For those that don't know me, I am the self-proclaimed best wingman this side of the Mississip. If we're out and you see someone you find attractive and would like to chat, I can have you two introduced and chatting and laughing as if you were old friends before the night (or day, as it were) were over. Straight or gay doesn't matter. Unfortunately, I have no game. At all. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. None. When it comes to people I'm interested in, I become a 12-year-old girl with a frightening inability to think or act normally. It's silly, really. But that's me.
Case in point:
I'm at the trendy bar Eleven with my good friend J. J is a handsome man with "all-American" good looks (yuck, I know). Whenever we go out (usually with my other friend R), all the boys hit on both of them. This is the norm. This is what I'm used to. This is what I know.
So we're hanging-out having drinks and talking to people we know (or rather, he knows), and he mentions that he's ready to head-out and go to another nearby bar, but first, a trip to the bathroom. I love J, but he has a bladder the size of a peanut, and makes frequent trips to the bathroom. Mine is approximately the size of a brazil nut, so while I also make frequent bathroom visits, it's not as much as my friend J.
Well J goes to the bathroom and I'm just standing with my drink, waiting for him to return, when a good-looking man (and "good-looking" doesn't even begin to describe him - about 6'2", dark eyes, great smile, good build - at least what I could tell . . . "striking" is a much better word) comes up and starts talking to me. Unfortunately, this was the exchange:
Hottie: "Hey - so i was trying to figure-out - what's your ethnicity?" (different opening line, so kudos)
Me: "Filipino. What about you?"
Hottie: "German and Spanish" (which, if this man is any indication, blend excellently)
Me: "Nice." (yes, I said "Nice")
Hottie: "What's your name?"
Me: "AJ. What's yours?"
So at this point, I'm just playing pee-wee tennis. Just lob the ball back. Just lob the ball back. Nothing can go wrong if I keep hitting it, right? Well you’ve obviously never met me.
Hottie: "Anthony"
Me: "Anfernee?" (no - I don't know why that is what I heard. I don't know why my mind went to "Anfernee" instead of the much more common "Anthony")
Hottie: "No, Anthony"
Me: "Anfernee?" (as if saying it again would make it the right name)
Hottie: "Anthony"
Me: "Like the basketball player?" Okay. Not only am I making a sports reference at a gay bar, which most gays just won't get, but it's a 10-year old sports reference. Could I have been more gay-vague? (you can tell the plane's starting to take a dive at this point)
Hottie: "AN-THO-NY"
Me: "Oh. Anthony. Nice to meet you. Sorry."
Hottie: Turning to his friends that are sitting near me, "These are . . ."
At this point J returns from the bathroom. Understanding my own current ship-being-tossed-by-the-waves feeling, I latch onto J like an anchor and proceed to interrupt Anthony.
Me: "J - this is Anthony. Anthony, J." I was hoping to right the plane with an introduction of a 3rd stabilizing character, my friend.
Me: "So, J - are you ready to go?" I couldn't believe these words were coming out of my mouth, but I couldn't stop them. The plane is now picking-up speed in it's nose-dive.
J: Noticing the hotness of Anthony "Well - we can stay longer if you want."
Me: "No - I'm good. It's your night. Whatever you want to do." Really? Am I still talking? All the passengers on this plane are screwed. They're dead.
J: Who, at this point, thinks I'm not interested in Anthony, "Okay. We can go if you want"
Me: "Okay." Still not believing I'm saying. And please notice that Hottie hasn't said anything since his rebuffed attempt at introducing me to his friends.
Me: Reaching down and grabbing his hand - "Nice to meet you" shaking his hand. Yes. shaking his hand. I then turn around and grab my coat to leave.
Apparently nothing says "I'm interested in you" more than a hearty handshake.
I have no game.
I’m an idiot.
