Second Chance

(Quick preamble: this blog violates what has been, to this point, a pretty inviolate rule of my blog: don't write about women that I'm currently (or may be soon) dating. The reasons for that are pretty obvious, and the only time I remember violating it was with the "Fuck Off Now" girl immediately after she sent that txt to me over two years ago. That post was an effort to vent and also to explain to her that I wasn't evil and she had misjudged me. It totally worked, for the record, for about another two weeks before she crazied out on me again.

This blog is also atypical in that I can't recall the same level of detail that I normally do. Even when I'm drunk, the things I blog about are pretty accurately reflected; I have a reasonably good memory. In this case, though, the first part of the narrative was sort of dumped from my memory because I thought the story was over. I am making every effort to recreate it, but please understand I might have some of the details wrong.)

There are advantages and disadvantages of going to the same bar repeatedly. At least it does for me. It's great to (cue up the Cheers theme song) feel comfortable and to know the people that work there. To bump into other regulars and semi-regulars while meeting a lot of new people who, for whatever reason, don't like to sing karaoke at the same bar multiple times a week.

The downside, of course, is when you don't get along with the same people you see so often. I've been very fortunate in that I have managed to avoid conflict with the management and staff of Ozzie's, and, for the most part, the people I've met there.

An awkward thing is when I meet a girl and I talk to a girl and things with that girl don't go well. Then I see that girl again a week or a month or a year later and I remember her. I remember her name and I remember most of the things that we talked about. And I remember that we didn't get along well. Ignore her? Act like old buddies? Challenge her to an open mic freestyle rap-off?

Awkward, I tell you.

Less common but perhaps even more awkward is when I meet a girl and I talk to a girl and things with that girl do go well. I get her number and I think that we're going to hang out and then... she doesn't get back to me. Doesn't return phone calls or txt messages or the tin can telephone line I set up between our apartments.

There's no blame here. I'm not upset that sometimes women just aren't interested or energetic enough to get back to me. It still can be awkward... because it can be me making a fool of myself over trying to win over a girl that I thought I'd already won over the first time.

I experienced one of these "second chances" recently.

I met her several weeks back at (shockingly enough) Ozzie's. There was a gaggle of attractive females surrounded by dudes and in that situation it's tough to break the ice... even once one penetrates the thick outer shell of the guy there is a sticky membrane of females that can create problems.

So although I noticed Headband, I just admired her from afar. From afar, that is, until she made a pretty hilarious (and loud) wisecrack.

There are different reasons people sing any given song. Sometimes it's for their buddies and they know the crowd will love it. Sometimes it's a special song for their significant other. Sometimes they want people to dance. Sometimes they just want to sing a particular fucking song.

That night, a random chick was singing a song that didn't really fit into any of those categories. It was a slow song that no one knew and she was about a third of the way through it when she implored the disinterested crowd with a, "Come on! Get into it!"

To which Headband replied into the near-silence, "Pick another song next time. Jesus!"

Normally I don't support heckling. I think it's rude and negativity that's just not cool.

In this case, though? I liked it. I liked it because it was totally true and I liked it because it gave me an opening to talk to a very cute chick.

So I approached her. I razzed her about her jibe, which I heard from across the room.

That was the first of a few conversations that we had throughout the night. In spite of dudes swarming her and in spite of two of her female friends attempting to cockblock me, I left the bar with her number and the feeling that we were probably going to go out.

All of that is pretty clear in my head.

What's less clear is the ways that I followed up with her.

I've received a few numbers from girls in my day, which has resulted in some experience in calling and txting to follow-up. I wouldn't say I'm an expert, by any means, but I'm over the quivering terror of asking out a woman.

The absence of that terror, though, doesn't mean that I'm casual about it, mentally. My memory seems to get messed up and what I say in a voicemail or txt to a chick gets jumbled in my head after I do it. Maybe this is how many people live their lives normally, but I'm not used to it. Heh.

I think that this was the series of communications that I left:

• Txted her the next afternoon (a Sunday), letting her know who I was and making a callback joke and telling her I'd call her later.
• I called her that night. No answer, but I was relieved that it was a legit phone number. (I actually haven't received a fake number to date... it's still a concern every time, though.) I asked her to call back.
• Waited a couple of days. Nothing from her, so I pinged her with another txt.
• A week or so later, after no answer, I threw what is a bit of a hail mary pass. I called one last time. I promised that I wouldn't keep bugging her, but I wanted to make sure she got my messages and encouraging her to check out my blog. I left the URL and everything and joked self-deprecatingly about what a geek I was.

I was zero percent surprised that she didn't get back to me. I mean... really. My blog URL? Wtf?

Fast forward several weeks. I was, once again, upstairs. Headband was back. She was there with a female friend and a couple of guys. It looked like a double date... which didn't help the potential awkwardness.

She was parked in the booth for much of the time she was there, but at one point she went to the bar and our eyes locked for a moment and I mouthed "Hello, Headband." Actually, I used her name, but she probably would have been able to figure out I was talking to her.

I thought that was it. I thought that I'd just managed to make a huge ass of myself and I certainly didn't want to spoil her date and/or enjoyment of the bar.

Shockingly, she approached me immediately after. Our conversation went something like this (gray voice is back, after all these months, with what I was thinking):

Her: Hi.
Me: Holy crap. You actually came over to say "hi" and aren't acting creeped out!
Me: Hey, Headband. Do you remember me?
Her: Yes... Ed, right?
Me: Wow. Yeah.
Me: Wow. Yeah.
Her: I'm sorry that I didn't get back to you.
Me: Yeah, yeah... whatever.
Me: ...
Her: I hate voicemails and I just don't get back sometimes and ... your blog's hilarious.
Me: You had me at "I hate voicemails."
Me: I hate voicemails, too... wait. You read my blog?
Her: So I'm sorry I didn't get back to you.
Me: Damn straight my blog's hilarious. You've got a good sense of humor.
Me: *shrug* So should I txt you again?
Her: *shrugging and smiling* I don't know.
Me: Oh, boy. You're totally screwing me over here. But you're so cute...
Me: OK. Let me ask you this: are you still single?
Her: Yes.
Me: OK. I'm txting you, then.
Me: OK. I'm txting you, then.
Her: *smiling* No guarantees...
Me: Are there ever?
Me: I get it. It's cool. So... you liked my blog?

And then... it was my turn to sing. I didn't talk to her the rest of the night.

I txted her the next day, though. And she txted back...

Sometimes second chances are good.