Blown Opportunities

Nothing super exciting this week. And that title should probably be in the singular, as I think I've only blown one opportunity. Still, one is enough, right? We'll get to that in a bit.

Anyway, Wednesday I made my way to Stark County for the first time. I survived, even got gas for $1.73, which was cool. Thursday I had a stay-at-home day that I had somehow booked chock full of terrible. An immense pile of grody dishes simply had to be done, followed by sorting of a ton of laundry, loaded into my car right before a quick walk down to the dentist to get a cavity filled. I got the typical shot of numbness, a half-face full, and it was really strange. I haven't had something like that in probably 20 years, maybe more. It was sorta freaky. Afterwards, I had a tough time talking, which didn't make the next stop any better: getting a haircut. I have a great person I get my hair cut by, a cool young woman named Andrea at Fast Eddy's, and the appointment seems to go by in a half-second because the conversation is usually so easy. Last time was a little strange, of course, being that it was the infamous "saw my ex-girlfriend and ex-friend walk down the street hand-in-hand" haircut, of course. Anyway, I get there, get my cut, talk like a doofus, and go to the next stop ... laundry. Ugh. I hate laundry. Hate laundry.

But I did it. I went in, put everything in the washers, and then walked down Coventry to kill the 20-30 minutes I had till the next switcheroo. I only made it to Brigade, where I chatted with one of the dudes about the fashion zeitgeist and what it says about the economic underpinnings of the current American psyche. And bought a cool Shades of Greige blazer for 75% off. That's right, $165 down to, uh, $40 something with tax. I'm not a math person. Oh yeah, I also popped into American Apparel and almost bought a delightfully tacky bright yellow v-neck, but figured it would probably end up on the same hanger as my similarly-colored yellow blazer which I have never worn once since purchasing. At least that only cost a few bucks from some vintage place in Austin.

Afterwards, I headed back to the laundromat, and started shifting stuff from washers to dryers. As I put my comforter into the dryer, I asked the cute girl next to me how many minutes she thought I should put it in for, because I didn't have much of an idea how well the dryers work and, well, because I'm super creepy.

She told me her opinion and did so without screaming or vomiting, so I took that as a sign that she totally dug me. As a result, as I walked back over to where I had left my jacket and book, I noticed she was now folding up several pairs of hospital scrubs. She looked young, so I figured she was a nurse, and, since my creepy quotient of the day hadn't yet been filled, I asked her if she was a doctor while nodding to her laundry. I said "doctor" and not nurse because I figured she'd be flattered or something and, in the off chance she actually was a doctor, I wouldn't screw up by insulting her as a nurse.

Naturally, it turns out she is a brand-spankin'-new doctor, doing a stint at the clinic. Nice, huh?

I think I mentioned she was cute. She was, though in a way that is not usually my style, kind of a "tastefully applied make-up and well-chosen jewelry (traditional jewelry, not funky or DIY)" sort of way. Probably a sorority girl in college, though in one of the brainy ones, neither slutty nor Omega Mu style.

I tell her I'm a doctor, too, but only the fake kind (i.e., Ph.D., not M.D.) and that my parents are totally ashamed. She laughs and we start talking about being new to Cleveland, what we do for our jobs, cool things in Houston, and other stuff. By the time she finished folding her last load, it seemed pretty clear that she would giver me her number if I asked.

Of course I didn't. I did help her carry her laundry basket to her car and then, in this awful, awkward, parched throat sort of way ................ gave her my card. Mumbled something about giving me a holler if she ever had a free night and wanted to do something cool and gave her my fucking card. Can you believe it? Well, I suppose if you've been reading this blog for any length of time and thus have some idea of my inherent lameness, yes, you can believe it.

Anyway, so that's my blown opportunity. Cute, nice, new to Clevo, no friends outside of work DOCTOR and I leave her and her laundry with my business card.

I swear, I need to write a romantic advice book for dudes, then burn it, and bury the ashes in a deep dark hole. Or have it translated into obscure foreign languages by translators that consistently confuse "do" with "don't."