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I’ve been on the dating scene for about 7 months now. When I first got back in the game, I thought I knew everything because I still had that looming “girlfriend confidence” which plagues dudes in relationships. You know what I mean- that feeling you have when you’re in a relationship and thank a) that every girl wants you, and b) that you could definitely have them if you were single because it’s so easy to talk them. Well, the only reason those girls are so easy to talk to because they know you’re safe because you have a girlfriend and the only reason you have this said confidence is that in the back of your head you know you have someone to go home to at the end of the night. It’s your girlfriend, moron
Well, that’s exactly how I felt when I was newly single. I thought that I had it all figured out and that I’d be crushing now that I was released back into the wild. Well, I’m not a smart man and I was dead fucking wrong and that thought quickly dissipated once I realized that I knew nothing about adult dating.
While I have had some success, albeit minimal, I’ve also had more than my fair share of failures. I’ve been ghosted, received fake numbers, taken jokes too far and offended someone etc. You name the mistake and I’ve probably made it. Most of my strikeouts have stemmed from a mix of overconfidence and sheer idiocy. Until recently that is.
To set the stage, I met this girl who we’ll call Tracy at a bar a few weeks ago. She’s was my friend’s cousin who most of my friends knew, except for me because I’m still kind of the new guy. She seemed to be somewhat interested in me, so naturally, I decided to focus all of my energy on spitting my best C+ game on her even though she was quick to let me know that she wasn’t just going to go home with me from a bar. She gave me her number and told me to text her tomorrow when I wasn’t, in her words “shitfaced” if I was actually interested. Low and behold, she texted me first the next morning, which is probably because I wake up at noon on weekends.
We then proceeded to do the on and off text dance over the coming weeks, which basically went nowhere until this past Sunday when she invited me over to casually drink (her words) and watch the Oscars. Somewhat of a risky move, by all accounts, seeing as this would be the first time I would be seeing her since I drunkenly convinced her to give me her number a few weeks ago. But I said fuck it and rolled the dice, plus I had spent way too much money on Friday and Saturday and didn’t want to rack up another bar tab and risk having to eat Chewy bars that I stole from my roommates for dinner the rest of the week.
I went over to Tracy’s apartment and we had a great time. The conversation never went stale, my mediocre jokes were killing, and I got to hang out with her dope ass Mastiff for a few hours. There was a problem though: from the first 5 minutes I was there it became apparent that her roommate had no intention of leaving the living room that we were all in anytime soon, so my only chance to make some form of move would be when I inevitably said goodbye later in the night. I knew from the jump that I wasn’t staying over since it was Sunday night and we both had work in the morning. I may be an idiot, but I understand social context.
So when the time came for me to leave I figured I would pull the tried and true kiss-after-the-hug move that’s been most guy’s go-to since high school. I quickly played it out in my head; the door opens, we hug, then as I pull away I’d go for it and hope for reciprocation.
But did I do it? My friends, I wouldn’t be writing this column right now if I did.
In the words of the esteemed Billy Madison, “YOU BLEW IT!!!”
On the way home and throughout the next day I made excuse after excuse to myself as to why I didn’t make the move. I was saying things like “It would have been too forward,” “She wasn’t putting out those vibes,” and “I wasn’t drunk enough” you know, the usual stuff. When in reality, I was just too chickenshit to take a chance. I momentarily froze because I had talked myself into thinking this girl didn’t want me to make a move. I had told myself that she wasn’t putting out the signals that she was into me. Hey, dumbass, she invited you over to her apartment, how much more of a sign do you need?
Then I got to thinking, why was I actually so hesitant? What’s the worst that could have happened if I went for it and actually did get shot down? At the very worst I’d get roasted by my buddies when I told them the next day, and if I’m ever too soft for that just put me down because I don’t deserve this world.
What I’m saying is that there is no place for a fear of rejection for anyone who’s out there navigating the jungle that is single life. Obviously, you don’t want to be the guy who’s too forward because that’s just creepy, but if you play it too close to the vest and pay too much attention to that little voice in your head telling you to hold back then you’ll let it succumb you and end up going home alone, to eat taco bell, for the third time that weekend.
The term “Shooter’s Shoot” is played out as fuck, I know that, but there’s still some truth to it. While I don’t think you necessarily have to be a “shooter” to go after what you want because that implies that you have to be an overly-outgoing chachbag at all times. I do think that you shouldn’t let any inner voice or frivolous self-doubt prevent you from going after what you want. Let’s be honest, what’s a worse feeling: Rejection or Regret? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d like to think I’m in the majority when I say it’s regret. The burn of rejection fades away after a few stiff drinks and a good night’s sleep. But regret? Buddy, that’s a slow burn that’s staying with you for a long, long time unless you get a chance at redemption that most never do
And on that note, I’ll be seeing Tracy girl this weekend at the Southside Irish parade. Please send positive vibes to your boy..