Dear Jon,
So I called that girl. And so now I'm sitting here, waiting, like a girl. Except I'm waiting for that girl to call me back. This would be unlike girls who wait for boys to call them back. Sometimes I wait for boys to call me back, but not like I'm waiting for this girl to call me back. (I'm sure you can figure out how unnecessary the past few sentences were.) But what are the chances of this girl calling me back? 1) it takes guts to call people you don't know and 2) it takes an extra portion of guts or great deal of bile to call someone with the object of rejecting them. And girls don't have guts. Some say girls don't poop. Well, they poop. Of course they poop. But they don't have guts.
Ah, but I love my plight. I half revel in the awkward interactions between myself and girls. It's such a confession of our humanity. But this doesn't mean I escape the goofy emotions that tag along. Assuredly not. But those emotions bounce both ways. Let's continue.
My next thoughts were: but that girl has such a pretty name. Maybe the prettiest name I've ever heard! Her facebook lists are pretty good and vague enough to let me imagine what I want; her phone number is really cool; her voicemail message was like...super cute.
But she hasn't called.
So then, Jon, I begin to doubt myself. (Tenses are shifting, how disorienting, my apologies) You know, how did I let it come to this? I shouldn't have left that message. I should have tried back again and again until she picked up. Then I ask the deep questions: why do I try to "go out" on New Year's Eve? I have delusions of romantic grandeur and I forget myself. The critics are right: I like physics and soccer and video games. Live, loud music hurts my ears. But I swear I would really enjoy ice skating. My ice skating with a girl sounds terrific. Admittedly, I would be pretty skeptical of some boy wanting to go ice skating with a girl myself. Some soft boy. Some caring, sensitive boy who reads Twilight as research.
I hung out with three, female ex-coworkers of mine (including Katrina of the golden iPod). They agreed that all the boys they've dated/interacted with romantically have all been caring, unlike how it used to be. I questioned them about their knowledge of what "it used to be like", but ultimately I agreed with them. What do white guys do these days? Listen to emotional music and not study science. Whatever. That girl still hasn't called me.
-Max
