This was a Bad Idea. A Very Bad Idea.

Against my better judgment and the advice of a very intelligent young lady, I am about to document here one of my (many) Very Bad Ideas.

Please note two things, before reading more.
1. This is meant to be funny. Read this and know that I am chuckling to myself, despite how frustrated it will sound. I really find myself, especially the things I do when alcohol is involved, absolutely hilarious most of the time, and this is certainly one of those times.
2. If you are the poor victim of my Very Bad Idea and have somehow ended up, through a series of links provided by myself in too many places, reading this, please; I invite you to continue. Seriously. There is no sarcasm here. Not even in the denial of the presence of sarcasm. You might be interested to find that I am (a) making a bigger mess of this than it deserves and (b) reflecting on this situation with intrigue and humor, AND I would, truly, love for you, Poor Victim of my Very Bad Idea, to reflect on this situation in the same light, so that, when we do (inevitably, according to you and then agreed upon by me) run into each other, we can clink our drinks together and laugh about this (because you do have a very nice smile and I would so like to laugh with you, as friends. Friends). And understand that, while all evidence contained herein points to the contrary, once I have finished this post and thus gotten my frustration out of my system, I will be done with it. Over it. And all the awkwardness that could potentially arise at our next meeting will not. At least, on my part. I promise you, Poor Recipient of my Very Bad Idea, that I will not be awkward when next we meet. I leave that up to you, if you so choose.

Now, I continue.

This Bad Idea was brilliant in theory, although theorized while halfway into a glass of whiskey and at the bottom of a PBR Tall Boy. This Bad Idea was discussed with at least three different people, all of whom told me it was a Bad Idea. This was also not the first time I have come up with a Bad Idea in this vein. I have tried things like this before, being up-front, putting myself out there, and it never gets me what I want.

What this Bad Idea, poorly executed and eloquently responded to by the unsuspecting recipient of said Bad Idea, has got me thinking about, though, is this:

1. Why haven't I learned? Why, after trying this method and failing so many times, do I continue to employ it?
2. Games. How I am terrible at playing them, how I don't understand them, and why they even need to be played in the first place.
3. Patience. I am relatively sure that I have none.

Let me elaborate.

1. Learning from my past mistakes should be a no-brainer, I imagine. I can understand trying a failed method again after the first time (Which, in my case, was Chad in 7th grade. I had just moved to his town and the first day of class I saw him and thought he was exactly what I wanted. So-- like any 7th grader whose previous relationship experience consisted of making out with a 13-year-old skater in a barn at summer camp when she was 11 and, in 6th grade, having a boyfriend who was too nervous to talk to her in real life so all they did was pass notes all year until she broke up with him because he was shorter than her and she liked Dustin Hollenberger better, anyway-- I asked him out right away. He responded, kindly, that he didn't know me yet, but that we should hang out and get to know each other and see what happened. So, we hung out. A lot. All over town. And nothing happened), but continuing to employ said method even after it has failed at least nine million times is simply POINTLESS. And I am tired of it. I am tired of failing. But, when I try to do it a different way, a way that is less aggressive, I get tired of waiting (see number three re: my patience). Someone, please, tell me how to fix this. Or, better yet, fix it for me. Instantly.

2. This not-knowing-how-to-play-games thing is, in addition to being rather self-explanatory, also due almost entirely to my complete and utter lack of patience. At least as far as I can surmise. Someone, please, tell me how to fix this. Or, better yet, fix it for me. Instantly.

3. Patience. I have none. Not any. Someone, please, tell me how to fix this. NOW. Thank you.

What was the Very Bad Idea, you ask?
- Jumping the gun
- Giving my number to a very cute, intelligent writer who is very good at writing, but who most likely did not want my number and who may have actually been interested in wanting my number if I had not jumped the gun and waited (again, see number three, re: my patience) (a) until he asked me for it, or (b) until I had at least spoken with him for an extended period of time more than once, or (c) until it wasn't his book release party and I wasn't pimping out his book to a bunch of half-drunk people while three-quarters drunk myself.

Anyhow. Learn from me. Hope that I learn from myself this time. And know that I apologize for this strange, strange post, but that I am also done apologizing for the stupid things I do, even to myself.

Now I am going outside into the cold to smoke 1 American Spirit, then I am coming back inside and reading until I fall asleep.