Just In Case You Were Thinking I Wasn't a Complete Idiot....

You may recall my shenanigans about a month ago with this girl, posted here. The great love of my life, spurned me, left me blubbering with irrationale and broken heart, blah blah blah. This drunken email to her friend being the straw that broke our friendship, turning me into even more of a pathetic loser in her eyes. Made it clear to never ever contact her again, she would have no memories of me other than “what a pathetic, small loser.”

Then this past Saturday night, I find myself at the Nest, crying in my foam container about a more recent love lost, a different woman, whining re: opportunity at love/happiness gone by. “I blew it” I blubbered into the 4-inch head on my beer. I thought about the girl from the post above. From the past. Who, as close as we were to each other years ago, would not cross the street to even spit in my face now. Then I thought of this new girl, and how I was a complete idiot and will never have her. And then I thought you know what, just to make sure I completely drive myself into the ground and I get run over by a steamroller/zamboni/marching band like the guy at the end of “Naked Gun”, JUUUUUUUST to make sure I hold my status as the biggest loser in the history of the Milky Way galaxy, what can I possibly do to ratchet my Pathetic-ometer up from a humming, idling 8 to a thundering, slow-clap inducing, head-shaking blaring 10? SURELY I can easily flick away any remaining shred of dignity as if it were foam on top of my beer, no? And the genius answer comes to me: of course – combine the two!!! In another drunken “you know, this seems like the exact right thing to do” moment for our hero, I text the first girl about my recent love woes and have the drunken, inane, gee-I-wonder-why-Xmastime-is-still-alone nerve to, get this, ask for advice. Wow. Blathered bout this girl for a few sentences and then actually wrote “advice?” I mean, all I can really do at this point is stand back and applaud myself. Seriously, people should stand up when I enter a room, doffing their caps out of respect; fathers should proudly point me out to their sons. I don't know what the record for number of people that politely ask someone to please don't ever contact them again, but I gotta be close to it. When you cross this far over into “What the fuck am I doing?”-ville, you really gotta strap on the Mayor McCheese costume and declare yourself the leader.