close.<br /><br />But it was the fall of 2003 when she, suddenly, out of nowhere, decided to set boundaries. Up until that moment, you could say that I expected to not make out with my friend every time I had ever seen her, and that I had never been disappointed.<br /><br />At least, I hadn't yet. Not until the very next night.<br /><br />---<br /><br />In retrospect, I should have figured out what was happening. But, generally, when people tell me not to make out with them, I follow orders.<br /><br />So I expected nothing out of the ordinary the next evening when she made a few odd comments while we were drinking with friends, and I didn't really notice her nearness when we were standing, later, and talking, holding more drinks. I didn't even think it was that odd that she tipsily invited me to her room to watch a movie, even though that had never happened before, because we always watched movies downstairs.<br /><br />Here's what should have given it away: the wrestling, on her bed, with her bedroom door closed and the forgotten flicker of some instantly-ignored movie lighting our faces with a blue kind of glow. Which, I swear to you, wasn't my idea. If you think I could have pulled that off on my own, well, the archives are right over there on the right hand side-bar of the webpage. I was fuzzily thinking at the time: gee, she sure is cute, and this wrestling sure is fun. Too bad she told me she didn't want to make out with me. Oh well.<br /><br />It didn't really click into place until she paused, blearily, and, breathing heavily, smelling of alcohol, face inches from mine, said, "You have no idea that I want you to kiss me, do you. That's why you lose."<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />Well, listen, I thought, clearly up until now I wasn't fully on board with this ultra-subtle reverse-psychology Jane Austen ninja-romance shit, but now that we are all firmly on the same page, we can begin to head in an extremely positive direction.<br /><br />So I kissed her. For about two milliseconds. And after those two milliseconds, we were just friends again, right after she whispered, reluctantly, six of the last words you want to hear right after you kiss someone for the first time.<br /><br />"I'm going to go throw up."Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-23919073515598196662006-12-04T09:39:00.000-05:002006-12-04T09:41:25.601-05:00"Are you ticklish?"For the first time (that I know of), I've decided to write about an awkward thing I said to a girl who reads this blog. I was pretty nervous about how she'd take it, and plus this is probably the most embarrassing thing I've ever posted, so I called her to talk to her first.<br /><br />I bet you'd like to listen in, wouldn't you? Fine, twist my arm. Here's what I remember of the interesting part.<br /><br />"Listen, a few weeks ago when I visited you and stayed at your dorm . . ."<br /><br />Timeout. Yes, I said dorm. But she's a senior. That's all I'm going to say about that. Okay, time in.<br /><br />". . . I did something awkward that I want to write about on my blog."<br /><br />"What?" I think that's what she said. She might as well have said, "Which one?"<br /><br />"Well, the thing was, I thought you were adorable and cute, and I wanted to increase the amount of physical contact that was happening, so, that's why I tickled you, and I think it's funny, so I'm going to write about it if that's okay with you."<br /><br />Seriously. I'm 25 (and a half) years old. I work in middle management for a Fortune 200 company. I like football and beer, and over the summer I grew an outstanding beard, if I do say so myself. I know that tickling is a super amateur move once you are out of, oh, kindergarten.<br /><br />But three weeks ago, there I was, getting ready to go to sleep on the floor of this girl's dorm room. I think it was the second night I spent there. I thought about how cute she was, and how nice of a girl she was, and how I wanted to flirt with her more, and before I could think about it I reached over, (very rudely, you could say) poked her in the side, and asked:<br /><br />"Are you ticklish?"Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-70676467073874722272006-11-30T09:28:00.000-05:002006-11-30T09:52:15.638-05:00"I'm legitimate.""Which one of these is maroon?" Why the hell do I always play on maroon sports teams? Is it some kind of crazy masochism or a horrible cosmic joke? I swear, I've played on them since elementary school soccer. I love Virginia Tech football. And I've never been able to distinguish maroon from green.<br /><br />"This one is. Wait, why are you asking?"<br /><br />Because I want to make sure my bionic eye is working right. "Because I'm colorblind."