"Give up waiting." - Oh, like in line? Awesome! That’s going to free up so much time!
“Give up trying to avoid mistakes. The only mistake that can truly hurt you is choosing to do nothing simply because you’re too scared to make a mistake.” - This author has clearly never been in a car accident. Or played a sport. Or LEFT THEIR HOUSE.
To Every Woman I’ve Ever Hit on, Talked to, or Looked at at a Bar,
I went to a gay bar when I was in Minneapolis over the weekend. It was the first gay bar I’ve ever been to. I went with five other straight guys. Why we went is unimportant, but there were legitimate reasons. That we went forever changed the way I will approach the opposite sex.
I never really knew how guys act when they’re interested in a stranger. Other than a few quick passes, I had never before been on the receiving end of attempted male courtship. Not that I blame the guys who were hitting on me…I was at a gay bar, after all. And I was called “the gayest guy here” when one of my friends told someone there that I was, in fact, straight. So it was to be expected.
Getting hit on wasn’t the problem. I just had no idea how it felt to be the object of unwanted male attention.
I didn’t know how uncomfortable it was to be stared at. How awkward it is to be blatantly, unapologetically gawked at.
I now feel terrible for women who have to spend their entire evening staring at floors and walls, lest accidental eye contact be mistaken for an indication of interest. I’m shocked that women ever leave their homes.
I don’t know how or if I will ever approach a woman again. After spending 45 minutes feeling like an 18 ounce Filet Mignon in a room full of fat Texans, I don’t know if I can.
[Sidebar: I think the frequency of rape and sexual assault would decline precipitously if every straight male was forced to go to a gay club (preferably alone) when he turned 21, so he can understand how it feels to be undesirably objectified.]
Women, I’m sorry. If you see me out and you’d like to talk to me, please come and do so. I’m pretty friendly. Because I won’t be initiating conversation with you. I just can’t.
“The president does not have power under the Constitution to unilaterally authorize a military attack in a situation that does not involve stopping an actual or imminent threat to the nation.”—Barack Obama, 2007. I’m not mad, Barack…I’m just disappointed.
I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t live in Southern California.
I think that New Englanders and Upper Midwesterners just don’t know that there’s a place where you don’t have to deal with a miserable winter. I grew up in New England and I assumed that you had to be cold and grumpy 4-5 months of the year.
But you don’t. Those tricky Los Angelenos have been hiding their secret from the rest of the country: you can live somewhere that 55 is considered cold, but that barely gets hotter (and doesn’t get nearly as humid) as New York in the summer. Plus, the fucking beach is right there. And it’s a real beach, and it’s a mile away, unlike the one on Long Island where you have to sit in traffic for 3 hours to cut your feet on the rocks that rich people pretend pass for sand so they can own “beachfront” property and feel better about their shitty lives.
Are there douchey people? Sure. Apparently there’s only one men’s clothing store in LA, and it only sells whatever outfit Jake Gyllenhaal was last photographed wearing.
But there are plenty of douchey people in NYC (bankers), Boston (native Bostonians), Chicago (Big 10 Frat Bros), DC (people who work “On The Hill”), and probably every other major city that I’ve never been to.
So really, who fucking cares? Way more importantly, my first two nights there I had twoburgers; each was better than any I’ve ever had in New York.
The food was great, the bars were fun, the people were friendly, the weather was incredible. And so begins my West Coast job hunt.