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the handsome loser

The life and times of a handsome loser. Humor. Love. Sex. Dating. Life.

Why do I call myself a loser?

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I like Maria and Maria likes me. The reality of that is perfectly simple and clear. No-one would dispute it. We work together and we're flashing smiles and coy looks back and forward like there's no tonight never mind tomorrow. I mean, we've got a rhythm going that Buddy Rich couldn't keep time with. We haven't talked much but that doesn't matter. We know what's happening and everybody else around us knows what's happening- the sexual tension between us is driving everyone else crazy, never mind ourselves.

'Why don't you just screw her already?' asks Janice.

She's usually the one who says what everyone else is thinking. She also intimidates me, so I just shrug.

'Why has nothing happened yet?'

Why? My loser defeatist, mentality, that's why. Despite being one hundred percent sure that Maria is absolutely crazy about me, I think it's only fifty/fifty whether or not she even likes me. See the logic flaw there? That's some screwed up psychology, not to mention mathematics, going on right there. I'm imagining how well Maria and I could click, so my inner prophet of doom cannot permit me to believe that things could be as simple as me asking her out and her saying 'yes'. I don't believe in such simplicity for me. There must be a big murky piece of the jigsaw yet to fall into place, right?

To miss out a few months of sleepless nights, a thousand hours of fretting over the myriad of worse case scenarios and numerous 'why don't you ask her out, you crazy asshole' type of comments, I get myself to the stage when I'm ready to step up. For some reason watching that great Michael Douglas movie, 'The Wonder Boys', sends me over the edge. I decide that the next day I will finally ask her out. Cue sleepless night number three that week.

In the morning we meet in the office and exchange a couple of those teasing little smiles.

'Next chance I get,' I tell myself.

I quickly get another three good chances but give myself miserable little chickenshit excuses for not doing it. It's looking like I'm going to let another day slip by except that late afternoon we end up alone on the stairwell. She's coming up. I'm going down. This is my moment. My desire finally smothers my fear and I'm ready. Completely, unmistakably ready. She takes a couple of steps up, I take a couple down, I open my mouth and... Slip and fall down the stairs. Crash and burn.

I badly damage the ligaments in my right ankle and suffer a small but bloody cut to my forehead. The physical pain was insignificant in comparison to my embarrassment. I couldn't stand that Maria had saw me do that. As she helped me up I quite literally wanted to die.

I never ask Maria out and I never really look her in the eye again. What would have been the point? Once you have become Inspector Clouseau in someone's eyes you can never become their Jack Bauer, can you? A month later she gets a new job and moves on. I've never see her since.

It's a little moment that sums up my life. That's why I call myself a loser.
posted by handsomeloser, 9:22 AM


You're a winner in my book!

Thanks for checking out my blog.
commented by Blogger David Kim, 8:56 PM  
Unrequited love...nothing quite like it. You are the Basil Fawlty of love I fear!
commented by Anonymous Anonymous, 12:05 AM  
Ohh, I love this story! And so sorry that it never worked out, it would have made a great story....

"How did you first get together?"

"Well, I literally picked him up.

Off the floor."
commented by Blogger lady miss marquise, 9:13 AM  
david kim- eventually maybe.

fly- looks like it

lady miss- at least my awful dates make for good stories.
commented by Blogger handsomeloser, 4:41 PM  
commented by Anonymous Anonymous, 5:19 AM  
Hi, I'm reading it in 2016 . WTF
Are you even alive anymore?
commented by Anonymous Anonymous, 6:08 AM  

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