<br /><br />"Yeah, but, why is it so important that you have maroon striped socks?" Oh, right. I guess my visibly poor grasp of fashion as a concept, combined with my already established fundamental ineptitude with respect to color matching or management, make that the more important question to be asking.<br /><br />It's several months ago. I am in American Apparel in Carytown, which, inside my mind, I like to think of as "Hipster Hooters." There are two incredibly pretty (and relentlessly trendy looking) girls working there, which seems to happen every time I walk into that store.<br /><br />I'm there for maroon striped socks, and also because I have a friend (a guy) who works there. The socks are supposed to match the maroon uniform I wear to play a ridiculously elementary-school type sport, which practically begs to be accompanied with striped socks. I also kind of want to say hi to that guy, because he's cool.<br /><br />But my biggest problem, once I'm holding a pair of socks in each hand, is identifying maroon. For all I know, I'm holding dark green and normal brown socks in my hands. So I go up to the cutest retail sales clerk I've ever seen and ask for a second opinion.<br /><br />And, you know, in the course of learning about colors as though I were in pre-school, I actually had a very nice, pleasant conversation with this girl. It wasn't awkward at all, once we got it all straight that I was actually genetically handicapped when it comes to maroon, and not just screwing around. There was no awkwardness that I could detect.<br /><br />Yet.<br /><br />But then I remember: is my friend working today? I ask, but it turns out that he isn't. Oh well.<br /><br />So all of a sudden I'm thinking to myself that you just don't have very nice, pleasant conversations with the cutest retail sales clerk you've ever seen every day. No, sir. I have to say something. What do I say? Something, fast! Wait, she knows my friend, right?<br /><br />"Thanks for helping me. And, hey, you should ask my friend about me sometime. He'll tell you I'm legitimate."<br /><br />Does that even mean anything? Is that English? What am I trying to accomplish? Look, why don't you ask my friend about me - he'll verify that I am not a figment of your imagination. The girl laughs and walks away to go be cute and trendy somewhere else. Well, fortunately no one else heard me be ridiculous.<br /><br />Oh, wait. I forgot about the other cutest retail sales clerk I've ever seen. When I turn to the register, C.R.S.C. 2 rolls her eyes and says, "Okay, <strong>legitimate guy</strong>. I'll ring you up."Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-68497210261302168592006-11-27T09:10:00.000-05:002006-11-27T09:22:18.967-05:00I didn't even say anything this time and it was still a disasterYesterday I was sitting on my couch with my laptop, trying to type up a blog post. What was I going to write about? I really hadn't said anything awkward to a girl in a while. Some of my relatives said some awkward things, but that just didn't feel the same. I had an old thing that I might post on Thursday, but I kind of want Monday blog posts to be new awkward things.<br /><br />Oh well. It was time to go play football with my friends up on Leigh Street. I closed my laptop, put my shoes on, and headed out to the car.<br /><br />It was an incredible day outside, but I felt like I wanted to put on a track jacket, to, you know, protest global warming I guess. I had one in my trunk. I unlocked the trunk and opened it, then pulled out the jacket. As I looked up, I noticed a cute girl walking towards me on the sidewalk on the other side of the street.<br /><br />Oh my goodness, I thought. Is she looking at me? Seriously, she just looked again!<br /><br />So then I set down my car keys and put on the jacket. I brushed my hair out of my eyes cinematically and then looked over. Oh man, she was totally checking me out. Awesome. I closed the trunk.<br /><br />On my keys. My keys were in my trunk. See, this is why I'll never run out of awkward things to write about.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-20768073242683828052006-11-21T09:22:00.000-05:002006-11-21T09:24:43.481-05:00"I'd like more of you in my lifestyle.""You're not thinkin' I'm someone else?" Great first line, Tony. I like the approach.<br /><br />"I know you are not." Good tactic, Maria. Commit to nothing, wait for Tony's next move.<br /><br />"Or that we met before?"<br /><br />"I know we have not." Maria's a pro.<br /><br />I’m watching West Side Story, and I’m excited. Here's the moment of truth for Tony.<br /><br />"I felt . . . "<br /><br />Come on, Tony. Enough small talk. Blow us away.<br /><br />"I knew something never before was going to happen." Short pause. "Had to happen. But this is so much more."<br /><br />Wait. What? Is that even English? Hold on. I can't believe what I just heard.<br /><br />See. I swear it isn't just me. Even Tony, the coolest guy in the coolest gang on the West Side of New York, can't say anything remotely coherent when he talks to girls.