Gyaaaahah!!!! Jeez, man, write something!!!
Okay. You didn’t want to do any work today anyway. But rather than fire directly into Part 4 of an ongoing story or take a shot at transcribing any pent up awkward things of which I have several, let’s do a long-overdue Q&A mailbag. The rules: questions, comments, insults, and search keywords that someone used to find the website will be in bold. The silken lyrics of forgotten love songs, which may or may not be awkward, will be in regular type.
It is not is surprise to see that quirky yet relatable blogs like Awkward Things I Say To Girls ran away with Funniest Blog and Most Addicting Blog…
The nice thing about Q&A blog posts is that I get to pick any Q I want, including ones that Alex Trebek would never allow. Especially ones that are not in the form of a question and talk about how awesome I am. Thanks to all of you who nominated and voted for me in the first Richmond Blog Awards. Your check and autographed picture should arrive in the mail shortly. In the meantime, I have begun to wear a name tag that says “Hello, I am the funniest, most addicting man in Richmond” whenever I go to a bar to hit on girls. It isn’t awkward at all.
Congratulations to all of the rest of the winners also. I’m proud to be a part of the diverse and maturing Richmond Blog scene.
If I’m in the friend zone, why does she flirt with me?
She flirts with you because you’re a fun person to flirt with and she likes the attention, and maybe because you’re misreading the situation and she wants to go out with you. Which brings me to something I’ve been meaning to post for a while. Those especially committed procrastinators who have any sort of maternal or paternal mentoring-type feelings stirring deep inside themselves, assuming they’re sure it isn’t morning sickness or indigestion, respectively, may want to click on over to the comments section of what has become one of the most popular posts on the site, pageview wise: Getting Out of the Friend Zone: The Easy Way.
Those of us who have commented there have become a close bunch, like an organized crime family who has also travelled cross-country in a van. But there are unanswered questions, such as “how” and “what if.” There are feelings oozing out of the confining rectilinearity of the “submit comment” box. For some reason, feelings seem to hit my readership right in its wheelhouse.
When’s the book version coming up?
When I get paid to write, you will get your book. In the meantime you get INAD chapters whenever I can anesthetize myself enough to perform the necessary autovivisection. For example, I wrote one of the more recent chapters after seeing The Notebook, which I don’t want to talk about for emotional reasons except to say, with a controlled expression and distant stare, that it reminded me of something. You also get some facts. Here they are:
- INAD is about 15,000 words so far in total, which I hear works out to be 60 pages.
- The entire story has five parts, of which I have completed three.
- I think there are 16 more chapters between the remaining two parts.
- Writing it out helps.
“Could you have another chance after you rejected a guy?”
Almost all of my high-pressure adolescent girl-related moments were accompanied by the vivid sensation of falling. “Will you go to the Eighth Grade Dance with me?” I asked the tall, quiet, and smart girl that I happened to have a huge crush on when I had just turned 14. I couldn’t support my body, though, so even though an early growth spurt had kept me lanky, I found myself looking almost up into her eyes from a half slouch against the wall of the cafeteria next to the little school-supply store where you could buy pencils and notebook paper during lunch.
“No.” By the tenth grade, girls had started to append an apology to the ends of their rejections, but I guess eighth graders hadn’t learned that yet. I didn’t even feel that bad about it though. I just picked myself up off the wall and went on with my lunch, running through my backup options.
But I didn’t need them after all. “Hey Justin,” said the girl in sixth period science class. “Some people are going together to the dance in like a group. I mean, you can come with me to that if you want. Do you want to?”
I don’t mind if I do, I thought, and wondered idly how awesome I was to have convinced her to un-reject me. I did all the date things, like giving her a corsage that matched her dress and dancing with her a few times. But after the stiffest dances I’ve ever danced with any girl it was undesirably clear, like a Filipino Monkey transmission into my brain, that she had no interest in me after all and that my inclusion in the group, while not unappreciated by others (who danced with me multiple times), had more to do with the immutable set theory of dance-date monogamy than with the girl actually, like, liking me.
That wasn’t the first time that kind of thing happened to me, and I’m sure lots of guys have similar experiences. This makes us wary. But if I ask someone out, I did it because I was interested in them, and interest has a way of not fading as quickly as you’d want it to.
So, uh, the answer is “Yes.” Sorry. I guess that was a parable.
Are you awkward?
Yes. Yes I am.