Well, it’s pretty bloody rare. But it’s not like I’ve NEVER been asked out. I would never expect it, so for all intents and purposes your statement is true, but it’s not absolutely true.
Oh, have no fear, I can be all swavey and de-boner with the best of them, when I’m working on someone else’s behalf. 
I’m thinking a fistful of Xanax with a few Guinesses would be a bad combination. I’d stick to the Guiness, if I were you.
I used to have the exact same problem. Even thinking about asking a woman out was enough to make me choke.
I overcame it, though. How? Simple: I just kept asking women out. It’s a winning scenario–either you get a lot of dates, which is good, or you get rejected a lot (like me), in which case the pain of rejection starts to dull.
The key is to not anticipate too much. The more you build it up in your head, the more of a Big Deal it becomes, and that’s bad. Just do it.
I’m not entirely sure. I do know that I’ve been good friends w/ more women than I can count—literally, I tried this weekend. Despite the fact that I had a thing for many, if not most, of them, nothing ever developed.
Well, Lisa & I were not able to do any throwing this weekend, so I didn’t have an excuse to go into town and I wussed out. That’s the problem: I can intend to take good advice in this arena; however, when push comes to shove, I’m unable to actually follow it.
I have to go to the hospital tomorrow, so maybe I’ll be able to swing an early lunch and drop by on the way. (And chicken out. :P)
Here’s my story, FWIW:
I’ve always had a problem when it comes to “crunch time”. I’m a good conversationalist, never had a problem finding things to talk about. I’m not considered too repugnant. Back in university, I had a massive crush on one girl. Harboured it all year. We had pretty much everything in common, always had fun when out with a group, and she was hot hot like Haagen Dasz.
At the end of the term, I finally got up the courage to ask her out on a for real, official-like date.
She said no.
And the very first thing that went through my head after she said no was “Well hell, that wasn’t so bad”.
And it wasn’t. We still conversed, still had a good time when out with a group (after she realized I wasn’t going to be “weird” about it), and she was still hot. Just not for me.
After that, it got a little easier to ask women out. Some said yes, some said no, but it is by no means the worst thing that can happen.
Hockey great Gordie Howe put it best:
You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.
Please, please don’t approach any girl roaring drunk. Not a good look even if it does give you some dutch courage.
What do you have against the Dutch? No, get drunk as in getting drunk, not to hit on someone. Then I really would die of embarassment—the next day.
So I went to the bar yesterday, before going to the hospital. My sister had a thingie removed and is in the hopsital for a couple of days, and I thought I’d stop for some food before going to visit. Hopefully, though probably not, I’d get the inspiration to ask this waitress out.
Driving along the block downtown I see no parking spaces. This is not uncommon, so I swing around for another pass and I see the perfect parking spot…being taken by some woman. Okay, I give it another whirl and get second best parking space relative to the bar.
I go in. She’s working. “Hi,” she says and turns back to what she’s doing. It’s packed in there. There is only one booth open, and it’s not even under a light. I sit down and look up—she’s right there. “Diet coke, right?” Yes. “Do you want a menu, or do you know what you want?”
“I think I’ll just have a gyro,” I say. “I love those things.”
“Me too,” she says.
She delivers my pop. “Got a new book?” This is my third book in three visits. I say that I’ve been working on this one for a while, but I keep getting distracted by other books. She’s better looking than I remember; evidently she short-circuits my brain because I can’t recall an accurate image of her in my head.
She stops and checks on me and chit-chats momentarily as she goes about her job. “How’s the gyro?” she asks.
“Great,” I tell her. “It’s the only good gyro I’ve found in Michigan.” (and that includes Greek Town).
“I know,” she says. “The first one I ever had was here, and then when I had one someplace else, it was like ‘yuck,’” as she makes a sour face.
“Yeah, like McGyros,” I say. She agrees and walks off.
To my left is a booth of three men, to my right are two women. Too crowded. I can’t have an audience if I’m going to try to not let down all those Dopers. I check my watch. I came in at 12:20pm, which means that if I take an hour lunch, then most these people should clear out before I leave.