<br /><br />After I finished watching West Side Story for the first time, I wondered two things: first off, there were three super hot girls who were single at the end of that movie due to gang warfare. How soon before one of the guys in one of the gangs starts dating one of them? Is six weeks enough? Three months? Does it depend on whether he was in the same gang as their boyfriend, or is it worse if it is a guy in the rival gang? What's the ruling on that? Plus, which girl is the first to start dating again? I say it's the American girl, and she ends up going for a Shark out of some crazy subconscious blame-issues, and all of the Jet guys are jealous, so it starts the rivalry all over again, until Maria gets wind of the whole thing, and yells at them until they feel guilty, so they all end up getting drunk together at the wedding reception, become friends, and hook up with each other’s sisters, which is pretty much what they all just needed to do from the beginning.<br /><br />But the other thing I wondered was this. Did the awkwardness of that first interaction not even matter? See, I’m starting to wonder whether it even makes a difference how awkward you are when you talk to girls. It's all about how interested the girl is in you aside from the things that you say. Or, alternately, how interested she isn’t.<br /><br />Here’s an example of the latter.<br /><br />Maybe a year and a half ago, I went to a party with one of my friends. There were all kinds of people there and it really was a lot of fun. I even ran into a girl I knew from high school and caught up a little. But most fun of all, I got a minor slightly-drunk-style crush on a cute and smart-seeming red-haired girl, who kept making fun of me sarcastically, which kind of made me interested.<br /><br />So when I'm leaving the party, I say this to her: "Hey, listen. I'd like more of you in my lifestyle."<br /><br />Okay, so that's the worst thing ever. Guys: never say that to a girl. Personally, at the (reasonably drunk) time, I thought it accurately conveyed the more-or-less interested state I was in, but when the cruel, cold light of morning cast rays of reality into my hung-over brain, I realized how awkward it sounded when it came out of my mouth.<br /><br />Ah! But! Remember what Tony said to Maria when they first met? After some "Have we met?" chatter, here's Tony's big line:<br /><br />"I knew something never before was going to happen. Had to happen. But this is so much more."<br /><br />Now, seriously. If I walked up to a cute girl at a bar and said that, it would be a disaster, and I'd have to put it in this blog. It is actually a little creepy sounding. Dude, I know she's been making doe-eyes at you and swaying around, but you can’t let yourself get carried away like that. At least make sentences, is my motto (a motto I relax considerably when writing this blog, for which I apologize, especially if you are the best grammar teacher in the world).<br /><br />But then again, who cares if you’re awkward? Maria sure didn’t. See, that's exactly the issue. Maria thinks this guy is all kinds of hot. The girl I said the ridiculous/awkward/creepy thing to about lifestyles, well, I don't think she did at all. So it doesn't matter what I would have said. How do I know? Do you remember what Maria said to Tony after his brilliant little speech? She interrupts him to say:<br /><br />"My hands are cold."<br /><br />!<br /><br />My hands are cold! Brilliant move, Maria. Oh, man, that just killed me to hear it. Because, honestly, everyone knows what happens after that. There's some physical contact, touching of faces, people call each other "beautiful," and before you know it, Maria and Tony are making out. Oh, that's championship level material right there. My hands are cold! That's just fabulous.<br /><br />Now, back to my story. And here's how I know that girl wasn't that into me, so it didn't matter what I said. I'm affectionately drunk, which is scientific term for me when I have pretty much any BAC above zero, and I say "I'd like more of you in my lifestyle." The response?<br /><br />"Uh, that was kind of an awkward thing to say. No, seriously. That was kind of weird.”<br /><br />So, right. I think at the time I was annoyed at myself for being such a disaster. But who cares? Someday I'm going to be saying a ridiculous thing to a girl like I always do, but she's going to cut me off and say her hands are cold, and reach out as though she wants me to hold her hands, and then I'll know - this one kind of likes me. Just you watch.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-24263170075422238132006-11-17T13:49:00.000-05:002006-11-17T13:59:13.972-05:00Girls are not deaf, apparently.I'm sitting in my cubicle doing work. All of a sudden, a really cute girl walks into my cubicle.