F6F6F6

I shook my hands, ran them under water, and washed them, yet they are still sticky with climbing chalk. My lungs aren't too happy about breathing it, either. Then theres my sore fingers and my forearms which are still hot even though I went climbing hours ago.

Tonight was the first time I'd gone up a wall in over a year. Felt good to be doing it, even though I was just bouldering and I sucked. And even Luke got tired of my Thats What She Said jokes. And my fingers hurt so much. It was a good time though. The gym was ridiculously crowded, but I didn't mind so much because there was a lot (for Seattle) of girls there. Hot, toned, confident, climber girls. There are certain attractive personality traits that all climber girls seem to posses...which I don't feel like describing.

I got to the top of a few V1's and V0's. The ratings aren't so helpful at this gym. Some of the bouldering courses went way higher than I wanted to go without a rope. I'm going to try going maybe once a week until I get my strength back. I will probably just boulder for now; I've forgotten how to tie an S knot, and I've definitely forgotten all the answers to the questions they ask in a belay test, like which vocal commands to pretend I use--which one of us says "belay on?" The correct answer: "thats retarded." People who use the official climbing vocals, as well as people who think you should no longer put two spaces after the end of a sentence, can kiss my ass.

Then....later on.....I thought there was a practice thing at the dance studio across the street tonight. I was going to go tonight, but then I double checked the schedule so I won't look like an idiot, and sure enough, I had confused Sunday with Monday. In my mind, for as long as I can remember, I imagine weeks starting with monday, and both saturday and sunday are at the end. If you're curious, I also imagine months of the year in a big circle, going clockwise. December, January and February are on the bottom, and depending whether or not I remember that February is actually part of Winter, either february or march starts curving up, and then theres march and whatever else and blah blah blah I digress.

It turns out, mondays are reserved for some "group private lesson." What could that be? Red Shirt girl (I wrote about her previously, but then retracted those posts, so you probably haven't heard of her yet) said she was doing some kind of dance team. There is no dance team on the schedule. Could it be the

Side note: right now I am listening to the thundercats theme song. mmmmmm. thunder, thunder, Thunder, THUNDER CATS.

Where was I. Oh yes. Could this be the dance team thing she mentioned? I decided that I needed to go to 7-11, a destination that takes me right by the studio, wearing a single shot of cologne. Thunder, Thunder, Thunder THUNDER CATS. I used to be quite opposed to this kind of thing--in all the time I was pining after Madison, I only used knowledge of her schedule to purposely run into her once. I have since changed my opinion, especially since I'm not going to meet anyone sitting in my apartment playing Mini Ninjas, and 7-11 makes good hot dogs.

So yes. Red shirt girl, or someone who looks just like her from across 4th avenue, has dance practice on whatever days. I think I need to start drinking coffee at the not-a-Starbucks coffee shop across the street, and sip my Tall Vanilla Latte while reading a book at the outside part, right around when her dance class is over. Actually thats pretty lame. I dont know why...it sounded like a great idea when I was walking home from 7-11. Maybe I'll just do my own thing, and if I run into her again, get her number.

I met her last week....how long do I have before I'm in her friend zone? Does the timer last forever if we never really get to know each other? Those questions are directed at anyone who hasn't subjected me to unwanted, merciless lectures on why I should go after Jessica despite the fact that we lived far away, she had a boyfriend, and was always busy when I called. And pretended to go after her. And then wanted to be my wingman.

Anyway, Red Shirt girl and I have had two conversations: one that started when she commented on my dancing skills but was cut short because the dance teacher came over, and one about how awesome Philly is. Whatever happens, this better not end like my story with Krystal. I don't know what I'm going to do different. Well, definitely don't sign up for a 6 month performance class that is way above my skill level. Thats step number 1. Definitely talk and/or dance with her again. Step 2. Definitely ask her out, like soon. Definitely don't make any of the dumbass mistakes that I made with Krystal, Heather, Laura, Jessica, Kristen, Katie, Battlestar Julie, the other Laura, the other Katie, Ariana, Madison, Danielle's roomate, the three girls at Danielle's party, Andrea, Ketchup girl, that girl on the 7th floor, Jessica again, and the girl in the pizza shop. Crap and the one that liked my bike. If I can avoid...all of those...I'll be fine. I'm kind of worried one day a DeLorean will suddenly appear in front of me, and an older me will get out and just punch me in the face and scream "what is wrong with you?"

I have Epic Failed with more girls than I've dated. And I do mean Epic.

Maybe thats how the world works.

Maybe, when a ridiculously hot snowboarder girl walks up as you're hopping on your motorcycle and asks if you want to do this salsa thing with her, maybe the answer is always yes. Maybe I had the right idea when I randomly walked up to that girl I barely knew in high school and made a fool of myself asking her out--three times. Maybe the Rose Ninja wasn't a dumb idea. Maybe a 7 hours train ride isn't, in fact, pathetic--I mean I went farther than that for a powdered double black diamond--why not a climber with an penchant for adventure? Maybe I should just stop being a pussy about everything, jump first, and ask questions later. (Except at work--that computer is still a little bit broken). Maybe girls that don't want me can go die in a fire. Maybe good things don't come to you while you are at home watching South Park in your boxers. Maybe you have to fail a lot before you finally reach what you're after. Maybe you fall a lot, and get all banged up on the way down. Why do we fall, anyway? Maybe you dont need to sweat the details. Maybe I'll pregame before dance class! Maybe I'll fly to Vegas myself and learn Texas Hold'em instead of waiting for my friends to have a free spot in their schedules. Maybe we'll hit Vancouver and do a serious study on correlations between differences in drinking ages and friendliness of girls. Maybe we'll go skiing and meet hot snowboarders on the lift. Maybe I'm running out of things to put in a sentance starting with "maybe." Maybe not. Maybe thunder Thunder THUNDER THUNDER CATS!!!