WTF Just Happened?

Something's getting in the way.
Something's just about to break.
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane.
As I burn another page,
As I look the other way.

In the old days it was boots, sandals, sneakers.  One pair of shoes per purpose.  I suppose it was really four of them, if you count the ski boots.  The only pants I ever liked were jeans.  Sometime between then and now everything changed.  Now I'm standing in some kind of fancy pants made of a material I don't recognize trying to pick out a pair of shoes out of a large group, all one which serve a single purpose:  looking good.  None of them are for hiking, or ninja fights, or saving the world.  At best I can use what I (probably inccorectly) think of as fake cowboy boots on the bike.  None of my new shoes appear to match my pants.  I could be wrong, and you know, maybe one of them technically matches, in the same way that quicksort and mergesort technically have the same runtime, but effectively...I don't care.  And now I have to go buy another pair of shoes.

I'm going to drop back down to my standard jeans and button down shirt.  Why was I stepping it up?  I made a move on a girl who is clearly out of my league.  We might grab some drinks tonight, which means I was going to dress to impress, and then go hang out at PAX where I would likely stand out in a sea of balding-with-long-hair shorts-and-t-shirt-wearing awkward-but-friendly nerds, much the same way a...I'll come up with something later.

Oh yeah, so this girl.  Fuck, dude.  I don't know what happened.  I was salsa dancing, because my two female friends said they were going.  I was hoping to also run into these two girls I met like three weeks ago.  I never asked for their numbers, because party rules say you don't ask for their number the first night you meet them when salsa dancing.  I never ran into them because a bunch of shit happened and I couldn't make it out to the club.  When I finally did, they were gone.

Instead, as I make my first pass around the dance floor I spot a random girl standing alone and ask her to dance.  She seemed beginner-ish, and she was attractive, so I did the thing where I spend more effort talking and less effort dancing.  Found out she'd been in india for like 7 months or something, and then lots of small talk.  The songs switched, she said I was a great lead.  I chatted her up a bit and went to search for my friends, who were absent because the girls decided they had an emergent need to eat some tacos right then.

Fast forward a bit.  My friend, who I will call Pink Shirt Girl, was wearing a tight white shirt and an orange skirt and also she is hot.  Later, while yelling at me, she would insist her skirt was red, which is just bullocks.  Anyway, you weren't there, so you'll obviously have to take my word for it, but really, she kind of looked like a hooters girl.  Of course now that I look at that link I realize that hooters girls don't wear long sleeved shirts...what can I say?  Its been a while since I've been to hooters.

Anyway.  So...I told her she looked like a hooters girl, thinking it would be a compliment.  That didn't go over well.  What can I say?  I was locked in the friend zone anyway.

Needless to say, I later found myself standing alone, watching this random dude creep on the girl I danced with at the beginning of the night, and her friend.  Then I got an opening and asked her to dance.  She seemed excited to see me.  It was a bachatta this time.  I'm not a great bachatta dancer, but I can fake my way through it.

Then the song was over.  I asked if she was planning to go out dancing some more, hoping I could run into her another night and get her number.  She said something about flying places so I just asked her out right then.  There was no fear, no hesitation.  It was more like a reflex.  And this is the second time that has worked.  That rule about not asking salsa girls for their number the first time you meet them...I made that for a reason, but I'm starting to think that was flawed.

The reason that rule exists is because of the advice I've received from many female friends who dance, who say they hate being asked out the first night.  I like to avoid being a total asshole as much as the next guy, so I took heed and filed that shit away.  You know whats fucked up about that?  I'll tell you whats fucked up.  All the girls that gave me that advice were girls that didn't want to fuck me.  Listening to that advice is like going up to a trauma nurse and asking what kind of motorcycle you should buy:  you're not going to get a helpful answer.

All my life I've been swallowing advice that sounded great and right a moral but which is turning out to be bullshit.  All that stuff about how looks shouldn't be important, or nice guys don't finish last, and girls hate being hit on, and its better to have a good personality than flash, and ad nauseum.  Sometimes I don't even realize how much one of these fake accolades is holding me back until I accidentally break one of these rules.  So, long story short, asking salsa girls out as soon as I meet them is back on the table.

People talk a lot.  They'll tell you all kinds of useless opinions but what matters is this:  some people will show up; some won't.  Some girls want to fuck you on a regular basis, and some don't.  All the words in between are just noise.


One of my friends from work left in the middle of a party last night to pick up "some visitors" from the aiport.  He came back with like his sister and his cousins who were all super hot.  I haven't been in a room with that many attractive girls since...well, it doesn't happen here.  They loved my story about the time I deliberately let my car roll down a hill with Madison screaming inside, but none them took my side about my Hooters comment.  The only one at the party who saw it my way was this girl visiting from France.  None of that matters.  What matters is that my party game is sorely lacking.  I am reallly bored.

P.S. PAX is really boring.  I thought I would automatically like it because I do play video games, but....zzzzzz