<br /><br />Here's the thing. There aren't very many cute girls who work in my building, mostly due to the fact that my company employs a ridiculous amount of 33-year-old men. And anyway, I know who all the cute ones in my building are. Cute girls that I've never seen before walk into my cubicle unannounced about once every never. What does this one want? Does she want to talk to me about a work thing? Will I get to have a conversation with her? Maybe she really likes my analysis and wants to learn what makes me so amazing at my job! I'm instantly excited.<br /><br />So I say, "Hi!" in a really loud and friendly voice. A bit too loudly, though. She jumped, and I think I heard an echo. She did say "Hi" back, though. Softly.<br /><br />Then she watered the plant and walked away.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-71575701685011289762006-11-16T09:45:00.000-05:002006-11-16T09:52:28.379-05:00"I'm going to go talk to my friends now. Goodbye."Sometimes I'm wondering to myself as I post these posts - are these really that awkward? I mean, some of the things I've posted seem kind of normal to me. I make them worse by emphasizing how awkward I felt while saying them, which pretty much means I just describe the everyday workings of the interior of my mind. But honestly, who hasn't walked up to a girl and said that it was their job to distract that girl while their friend hit on the girl's friend? Who indeed.<br /><br />Then again, maybe I'm still not yet fully aware of the fact that my internal awkward-scale isn't a highly calibrated precision instrument. I don't have to be thinking "holy crap, this interaction I'm having with another human being is a disaster" for what I'm saying to be, empirically, absolutely ridiculous.<br /><br />Here's a good experiment. I'll describe what I felt was an entirely successful (I felt) interaction with a girl just last evening. You can judge for yourself whether or not it was its own little disaster. I really don't care whether you think it's hilarious or not, because, "them apples" and so forth, she gave me her number.<br /><br />So:<br /><br />I'm out at a bar where a friend's band is playing a show. I notice a strikingly cute girl a few tables away. I make what I think (through her hot-girl glasses) is eye contact with her a few times, then she decides to come sit down at my table.<br /><br />Wait. Hold that thought for a second.<br /><br />First, to set the scene properly, and in the interest of full disclosure, I must mention a few facts. Fact one: I spilled beer on myself about 2 minutes before the event I just mentioned. It wasn't my fault, unless you blame me for nursing my beer so slowly that I spent literally 30 minutes walking around with a 95% full beer until, finally, someone elbowed me right in the pint glass. So, maybe it was my fault.<br /><br />Fact two: I was uncomfortable, what with the sopping wet shirt, so I unbuttoned my shirt all the way. Sue me. I had an undershirt on, the t-shirt kind with sleeves. It was totally fine. Maybe it was a fashion faux pas, but it's not as though I was firing on all fashion cylinders to begin with. I was wearing pants and a shirt. Lets not nitpick.<br /><br />To continue:<br /><br />She's now sitting at my table. I am almost delusionally convinced that this is due to me being ultra-hot. Maybe I lured her over with my unbuttoning. Uh, no - actually, she already knew two of my friends, and really didn't want to pay attention to me much at all.<br /><br />But I mean, I played it cool. I waited for pauses in the conversation so I could say a few natural, normal things to her, like:<br /><br />"So, what's your scene?"<br /><br />To which she responded various sweet nothings, like so:<br /><br />"What?"<br /><br />Which, really, isn't as bad as it could be. I'll take a solid "what?" any day. But then, before long, she's gone. Gone! Back to two tables away before I can work up the courage to say anything coherent.<br /><br />But really - who needs coherent? Not me. I don't need planning, foresight, or deliberation either. Action and results, those are what I'm interested in. I mention to the friend that knows her best: hey - seriously, what IS her scene? Could she be the girl for me?<br /><br />"Maybe, but..."<br /><br />Maybe is all I need. As I said: action. Instantly my beer is set down (why do I take my beer everywhere in a bar, but set it down when I go to talk to a girl?) and I'm on my way. I stop next to the girl. And what follows is the (annotated) conversation in its entirety. Awkward? You be the judge. Here we go:<br /><br />"Hi, so, do you like Richmond?" I have no idea what to say, ever. That's all I could come up with. Sorry ladies. If you want creativity, read the blog.<br /><br />"Yes." Okay. Fantastic. So far, so good. It doesn't take much to impress me. But by now, this conversation has gone on much too long. I could screw it up any second. Lets start cutting to chases.