Oh yeah, Rule #14 I NEVER violate. No matter how foxy & smiley the waitress might be, we both know she’s working for tips. If she can keep my glass full and not seem put out by my thinking that’s her job, I’ll hook her up just fine. But if there’s any messing with the help to go on, it’ll be the help’s idea. And then, OH! What a mess there will be!
Aww, you’re sweeter than a bear’s snoot full of honey…*
…er, I think.
Good!
*(Nope, I’m from Chicago, I can’t do the Southern Belle Analogy[sup]TM[/sup] - but I keep trying!)
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.
Stranger: After about 49,977 incidents that were functionally equivalent to the scene you so eloquently described, I decided it to throw in the towel. (Subsequent research determined that at their secret annual meeting in 1981, the women of the world had, in fact, put me on the universal “Do Not Date” list, something I had only suspected.) I haven’t been on a date in… well, what’s today, Friday?..three years.
Have you been lurking in the bushes and spying on 49,977 incidents from my life?
I’ve got you beat on the date thing; we’re going on, well, close to three and a half, not counting coffee dates and the (very) occasionally single mom looking for a night of escape.
Still, people manage to do this somehow. I’m guessing there’s a secret passphrase, or a magic spell, or some kind of cypher that allows you to pass the initial gates and on into the realm of actually arranging some kind of meeting, but I haven’t figured it out yet.
My ex-roommate–a bloke who resembles the eponymous character in Napoleon Dynamite not only in appearance and voice but also in dexterity and social graces–could walk into a bar and get the number of half a dozen women in an evening. 'Course, he’d talk to twenty or more to do so (and, as he was engaged, he wasn’t actually planning to call any of them) but still, he beat my odds. I never figured out his trick; he’d be a complete ass, in ways that no doubt would get me thrown out of a bar, and still manage to work his mojo, or whatever. :sigh:
Damnit, this is a self-Pit thread, and the most people can do is complain about the “turgidness” of my prose? Hey-Zues, can’t you people tell me what a pathetic loser I am or something? Or kick me in the ass, perhaps. Challenge me, damnit!
Oh, and because I forgot to use any profanity in the OP: Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits.
That is all.
Stranger
What I would do, Stranger, is print out the OP on a nice sheet of paper, give it to the girl, and add a note that if she’s not interested, does she perhaps have any sisters, or perhaps friends, or even dating-advice.
Don’t underestimate the power of the word, Stranger. I wanna bet there are a fair few girls out there that you could successfully woo with that wonderful prose of yours. If you’re better at writing, then write. Some people like to read, trust me.
I think he was hoping she’d get a whiff of his turgid something else. Poor schmo. 
This was your first and fatal mistake, I think; they correct response is “So you’ll think about it, right?”.
Another possibility is that you may still have reeked of beer. IME, women don’t find the smell of alcohol on a guy attractive, especially in a supermarket.
Okay, since you ask:
For fuck’s sake, stop whining, grow a pair, and get a sense of proportion, Stranger With A Pretentiously-Long Username. So you met a pretty girl and only found out she was attached after you’d screwed up your pathetic courage and asked her out? Well, waah-waah-waahh, cry me a fucking river. You want to meet girls, go the fuck out and meet them. Don’t invest it with the mythic significance of a great cosmic event that’s going to change the course of the whole universe, even if you think it does revolve around your dick-hole. Don’t come waddling back here with your ass in a crack looking like you’ve shat yourself and blatantly fishing for pity - for pity, sir, not even sympathy - under the unworthy disguise of a “humorous” self-pitting. You think that’s going to get you laid? Twat. Now fuck off, go and have a nice long, slow, tearful wank over this apple-goddess whom you’d have married in a heartbeat if only she hadn’t been sniffle taken, then get the fuck out there and stand up and pitch again.
It’s not fair that men with half your charm and a tenth of your intelligence have a million times your luck? Well, waah, etc, see above. Life isn’t fucking fair and you don’t get to return your ticket to the proprietor and demand a refund. You either go out and keep trying or else you curl up in the corner crying to yourself and hoping inwardly that the True Love Fairy will notice your sad, tragic little plight and wave her Magic Wand of Happy-Ever-After - which I’m guessing is your secret, unacknowledged-even-to-yourself, plan.
I mean, sheesh. You want a relationship or you want to be the cheapest two-bit attention whore in town? :wally
…Any better? Or should I go back to the have-another-beer-mate fellow feeling? I liked myself better that way.
Oh, I thought this was a pitting of Rule #14. I’ll try again.
You dared to try Rule #14? How freaking stupid are you?
It’s bad enought that that you tried it, you almost broke it outright! Do have any idea what would have happened if she had said yes? Do you?
Neither do I. But it could have been terrible.
Yeah, that’s constructive. Do you also enjoy kicking puppies?
You know, these “I’m such a loser guy because I can’t meet chicks” threads pop up here on a pretty regular basis, and they invariably devolve into a bashing of the OP. It was mildly annoying at first, but now it’s become patently offensive. It’s become the equivilent of kicking a man while he’s down, yet dressed up as “tough love.” You’ve probably got yourself convinced that you’re being the voice of reason, when in fact you’re the voice of cruelty and stupidity. Fuck off. Fuck off and die.
Nah, no need to. If it waddles like a man getting rejected and quacks like a man getting rejected, it’s probably a mallard. After a while you know it when you see it. Remember that little incident that happened on 9/11? Most people attribute that to terrorists. Hah!, I say. I’m quite certain that the last words spoken before that were “That’s so sweet, but can we just be friends?”
Did you read the part where Stranger asked people to go ahead and pile on?
I just did as he asked. Actually, the target of my venting was not Stranger, myself twenty years ago, which made it especially easy. And did you also miss:
Fuck off yourself. And board rules prohibit you from wishing death on me.
Evidently I did. Sorry.
Cool. 
In Stranger’s shoes I probably wouldn’t have had the stones to even ask the girl out in the first place, so he’s major points ahead of me in this game anyway. And I used to be damned good at going places and doing things that didn’t bring any new female company my way, and moaning about it instead of going different places and doing other things. :smack:
Youth truly is wasted on the young.
Yep, he is to be lauded for his testicles. On the few occasions where I was able to beg, borrow, or steal a pair, I found it better to get shot down than get nothing at all. Unless, you know, I really liked the girl and had wisely pinned all of my hopes and dreams on the certainty of her saying yes. I deserve to be clubbed like a baby seal for that.
Ah, yes. “I like this girl. however, before I can nerve myself up to speak to her or ask her out or stuff, the pain of probable rejection has to be balanced by the possible reward. And this balance point will only be reached when I convince myself I really, really, really like her. So before I even open my potato trap, I have to convince myself that it’s mind-numbly important.”
And then the general air of surprise when (a) this actually works rather worse than just saying “Hi!” to any randomly chosen pretty girl and (b) it hurts much more to boot.
:smack: :smack: :wally :smack:
Yep. You know you’ve got it bad when you don’t even know the girl’s name and you’ve gone past “Honey, I’d like you to meet my parents” and right into “Learn how to make a decent cup of coffee, bitch.”
Well, there is the female version. I see a guy I think is attractive and I’ve already worked out the millions of reasons it won’t work (what if he smells bad, or makes fart jokes, he’s probably waaaay too clingy and will just suck up my time, plus I bet he wants kids and he’s probably a Bush fan, like Dave Matthews, is addicted to XBox, secretly wants Pam Anderson and will recoil in horror when he sees my thighs, etc…) so I’m already thinking of ways to avoid going out with him before I’ve even been introduced…