Who’s that guy?! He’s smiling at her! I can’t compete with that guy. She comes up to the table he’s at. “Are you guys doing okay?” she asks. “Mumble mumble” they reply. She walks off. Okay, she didn’t talk to them, I hope that’s a good sign. I notice a lot of heads turning as she goes back and forth. It’s like watching the audience at a tennis match.
I’ve finished my food and I’m trying to concentrate on reading, hoping that the crowd clears out. The table with that guy clears out. The women to my right clear out. The men to my left look like they’re going to clear out, but they’re not doing it. Uh-oh, it’s my check. Six dollars and eighty-something cents. Crunch time. These jerks won’t vacate and I can’t handle the embarassment of being that guy shot down by that hot waitress. I pull out a twenty and set it on the bill right in front of me, not intending to settle up just yet. Uh-oh, she’s reaching across the table to take it. One of those guys next to me clears out. She comes back w/ my change.
As smooth as sandpaper I say, “Um, I was, um, wondering, um, if, um…well, um, I was thinking, er, that, um, maybe, er, um, well, do you think, um, that, er, well, maybe, um, well, maybe, um…” I take a deep breath, “That you might, um, like to get together sometime?” As I say it, I cringe as though I’m about to be struck by a falling piano.
“You mean, like, go for a cup of coffee?” she asks.
“Yeah!” I say. She’s brilliant.
“Why don’t you give me your number,” she says, “Because I work all different [I’m too shocked to catch this word].”
Okay. I begin to panic. Oh! I pull out a business card. “Here’s my day-time number.” As a second thought I add, “I can write my home number on the back.”
“Okay,” she says and hands me a pen. She walks off to attend to a customer. I attempt to write my number. My hand is shaking so badly that it looks like a five year old’s handwriting. I can barely form the numbers. Then I write js above it. Idiot!!! My fucking name is on the front of the damn card!!! “Doi,” I think in Shego’s voice as I mentally smack myself on the head. So I write “home” between js and the number. Frankly, I don’t even know if I got the number right—for all I know it could be an old phone number from college, my SDMB password, or “911.” I get up and she comes over and takes the card & pen. I try to make a joke…(Stop it, Fool!! Quit while you’re ahead!! You’re making an idiot of yourself!!) I say goodbye and exit.
Outside, my hands are shaking so bad I can’t steer the car. I almost get into a wreck because of it.
That was yesterday.
WOOOHOOOO!!!
::does the js_africanus has a date dance::
Good for you!
WHOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! YESYESYESYESYESYES! Well done! Sounds promising… I think you’re over the watershead now. (Might still not come to anything, but I’m betting it will. And you’ve proved you can do it :))
Good for you, js! You will tell us when she calls, right?
I just love living vicariously…
Excellent!
It sounds good for you. And if nothing else, you managed to ask her. That’s the hard part, and you’re done with it. Isn’t it nice?
Who da man? Who da man? YOU DA MAN!!
Keep us posted.
You go, boy!
You rock. No matter what happens now, you are already a badass. You are the guy with the nuts to ask out the hot waitress. This puts you in the top 1%, nut-wise.
YAY!
I love it when a Homie from Meeechigan overcomes his paralyzing fear of good looking women. I love it even more when they share their deepest, darkest fears with 10,000 of their closest dopers and then jump into that swirling vortex of crushing panic to ask the Good Looking Girl out and then post the outcome here.
You da bomb! I mean that most sincerely.
Naturally, since you have started this, you will have to fill us in on every detail of The Date and subsequent dates.
Your life is now like a Pringle: we just can’t have one installment. We want the whole tube. that’s sounds dirrty.
Nothin’ like a great quote from the man known as Mr. Elbows.
Ha! Chairman Pow thought my “ask her out for coffee” idea was stupid – and what happens? You say “would you like to do something sometime” and she says, “like coffee?”
I feel completely vindicated here.
And, oh yeah, really happy for you that you had the guts to just go for it.
But mostly vindicated.