<br /><br />"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Whoa, there. Lets slow that gallop down to a trot. Clearly I've gotten a bit too excited about being alive.<br /><br />"Uh, maybe?" Don't blame you one bit, sweetheart. Frankly, I have no idea where that burst of exuberance came from. Maybe it's the beer. Most of which is on my shirt.<br /><br />"What about if I called you?" Now we're back to the right speed.<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />So at this point I reach for my cell phone. Maybe a better man would be celebrating at this point. Me, I'm thinking: oh no.<br /><br />Now, longtime readers of this blog, those who've been around for more than, oh, a week, know that I can't operate my cell phone under pressure. In fact, that has been a disaster for me in the past. Judging by my blog posts, I have a 50% likelihood of ending up with no phone number at all.<br /><br />Plus, I have a new cell phone. I barely know how to answer calls. This drops the probability of me having the ability to ever call this girl to practically nothing.<br /><br />So I get out the phone, I fumble for a while, I push some buttons, and meanwhile I keep a monologue going. "Wait - I don't know how to put a number in. Is it this button? No? I just got this phone, see, is the thing. Oh god, what just happened. Wait. Here we go. Hold on, how do you spell your name? By the way, I just spilled beer on myself, which is why my shirt is unbuttoned. And wet."<br /><br />"Listen, I'll do it. Give me the phone." Saved! I don't have to operate machinery while drinking and under the influence of extreme cuteness. It's like an answered prayer. If answered prayers are supposed to make you feel embarrassed.<br /><br />"This is slightly emasculating." Wow - way to precisely describe what everyone is thinking. Great work. It really is fabulous how easy it is to think of exactly the right words at the right moment only at the most embarrassing time.<br /><br />"There you go." It takes her, oh, 0.8 seconds to put in a name and a number. I don't think I could dial my mother that quickly. Maybe I'm easily impressed, but now I kind of want to know if she plays video games.<br /><br />But by this point, I'm out of ammo. I'm entirely spent. So all I've got left is:<br /><br />"I'm going to go talk to my friends now. Goodbye."<br /><br />Am I awkward? Maybe I am. Awkward like a fox!Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1163430684323479342006-11-13T10:07:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:54.082-05:00"Like sexual intercourse. Do you know what that is?"Last week I went on vacation in Europe with two friends. I viewed this as a good opportunity to say awkward things to international girls. I really didn't say anything nearly as awkward as what got said to me.<br /><br />Don't worry, though, I'm not cured.<br /><br />An extra-cute girl who looked to be in her early twenties (and who had ribbons in her hair which always just absolutely kill me) sat in the train car with my friends and I on the way to Vienna.<br />"What are you reading?" I asked her. She had some book in English she was slogging through.<br />"Oh, it's a diary of a girl." I think the girl had AIDS, or knew someone with AIDS. There was definitely AIDS.<br /><br />To understand why my response was awkward, you have to understand how it was said and why it was said that way. The why is easy: I realized how stupid it was as it was coming out of my mouth. We'll do how as we go.<br /><br />"Oh really!" I say, excited because I think I have a funny joke coming. Then, I realize that it isn't remotely even close to funny, causing me to trail off as I'm saying "I'm writing one of those!" My delivery thus undermined, the post-punchline denouement "What a coincidence." was crippled to the point of a mumble.<br /><br />Awkward: yes. Maybe not the most awkward thing I've said in the last, um, day. But nowhere near as awkward as the things the Viennese girl said to me later on.<br />Here's one:<br /><br />Viennese girl finds out that I'm trying to learn German, and decides to help. Can you count to ten? she asks. Well, not all the way to ten. I make it to "fünf" and look at her for help.<br /><br />"Say after me: sechs"<br /><br />"Say-cks?"<br /><br />"No, sex. Like sexual intercourse, do you know what that is?"<br /><br />Context is important. The awkwardness of that comment increased significantly once I found out that she was not, in fact in her early twenties, but was actually 18 and in high school.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1163274841031425192006-11-11T14:53:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:54.016-05:00"They have beds."Here's a classic awkward thing to get you through your weekend.