I’m Garbage With Girls


There’s a cute girl who works for UPS that comes by my office almost everyday. She makes my gaydar ping so last week I decided to be bold and finally say something to her. What suave statement did I make to get her attention? Did I tell her the color brown suited her? That it really brought out the green in her hazel eyes? Of course not. Instead I waited until she was already halfway down the hall before I blurted out behind her: “I LIKE YOUR SOCKS!” Now, there wasn’t anything special about her socks, but in all fairness – I did like them. They were these adorable little UPS socks that came up right above her ankle, the kind of socks I like to wear and think are fashionable but my friends say make me look like a Dad on vacation. She looked genuine as she accepted my compliment and not like she thought I was completely neurotic. She wouldn’t have been wrong in making that assumption, but we’ll stick that on the list of things she doesn’t need to know about me right now.

It was a shipment heavy week and I was elated at the opportunity to schedule another UPS pickup the very next day. I thought about strategy –  I decided that since my friends are always telling me I’m funny, that I would use my wit and humor to win her over. I was alone in the office tackling a slew of administrative work and had put the Apple TV on in the background as I shuffled papers around on my desk. At 3pm the doorbell rang and I jumped up to answer the door. Upon opening it I exclaimed: “You startled me! I’ve been watching ‘Unsolved Mysteries’ all day and when you rang the doorbell I assumed it was someone coming to kill me!” Smooth Tanya, tell her you were expecting her to murder you and bury your body under some floorboards. “I haven’t thought about that show in forever,” she said. Naturally, I invited her in to watch and then we spooned on the floor and planned our wedding. Okay, so maybe that’s not how it went and the conversation just kind of fizzled and she left, but the aforementioned is a much better story so let’s go with that.

I wasn’t always garbage with girls, in fact I think most of this life I have been pretty fucking decent if not good. I wasn’t like the Danny Zuko of lesbians or anything, but I certainly had more game than commenting on someone’s goddamn cotton foot condoms or implying they were a serial killer. I’ve certainly had many spells of singledom or unwanted celibacy in my adult life so I don’t know why this one feels especially different or long. Is it because for once I’m actively wanting partnership in some capacity? Let’s not confuse this with settling down, I still think settling is for the pilgrims. I just would like to have someone to lay on my chest and kiss my face that isn’t covered in fur or has a tail. We can negotiate on the tail because human vestigiality isn’t your fault, but I’m drawing the line at fur because I can only vacuum up so much more than I already do.

In my attempts at “putting myself out there” I haven’t had much luck as of late. Let’s take a look at how it’s been panning out for me, shall we? We can start with the obvious that I’m swooning over a United Parcel Service worker whom I know nothing about and doesn’t even know my name.

The last time I got laid: Cue scene, straight girl. After we finished she rolled over, looked into my eyes, and said: “I think I’m just gay for you………<insert longest pause ever>………”That’ll go away, right?

How did I answer that query: “That sounds like a you problem.” It may not have been the most empathetic response but at this point in life I cannot be Mother Teresa to the sexually confused, I just can’t. I’ve served my mission, broken some bread, drank copious amounts of the blood of Christ (aka Malbec) and that’s what gets me into these situations in the first place – so I’m retired now. Please allow me to drink my Dr. McGillicuddy’s Butterscotch Liqueur and play golf in peace. Sidenote: I had to look up “Dr. McGillicuddy’s” to see how to spell it and upon further research found their slogan is “Dr. McGillicuddy’s: Shooting Straight since 1865.” The irony was not lost on me.

The last time I went on a date: This one is actually fun because it’s not a bad story, or a sad story and I ended up meeting a really great girl – just nothing ever developed between us. Halfway through our first date she mentions an ex-boyfriend. Now I am completely fine with whatever anyone’s sexual identity is as long as they own it. Out of sheer curiosity and making conversation, assuming she was bisexual, I asked if she found herself dating more men or women. She hesitated to answer and said she had something to tell me. At this point with my relationship record, nothing can surprise me – and I mean nothing. “I’ve never actually been on a date with a girl before, you’re my first one,” she confessed. Seriously, I should just come with a welcome basket to the lesbian community. We proceeded to go on several more dates before she ended up moving but I think she was nervous to make the first move, I was nervous to make the first move, and we ended up parting as friends.

ttt
Why am I single?

The last message I sent a girl: I’m constantly deleting and reinstalling dating apps depending on how much space I have on my phone and how much energy I feel like expending in a given week. I started the conversation by asking about her dog, which is always a safe starting point because girls love talking about their animals. “Is your dog really a dog, or is it a baby Ewok?” I asked. “Baby Ewok,” she replied, “I got him on the dark web.” I’m assuming since she knew what an Ewok was, she was a nerd like me. “If by the dark web you mean the Moon of Endor, I believe you.” She never messaged me back, which is probably for the best because if you don’t get ‘Star Wars,’ references you’re already dead to me.

I don’t necessarily believe “You’ll find it when you’re not looking” because that just sounds lazy and unproductive. To me, it makes more sense to put yourself out there and tell your truth to the universe to manifest what you want. That being said, if I end up being a Golden Girl and living in a house with all my old biddies playing bridge in shoulder pads and slooting it up at 80, that’s fine too. I take strength in my solitude, and the opportunity to constantly become my own better half. You can live significantly without a significant other, and I know it to be true because I do it every damn day of my life. Also, I don’t need a second person to help me finish a bottle of wine so I’m good on that front. You won’t find me wallowing in my sorrows tonight – I’ll be busy secretly checking out girls in yoga and planning out my speech for tomorrow.

I’ve got an outgoing shipment and nothing to lose.

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