I had said my goodbyes to the pretty stranger in the LRT station and was on my way up the escalator when it hit me:
CRAP! SHE WAS HITTING ON ME!!
And I didn't even realize it. I missed a lay-up. Dropped the ball uncovered in the endzone. Fanned on the open net. Insert your sports metaphor here (*).
That didn't used to happen...at least not over the past few years. I don't have VH1 caliber game, but over the last few years I've done far better with women than you would think I should.
A lot of guys say you need to be tall, rich, good looking, and gregarious to be succesful with women. I am none of those things, and to be honest, I think it helps me.
Firstly, it screens out a lot of people I would be incompatible with anyways and makes it easier for me to get to know someone. When a person is rich and good-looking, it's easy to get "distracted by the pretty." It makes it harder to be yourself, either because you're nervous or because you want to impress them. It also makes it harder to pay attention to dealbreakers because well...They're rich and good-looking, damnit! I have to MAKE myself like him. Or at least make HIM like me.
Another thing I've noticed is that in general, the more people get to know me, the more they like me. I would much rather women have that experience than the alternative. Plus psychology tests have revealed that when someone is good-looking, we tend to assign them have postive traits that they don't necessarily possess. We assume they are smarter or braver or more competent than they might actually be...and there's nothing more disappointing that something that doesn't live up to our expectiations. A lot of times--through no fault of their own--those good-looking people have nowhere to go but down.
Suffice it to say, that is not an issue I deal with in the romantic arena.
With me, instead of disappointment, women often report a sense of discovery. "Wow, I wasn't sure about you until I saw the way you X, Y, or Z." I like hearing that. It appeals to my sense of fairness...I feel I've earned what they gave me.
It also means I can't and don't expect women to be throwing themselves at me. Quite frankly, I would really love for this to happen. Not forever. But just for, say, four months. I just want to know what it feels like.
Except that every once in a while--like this morning--a woman DOES throw herself at me. And because I'm not used to it, I don't recognize it.
And then I drop the ball. Or bobble the serve. Or miss the big elbow (**). Whatever.
Don't misunderstand me. The Pretty Stranger isn't the point of this story. I'm not necessarily looking for another relationship.
It's just embarassing when something I've always wanted to happen to me does, but I'm so busy believing it can never happen to me that I don't even notice it.
Oh well. I just need to manage the clock better...buckle down and give 110%...we've got a great bunch of guys here and we're focused on winning...it's all about playing a full three periods/four quarters/sixty minutes...
(*) Did you know the average man uses 10 000 words a day? 7 500 of them are sports-metaphor related. If you don't see it, you're just not keeping your eye on the ball.
(**) In honor of the upcoming OSCW show this Saturday at Hazeldean Community Hall, I've written a new article for my sporadically updated wrestling blog. It will be up later today...or possibly already, depending on when you read this.
Thursday, December 17 - PRIVATE FUNCTION, Evansburg
Monday, December 21 - The Comic Strip, Edmonton
Upcoming Wrestling Appearances
Saturday, December 12 - OSCW Above The Rest, Hazeldean Dome, Edmonton