<br /><br />Last winter I went to the ACC Championship Game so I could join a few friends in their consistent tradition of long road trips to see Virginia Tech lose to Florida State. We slept in Savannah. As we were leaving the motel room, some girls were walking by.<br />"Is this a good place to stay?" they asked. "It's not horrible, is it?"<br /><br />One of my friends responded. "Sure, it's okay."<br /><br />Now, I thought that was kind of a hilarious question. I mean, you've already booked the room. What are you going to do now? I suppose you could ask for a refund maybe, but that seems weird. I wouldn't do that. And what are we going to say? The TV gets really loud if you turn up the volume? The hot water doesn't grant magical powers? Watch out for the fact that it's a motel just like pretty much every motel I've ever stayed at? Seriously. I mean, I know that what the girls asked was a perfectly normal, reasonable, and legitimate thing to say to another human being in those exact circumstances, but it just struck me as also kind of hilarious in a way that I wanted to express.<br /><br />The problem was that this entire train of thought passed through my brain in its entirety that morning. My friend said later that he saw the gears turning in my head. The girls had said "thanks" to him, turned, and walked probably 20 feet down the hallway before I managed to say, with a stupid grin on my face, causing at least one of the girls to half turn around with an awkward, "what is happening" expression on her face:<br /><br />"Heh. I mean, they have beds!"Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1161131589187856242006-10-17T18:59:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.942-05:00"My job is to distract you""Are you single?"<br /><br />"What? Why?"<br /><br />He looks at me like I'm crazy. "Dude, are you single or what?"<br /><br />"Uh, yeah. What's going on?" I say.<br /><br />A bunch of us are at a Shockoe club on Saturday night. I have had two, maybe four beers. I know I am over the legal limit at this exact moment, because the legal limit is defined as "the blood alcohol content at which people who can't dance decide it's a great idea to dance at a club." It's true: I am dancing with a group of my friends. Sometimes I would dance in close proximity to certain ones, who are pretty much girls, but in a friendly sort of way. I wouldn't call it "a thing." But, uh, that is definitely happening. But that isn't the point of the story.<br /><br />Honestly: this isn't really "my scene", but I am having fun.<br /><br />Eventually the casual-acquaintance-class friend who is asking me the questions manages to extract that I'm single. "Listen, man, you and me are going to go talk to these two girls over at the bar. Come on, let’s go."<br /><br />"Uh..."<br /><br />But see, here's the problem. This guy doesn't need help or moral support talking to girls. Girls seem to like him quite enough on his own. I think I saw one of the girls he danced with earlier actually, like, melt. As in physically she became a puddle, Wicked Witch-style, I guess due to something about him.<br /><br />Now, I don't discriminate when it comes to "being a wingman", because I definitely am willing to say awkward things to any girl at any time, especially to help out my friends, and I even think I'm getting less self-conscious about it in the last couple of weeks, but: seriously. It was kind of a mismatch. Imagine Justin Long (I'm a Mac!) and John Hodgeman (I'm a PC!) going to talk to two girls at a bar, and you'll have it about right, except maybe replace Justin Long with Justin Timberlake.<br /><br />So this is really more like good times than moral support. But hell, I'm game. Which girls are we talking to? Oh no: they're stunning. Somewhere back in my mind I'm thinking about how this <strong>really</strong> isn't my scene. But I decide to just let Mr. <a href="http://www.pandora.com/music/song/81b302edd51ac1aa">SexyBack</a> pick a girl he likes, and then to go look the other one right in the eyes, say hi, ask an interesting question, ask a cute and funny followup question, she would laugh, I would laugh in a friendly, with-her sort of way, and then before long I'd have led things into a little conversation. Seriously, this is easy stuff. I mean, I'm not intimidated. Ha. As if.<br /><br />Instead, I walk over to the girl my friend chooses to ignore, look her directly in her drink, and mutter a thing that led to no conversation at all:<br /><br />"Hi, I'm Justin! My job is to distract you while my friend talks to your friend."Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1160664543297794242006-10-12T09:38:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.876-05:00"You say awkward things to me like every day!"I've been complaining (or maybe bragging) to my friends that I haven't said anything awkward to any random girls since I started this blog. I even managed to meet one of my sister's friends from college over the weekend, who was ultra cute, without saying anything markedly awkward. That I recall. Then again, I didn't try to ask her out.