Scraps for My Scrapbook

I am the emo Tucker Max. If you are unaware of who Tucker Max is or what emo refers to, I will do a quick recap. Tucker Max is a douchebag that thrives on destroying the dignity of young women and then writing about it. Tucker Max has been doing this for years, writing about it for years and has now reached a level of fame that would rival adorable kitten videos on youtube. Yet, somehow girls still sleep with him, knowing that they will probably be treated like a hooker of varying degrees (solely based on their attractiveness). This is probably the Girls Gone Wild syndrome.

Emo might be the antithesis of Tucker Max. An emo could widely be considered depressed, pathetic, romantic and of course, emotional (to an excessive point). I think at least two of these attributes should be real winners in the minds of girls. An emo tends to excessively think about his or her level of sadness based solely on his or her relationship status. (Questions that might arise during this thinking session probably include: Does she like me? Do I care too much? What do I have to do to get her to like me? Does she like me? Was she hooking up with someone who is not me last night? Does she like me?)
So if you pull these two distinct definitions together, you get someone who is obsessed with girls, forms awkward, weird relationships with them, is overwhelmingly unsuccessful at said relationships and then writes about them.
I am the emo Tucker Max.
In my 25 years of existence, and more accurately, my 13 years of opposite sex awareness, I have had xx girls. (Had = been obsessed with, dated, hooked up with, stalked, etc. You know, the usual). This clarification is important, because if I had just said that I had xx girls, you would think I was at least halfway to Tucker Max douchebagdom. Out of these xx girls, I have seriously dated (small number) and slept with only (smaller number). This is an alarmingly low ratio. I have now written this down and I am alarmed.
Naturally, I had interest in almost all of these girls but for some reason things never worked out. I’d like to blame the girls in this scenario, but it has recently come to my attention that any girl who offers me any sort of attention will probably cast some sort of spell on me and I will be interested in them. Girls are witches, a proven fact from American history (especially in Salem, MA).
This is not a whoa-is-me story (I have a livejournal account for that). This is a story to document the weird minutia of my love life. The girls’ names have been changed (to numbers) and I have selected a few of the more awkward girls. I do not want you to feel bad for me (maybe just a little), I want you to rejoice at the ridiculousness of these girls and the signs they give off and never, ever mean. You will only read about a few of them, but then go back and remember this has happened to me xx times in, ostensibly, 8 years of active dating life, I am the emo Tucker Max after all.

Girl # 39

39 and I went to college together. It was one of those friends of friends type things, but she was always overwhelmingly nice and she was as cute as a baby deer (are those called fawns? I feel like fawns is a cuter term. So let’s say fawns). She was as cute as a fawn. Big brown doe eyes, long brown hair and really, a fantastic smile that would often make me seize up in terror, because I’m not used to such lovely smiles specifically smiling at me.
In college, our contact was kept to a fair minimum, as we didn’t really have an excuse to talk or hang out unless a bunch of other people were around. I did not yet have the ability to strike up conversations with attractive girls I didn’t know well (this is still 84% true.) In the first few years, I would always joke with her friends, who were also my friends, about how cute she was, we even gave her a nickname. Mousey. Mousey Girl #39. (Her actual name made the nickname sound much better. Trust me). The mousey was a compliment and directly referred to her looks and her shy, quiet personality. I wonder if she knows about this name, I think I hope that she does, she might find it cute and perhaps I would still have a chance at some point in life. Yes, this is how my brain operates.
Fast forward 2 years. We become better friends in our senior year of college, so much so that, I think I may have a legitimate shot with her and make a choice between her and the girl [SPOILER ALERT] that turns out to be #36. Fast forward another 2 years. #36 and I have long burned out, and #37 and I are in the middle of 1 of our many break ups. I realize that #39 is living less than 2 hours from me and decide to give her a quick message on the ole Facebook. To my surprise she responds, although rather slowly. (SIDEBAR: In this day of instant communication, I am absolutely a product of AIM. If people don’t text me, call me, email me or Facebook message me back within a few hours of my original contact, I’m apt to have a panic attack.) We exchange emails for awhile, just catching up/getting to know each other, since we probably had less than 2 hours of actual conversation in our 4 years of college together.
