There's More Than One Way To Make Your Penis Shrink Up Like A Scared Turtle
One of the ways, as any Seinfeld watcher knows, is to go swimming. The second is to try to talk to a girl that you've never met before.
The last time I tried it, I was sitting in a Schlotzky's, eating a turkey sandwich and reading The Collected Pages of Bertrand Russell, and writing notes in a small notebook. At one point, I looked out the window, and saw an attractive girl walk by. She caught my glance, and kept walking. A minute later, she walked in, ordered a sandwich, and sat down at the table just in front of and to the left of me.
I looked up every now and then. I caught her looking at me. Once. Twice. Sweet. I should talk to her.
Her sandwich pager goes off. She picks up her sandwich. She sits back down. I contemplate talking to her. I read. I take some notes. I finish my sandwich. I start getting up, imagining my opening lines, our conversations. My penis retreats inside of me, and my balls shrivel to the pre-pubescent proportions. My notes from the occasion:
I can't think of anything else but fear of the unknown that would stop me from introducing myself. It's just that there's no reason to do it other than the blatantly obvious fact that I'm interested in having sex with her1 that I can hide behind. I mean, it's ever-so-much easier to meet women through a friend, or at work, or at school, or at some other kind of function than it is to just do it in the middle of a sandwich place on Congress avenue.
It's stupid really. I've asked girls out and they've said no before. Really, what's the worst that could happen? She laughs at you and says no, and you walk away to spend another night alone2. Bad? Yes, but not terrible.
Instead, I usually opt for the old, "Make-yourself-the-biggest-fish-in-whatever-pond you're-in-and-pick-up-all-the-well-oiled-teenage-guppies-that-leave-themselves-available-with-the-least-amount-of-effort" routine, which is much less nerve-wracking, and the results are the same as if I had actually put myself out there and spoken to a girl who made herself less available. Sure, there's not the satisfaction that exists after landing a thirty-pound salmon, but salmon tend to have a "holier-than-thou" attitude and the expectation that you'll buy them stuff that guppies usually don't.
That's OK for the short-term, but in the long run, what you want is the salmon. A salmon you can marry and have kids with. My plan for landing the big one is somewhat shaky at the moment. It depends on at least one of two factors:
The last time I tried it, I was sitting in a Schlotzky's, eating a turkey sandwich and reading The Collected Pages of Bertrand Russell, and writing notes in a small notebook. At one point, I looked out the window, and saw an attractive girl walk by. She caught my glance, and kept walking. A minute later, she walked in, ordered a sandwich, and sat down at the table just in front of and to the left of me.
I looked up every now and then. I caught her looking at me. Once. Twice. Sweet. I should talk to her.
Her sandwich pager goes off. She picks up her sandwich. She sits back down. I contemplate talking to her. I read. I take some notes. I finish my sandwich. I start getting up, imagining my opening lines, our conversations. My penis retreats inside of me, and my balls shrivel to the pre-pubescent proportions. My notes from the occasion:
4/19/04
Do Christians have to believe in hell to be considered a Christian? Russell says no, but that's not what I've been led to believe.
How funny would it be to publicly call Muslims "Mohammedans"?
Right now I'm eating lunch at Schlotzky's on Congress. This beautiful girl sat down across from me, and I wanted to talk to her, but I didn't. What a pussy.
"Resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also."
I can't think of anything else but fear of the unknown that would stop me from introducing myself. It's just that there's no reason to do it other than the blatantly obvious fact that I'm interested in having sex with her1 that I can hide behind. I mean, it's ever-so-much easier to meet women through a friend, or at work, or at school, or at some other kind of function than it is to just do it in the middle of a sandwich place on Congress avenue.
It's stupid really. I've asked girls out and they've said no before. Really, what's the worst that could happen? She laughs at you and says no, and you walk away to spend another night alone2. Bad? Yes, but not terrible.
Instead, I usually opt for the old, "Make-yourself-the-biggest-fish-in-whatever-pond you're-in-and-pick-up-all-the-well-oiled-teenage-guppies-that-leave-themselves-available-with-the-least-amount-of-effort" routine, which is much less nerve-wracking, and the results are the same as if I had actually put myself out there and spoken to a girl who made herself less available. Sure, there's not the satisfaction that exists after landing a thirty-pound salmon, but salmon tend to have a "holier-than-thou" attitude and the expectation that you'll buy them stuff that guppies usually don't.
That's OK for the short-term, but in the long run, what you want is the salmon. A salmon you can marry and have kids with. My plan for landing the big one is somewhat shaky at the moment. It depends on at least one of two factors:
- Me maturing to the point where I can speak to a woman without getting so nervous that I vomit in my mouth and have to swallow it before she notices.
- A phenomenon in which enough attractive intelligent women who can cook somehow post online profiles of themselves, seeing as how communicating with women online is like playing a video game--I can convince myself that it isn't reality, and I can say pretty much whatever I want.
I guess if that doesn't work out, I'll stick with the guppy plan.
1Or "dating" her, if you're more old-fashioned.
2Technically, I suppose that's not true. I guess she could stab me in the throat and poke out my eyes. That would be way worse.
posted by Chris Cusack at 5:05 PM
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