<br /><br />Anyway, like I say, I generally expect to say one awkward thing per week, but I've been un-awkward for going on 12 days now. It's like a hit streak. Here is how my friends try to console my lack of inspiration:<br /><br />"Don't worry buddy. I know you'll say lots of awkward things soon."<br /><br />and my favorite:<br /><br />"You say awkward things to me like every day! And I'm a girl! How come I don't count?"<br /><br />My friends sure know how to cheer me up!Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1160414720775038102006-10-09T12:24:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.815-05:00"I just wanted to come over and say that. That's all."A few weeks ago, my friends took me out and tried to convince me to talk to girls at bars, partly for my own good, but partly for their own entertainment. Here's one of the debacles from that night.<br /><br />We're at a bar in the Bottom when I see a tremendously pretty-eyed girl (TPEG) sitting at a booth with like 4 other girls. The girl sitting next to her decides to go to the bathroom, leaving an empty seat next to TPEG. My friends have figured out what I'm so interested in, and they nudge me over in that direction. This only works because I've had beer.<br /><br />I walk over and sit down. Out-of-place doesn't begin to describe how I feel, and I'm sure it's obvious. "Hey, uh, um, excuse me, but, what's your name?" Now seriously, give me credit - that's not as bad as it could have been.<br /><br />Except I must have mumbled. "What?" she says. The other girls at the table look at me like I'm asking for help to get back to 1985. I decide to ignore them for the same reasons that cause mountain climbers to not look down.<br /><br />Eventually we straighten out the name situation so that I no longer have to internally refer to her as an acronym. (I did not shake hands: I'm not that awkward. There are limits.) It's time for me to say something remotely intelligent to justify my occupation of their booth.<br /><br />"Listen, uh, the thing is, you have, um, really pretty eyes." Oh god. I am that awkward. It's awful. Run. "Uh, I noticed that from across the bar, and I just wanted to come over and say that. That's all. Bye."<br /><br />So sure, my friends did convince me to go back over there and ask if she had a boyfriend, which, duh. But even so, my panic-button-finger was a little itchy that night.<br /><br />Sorry for the slightly dated Awkward Thing today, but I spent all weekend with family and didn't go out at all. I have plans later this week though, so stay tuned!Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1160148570489443242006-10-06T10:29:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.754-05:00Hello, World!<p>Talking to girls you don't know is awkward. It doesn't matter who you are.<br /><br />Then again, my awkward girl-related stories have a repuation. I recently broke up with a (super awesome and definitely missed but ultimately incompatible-with-me (I learned that "incompatible" doesn't have to mean "we fight a lot")) girlfriend I had for about 10 months, and multiple friends expressed their condolences, but said they were kind of excited that they get to hear awkward girl-related stories again.<br /><br />Seriously - did you see that sentence I just wrote? That's the sort of thing that happens inside my brain when I try to express thoughts. Normally I can correct for it when I speak, but when I am confronted with the additional pressure and emotional turmoil involved in speaking to someone I think is cute, things don't come out so smoothly.<br /><br />At all.<br /><br />Here are the ground rules: </p><ol><li>I swear to you I am not doing this on purpose or disrespectfully. This website is about things I say in earnest to people I like and who I want to like me. Sometimes it just doesn't work out that way.</li><li>I'm not making any of this stuff up. Truth is more awkward than fiction.</li></ol><p><br />In addition to the best of the awkward things I say on a weekly basis to girls, I'll be blogging old classics (I've got some winners from high school and college that are pretty enjoyable), and if I get really motivated, I have a feature-length girl-related Awkward Adventure just begging to be serialized. Expect great things.<br /><br />Anyway, whether you're laughing at or with me, or you're commisserating with the poor, innocent girls I try to talk to, I hope you enjoy the blog.</p>Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1159983740961756702006-10-04T12:34:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.620-05:00"Click"Two weeks ago, I'm at a club in the bottom with some friends. One of whom, who is single, and I decide to go talk to two girls who are dancing by themselves.