Punch, kicker, no goal
Boy, I’m just full of stories, from my alcohol capers with my roommate to dating purses. I’d like to think that my life is interesting enough to write about each week, but the truth is, my life is just funny in a very sad way that enables me to write about it. And I share so much of it because I know we’ve all been there, and we all share in the same kind of love and humility, as reluctant as we are to admit it sometimes. I’ll be the one to admit that I’m just as insecure, neurotic and scared as anyone else here. That said, let’s talk about dating, relationships, college romances, that whole ball of nasty wax. Man, talk about feeling insecure, neurotic and scared. That’s three forms of anxiety all packaged into a 5-foot firecracker. It’s no wonder I’m such a failure with the whole dating game.
Like any game, there’s always an object. There’s this guy I took an interest in — the object of the game, if you will. Let’s just call him The Object. His band was having a show one night, and of course, as luck would have it, I was already committed to a previous engagement. So I told him that I would try to make it but no promises. You know, trying to play that non-desperate card.
I made it in time. In fact, I was even early. I guess I didn’t have to run those red lights and those stop signs after all. I sat and enjoyed the show and afterwards had to leave because my left contact was bothering me. But wouldn’t you know, he spotted me leaving, and I had to talk to him with one eye open and one eye shut. As I hastened to leave, he reached out with one arm, attempting to give me a hug before I left, like any nice guy would do. And what did I do?
I punched him.
That’s right. I punched him. I gave him one of those “Way to go, slugger” punches that a little league coach gives his team of eight year-olds. “Good show,” I added, not that it made any difference anyway after a stupid gesture like that. An act of nervousness, I guess. I don’t know. I’m an idiot. Even my fourteen year-old brother, who knows little beyond lacrosse and middle school romances, shook his head and walked away laughing when I told him. When he was through laughing at me, he came back and suggested that I punch the guy in the face next time, because after all, if I’m going to punch a guy, I might as well make it worth my while.
As you can see a bad sense of humor runs in the family.
I felt like I was in middle school all over again, where the only way to show you liked someone was by being downright mean and pretending you didn’t like them. But I’m thinking I have to go back even further than middle school. I might have to resort to grade school ways and pass a note in class that says, “I like you. Do you like me? Yes or No. Circle one.” Don’t you wish we could all do that sometimes? Just cut the crap and shoot some straight dice? If only dating, relationships, love and life were as simple as one question and only two options for an answer.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse with the punch line, it gets much worse. You see, the kicker for this game really sucks. It just so happens that The Object is a freshman. Yes, I know. That makes me a cradle robber. But hey, I know we’re all guilty of it, either in thought or action. Every upperclassman has looked twice at a freshman at some point.
I like to think of myself as a person who prefers generationally differential relationships, but no matter how I try to soften the blow or fluff the truth, I’m still that senior who’s got the hots for a freshman. My how the tables have turned. I’ve been known to make fun of those who aren’t freshmen but like to date freshmen. Sadly, however, I never actually got around to robbing the cradle. I was still just contemplating it from the other side of the street. I never get any further than that, given the fact that my attention span is about as short as I am, and any interest I have in a guy lasts anywhere from seven to 10 business days. No wonder meaningful college relationships are few and far between. Well, maybe it’s just me. Relationship ADD.
