So I got asked out last week - I'm still kind of reeling from shock so bear with me here. There's this feller at work who's been figuratively beating around the bush, asking every coupla days what I'm doing on the weekend. I always tell him that I'm busy eating cake and crying but this past week he actually asked me out legit. I responded as I always do when I feel uncomfortable - by yelling "I have to wash my hair", then running and throwing myself in the nearest river.
Of course, the guilt started to set in not too long after. There's nothing wrong with this dude. He's nice enough and he ain't too bad looking, so I started wondering how come I turned him down. He isn't what I would call 'my type', but then what does that mean exactly? Why would I consider fucking one dude but not another?
I thought about that for quite a while and reached the conclusion that he and I didn't really have anything to talk about. We'd had maybe one or two conversations over the course of three weeks and then he starts asking me to spend the night in Fredericton with him. "Come spend the night with me" is a really shitty pickup line anyway, but you know it'd probably work for somebody whose company I enjoyed. The only things this particular individual ever wanted to talk about with me were tequila, gambling and cocaine, none of which are great recommendations. Even if I was inclined towards promiscuity I would probably stay away from that, if only because it's sort of boring to talk about.
Then my thoughts turned inwards and I found myself asking "wait a minute, what the hell do I do?" My only real claim to fame is being a really cheap and obnoxious drunk. Probably eighty percent of the conversations I have with people end up being about how fucking wasted I got that one time. In fact, there are several people I know who have never seen me sober. I'm one of Those People, I realized with horror.
Short story long, I figure it's time to at least lay off the heavy, regular drinking. Either that or start drinking gin every night instead of beer, play cards in an opium den at least once a week, and fuck hookers until I contract syphilis, thus becoming an awesome Lady Rake. Actually that sounds more fun and at least it's a commitment.