Eventually, it was decided that it would be acceptable to hang out at some point and one weekend in the late fall of 2008 I made the almost 2 hour journey to go visit her. Her and the Charlotte Bobcats, that should be noted, I suppose. Originally, I didn’t want to come off as desperate or weird driving that far just to see her, and it just so happened that I was a pseudo season ticket holder for the Charlotte Bobcats (they are a professional NBA team, if you were unaware. Really, go look it up.) So, after a Bobcats loss, I ventured over to her apartment to pick her up.
When she came out, she was clearly dressed like this wasn’t a date. Although, she was still incredibly cute. She was wearing those workout pants that are tight like leggings, but girls still manage somehow to work out in, a baggy sweatshirt and a sports bra whose strap was semi-visible. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun (I like to call this sexy messy, because it IS and because it’s a fun term) and I’m sure she was not wearing makeup. These things did not matter, she was beautiful and she was going out to dinner with me. That is all I need to fall in love.
We tried to pick a restaurant close to her apartment, but it was almost 10 PM and it was a Sunday, so we settled on this pizza place that turned out to be one of those, Italian/$20 pizza places that somehow taste different (and thus cost more) than “generic Italian first name’s Pizza” down the street. They looked at us like we were crazy, I was in jeans, slip on shoes and a hoodie promoting my favorite band of 2008, Brand New. She had just finished working out. We were not welcome, but they seated us anyway.
The dinner conversation was unbelievably pleasant. I had never assumed or believed #39 to be deep or be interested in the same sort of stuff I was, but we had now been out of college for a full year and we were in the same position in life and had gone through the same things. We both hated our jobs, lived in separate cities where we knew almost no one and longed to live in a city that actually had things to do. We bonded and I’m prone to latch on to any connection with any human I can stand, thus I was endlessly happy. We ended up splitting the bill, as I knew this was not a date, and did not want to overstep any opposite sex friend boundaries. I drove her back to her house, we sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, wrapping the night up and ended with her reaching across the center arm rest of my Prius and giving me a hug. I was hooked (I’m an easy catch).
I had such a great time, that I decided that this needed to happen again, immediately. We made plans to meet up again the next weekend, I would again make the two hour drive and this time I wouldn’t have to sit through a horrific Bobcats game. I didn’t even need directions to get to her apartment, I already had it memorized and I was very impressed with myself at this accomplishment. If memorizing streets and left hand turns isn’t love, I’m not sure what is.
We had a plan for this particular November day and it started at a museum. I’m not sure the name of museum but it was pretty small, we walked through it in less than an hour and the only notable piece I remember was AAA-level Andy Warhol painting, you know not quite the Campbell Soup painting, but hey at least it’s Andy Warhol. Museums only serve to magnify any portion of your social life, they just seem more important and make whatever you are doing that much more significant. If we had gone to a movie, we would have had to sit through Jennifer Lopez failed attempt at a return to romantic comedy and I would’ve been able to predict every joke in the movie. I can’t predict art, I can’t even begin to know the meaning behind these pieces. So for two people, on a pseudo date to go to an art museum together on a beautiful day, it kind of seems perfect and makes the date seem more real. (Right? I might be reading into things that aren’t really there again. Which is why I get into situations like the one about to happen.)
After the museum we walked around the artsy section of uptown Charlotte - going into record stores, old antique stores, and really just enjoying each others companies. If this were a movie, it would be a pure romance and Nicolas Sparks would’ve written it and Adam Brody would be playing me on screen. I would never actually see this movie in theaters though, I’d need the privacy of my own room, as not to let anyone see me weep openly. The sun soon set and it became too cold to really stay outside, so we once again grabbed dinner and picked an Asian place relatively close to her apartment. Once again, we picked a place that did not serve food for less than $14 a plate. We had a lovely time, I offered to pay and she declined, cordially, and we both ended up splitting it, going back to her place and watching a movie - Vanilla Sky.