<br /><br />Now, you've got to understand something here. In this blog, when I say things like that we "decide to go talk to two girls who are dancing by themselves," I feel like the image that is created is one of confident urban professional men self-assuredly deciding that, gee, those girls look like urbane, fasionable, interesting girls who will be receptive to our finely honed pick-up techniques.<br /><br />Nope.<br /><br />What actually happened was that we noticed these girls that look interesting and one of us (doesn't matter which) suggested talking to them. To which the other responded: no way dude. You're crazy.<br /><br />"No, I'm serious, lets do it."<br /><br />"What? Are you insane? What will we say?"<br /><br />"Oh god, don't think about it. Don't plan, we'll screw it up. Lets just go over there."<br /><br />So now that I've shattered that illusion, let us fast forward several minutes. Somehow we've had a relatively good and interesting conversation with these girls. Well, I have. The girl I'm talking to is very cute and I'm deciding that she's very likeable also. My friend isn't doing so well - his girl is a bit too tipsy for civilized discourse.<br /><br />So, eventually the girl I'm talking to says listen, I'll give you my phone number, you'll call me, and we'll go out sometime. Which, you know, is what cute, interesting girls say to me: never. My attention is now divided several ways: looking at the girl, operating my voice, remembering to breathe in and out and to tell my heart to beat, and so I initially say, I have a pen. Write your number down.<br /><br />She says, what? Don't you have a cell phone? I'm sure she's thinking that I'm some kind of barbarian. Oh, right. I do have that. But there's the problem.<br /><br />The next few steps are the crucial ones: I open my phone, I put it in "new number" mode, put in her number, let her make sure it's right, say "thanks," say "okay I have to go now," and close my phone.<br /><br />"Click" goes my phone as I close it.<br /><br />That phone-closing noise is the sound of crushed dreams and destroyed happiness. As you may notice if you reread that sequence of events, at no time did I actually save her number. It's gone. <br /><br />She has moved to dance somewhere else more crowded by the time I realize this, and I make an executive decision not to go back up to her and bug her about it, because, seriously, that would be well across the awkward line, wouldn't it?Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35388223.post-1159800811227993952006-10-02T09:02:00.000-05:002006-11-15T14:01:53.553-05:00"I like talking about emotions"It's Saturday night. I'm on the patio of a sports bar with lots of people from a sports league I play in, including the devastatingly cute girl on one of the teams we played against that day.<br /><br />By the point of the evening, I already have her phone number (suspend your disbelief, I guess), but for some reason alarms aren't going off in my mind to get out, run, you can only make things worse.<br /><br />So I start talking to her again a bit later as we pay our tabs. She kind of looks embarrassed, and says uh, listen, Justin, the thing is, I gave you my number, but really, I have this ex-boyfriend of 7 months who I just broke up with and who I am kind of maybe trying to get back together with, so, you know, did you give me your number? No? Well maybe you can call me, and I'll call you if things don't really work out with that guy. Is that okay? Is that awkward?<br /><br />So I'm thinking: right. There's the other shoe dropping, as it seems to always. Which is cool - I never expected this girl to actually want to go out with me. Frankly, I was just super proud of myself for seeing a heart-stoppingly cute girl and not missing the opportunity to ask for her number.<br /><br />So I say no, that's not awkward. It's cool. I understand. It happens. No big deal. And she said good, you know, it's kind of an emotional thing. So by the point I'm slightly tipsy, looking into her eyes is pretty much taking all of my attention, and I hear myself, as if from a distance, saying:<br /><br />"Actually I like talking about emotions." I take her hand. It's limp and cold and probably wondering what the hell is happening. "It's a thing I enjoy."<br /><br />"..."<br /><br />I'm unstoppable. That's the first entry in the blog, but that's not the first awkward thing I ever said to a girl. Oh, no. Expect regular updates to this blog - if I haven't said an awkward thing to a girl lately (because, I guess, I haven't opened my mouth) then I'll be uploading some old classics, like "I need more of you in my lifestyle" and the ever-popular "They have beds." Check back soon.Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18391035727434921030noreply@blogger.com0