Goodbye Teddy Bear

Ugh.

Where to begin on this one.  I thought I had grown the balls to ask Teddy Bear out for a drink, but the cards weren't in my favor yesterday in person.  Too many people hanging out so I couldn't find a minute alone, he was rushing off for a busy night, etc. etc.  In short, I wimped out.

But the story didn't end there.

I met up with the Realist at her favorite bar, and half a pitcher of sangria and a story of my cowardess later, she convinced me that it would be a good idea to text him, a feat I have proven I would not have been able to do without a little liquid courage.  He didn't have my number, so it started out as a game of "guess who," sending him picture clues to get him to guess what lame drunk ass was bugging him.  After the third clue, I told the Realist, "you know, all he has to do is google my number and he'll see where I'm originally from, which I'm pretty sure would be a big giveaway."  Not five minutes later, he guessed correctly and explained that that's exactly what he did.  Still attempting to be flirty, I asked him what he wanted for a prize for winning the game, to which he replied, "a cookie."  The sangria made me unabashedly respond with, "I think you can do better--how about a drink next week?"

40 loooooong mintues went by, with nay a response.

I was pretty sure what that meant, and it was obvious to me it wasn't good.  My suspicions were confirmed when the next message came in, looking like an epic novel on my little phone, sentence after sentence after sentence.  Ultimately he wasn't interested, and he made that very clear, although he certainly had a lot of excuses reasons for it.

As my buzz was coming down, the Realist humored me in my utter confusion of how I could have possibly mis-read the situation.  I mean, I had it on pretty decent authority that he was looking for a little alone time not long ago, so what had happened?  Then once I was sober enough to drive home, the feeling turned to complete and utter humiliation and embarrassment.  I just wanted to bury my face in a pillow forever.

As far as matters of the heart go, I'll be fine.  I'm fine today, even.  To me, the possibility of going out with a guy for something simple like a drink isn't a big deal (although maybe it was a bigger deal to him?), and there have been plenty of poor schmucks in my past, and I'm sure there will be many more.  And I'm glad I went for it rather than always wondering.  But damn, the embarrassment is going to sting for a while.  The irony is, the alcohol (and encouragement from the Realist) is what afforded me the ability to do what I couldn't do while sober.  And even if it wouldn't have made a difference in his response how the message was delivered, I believe that coming off like a crazy drunk girl certainly didn't help my case.  Ugh ugh ugh.  *headsmack*

I really may not be cut out for playing the assertive role with guys.  I think I should just stick to flirting.  In the meantime, though, I'll be hiding under this blanket.

Trying to stay positive,
Skeptic