At this point in time she had just adopted a 3 legged dog from the pound and although he was sweet and weirdly adorable, he plopped himself down on the couch right in between us. How can you make a move over a dog? The dog didn’t move the entire length of the movie and although we both really enjoyed it and felt a connection to it and (hopefully) to each other, nothing happened. I left that night with a pretty deep hug at the door and was on my way back home again, high on the activities of the night and confused as to what was actually happening. This is the theme of my life: Being overly happy about a situation I am completely unaware of.
I decided, as I often do after days of over analysis that I needed to be sure of what the situation was, I cannot possibly make a move on a girl unless I know for a fact that she wants me to, or unless I feel some outrageous spontaneous outburst of human connection, but I’m fairly certain that only happens in Charlie Kauffman movies. My company Christmas party was right around the corner and this was the perfect opportunity to ask her out. I called her up, chatted for a few minutes and then using at least 95% of my courage, asked her if she wanted to be my date to my company’s party. She said yes, unflinchingly. This was going to happen, she agreed to an actual date and she was going to drive 2 hours each way just to come to my party. Not to mention the fact that I would have a super hot girl to take with me to a party consisting of my fellow employees (who, of course, later questioned me on how I was able to bring such an attractive girl. I considered this a success.)
In the days leading up to the party, she asked me what she should wear and I was told that it was dressy casual, that I was wearing a sweater/tie combination and jeans. #39 decided she could get away with a nice top and jeans and it was settled. She arrived at my place a little bit before the party, deciding against bringing the 3 legged dog (though I told her she could bring him, so she wouldn’t have to rush back home to walk him, you know in case ..uh...she wanted to stay). This was disappointing as I knew that she wouldn’t be staying the night. When we got to the party, we were probably the most under dressed people there, I had been misinformed about this and as a result I ended up looking like a hobo compared to my coworkers, who apparently thought they were Justin Timberlake at the Grammys. She never said it, but I think #39 was thoroughly embarrassed. Not a good way to start a date.
However, the rest of the night at the party went well, I made great conversation, made everybody laugh and we had great (free) food. She was also partaking in the open bar, and I was sure that this was a not a bad thing. Then it came. An hour and a half into the party, she decided she needed to leave to get back to her dog. This made sense, she had already been gone 4 hours and had another 2 before she could even get home, but it was still incredibly disappointing. We left suddenly, went back to my place, where I walked her to her car, gave another hug and that was that.
For the next two weeks, she didn’t return my phone calls or texts or emails. I explained this very situation to anyone who knew both of us and tried to determine what I did wrong, because I assuredly did something wrong. I asked one of her good friends what she thought, and after some Mary Kate Olsen level sleuthing, she determined that she just didn’t like me in that way. This was OK, I thought, I can make her like me. Christmas was around the corner and I had the perfect gift. During the museum trip, she had opened up to me about her aspirations to be an interior restoration designer. Essentially, taking old homes and restoring them to their classic states, internally. I did some research and found a huge coffee table book on this very subject. I purchased it and tried to make plans with her before Christmas, so I could give it to her.
Unfortunately, she never really got back to me. So, after a Charlotte Bobcats game, my old college roommate and I drove down to her place and pulled off a secret operation, dropping off the book (all wrapped up, and with a cute note) on her doorstep. I was incredibly proud of myself for fighting off vengeance and giving her a gift about something she had mentioned in passing, but that was clearly something important to her. Aren’t these the type of things that girls go nuts for? Days later, I got a simple text message thanking me for the gift and that was that. No call, no attempt to see me again, apparently my last grasp effort wasn’t strong enough and a girl who filled my life with joy for a month just didn’t feel the same.
It was around this time that I started making music again and thus girl #39 has two songs written about her and one of which was even released on our first CD. Almost a year later, I was in Charlotte on business and staying for a few days and asked if she wanted to grab food. We talked as if nothing had ever happened and that we were just old college friends, even though the crux of our friendship had been developed post college in a one month span in the fall of 2008. We stay in touch randomly, she moved to a city with friends and people and I did the same. When she moved to this city, she came and saw my band play on tour and bought a CD. All of our mutual friends asked me to sign their CDs and I obliged and signed hers “thanks for coming, you have effected some of these songs more than you’ll ever know.” Girl #39, another scrap for my scrapbook.