Furrowed Orbs Of Courage

Balls.

Time to grow a pair.

I consider myself to be a fairly adventurous person; a reasonable risk taker if you will. If given the choice between ordering a familiar item on a menu or trying a highly recommended ethnic dish that smells like a shit smoothie, I would be willing to try shit smoothie. If given the option to embarrass myself in public via drunken Karaoke, I would gladly offend the patrons’ ears. Hell, sometimes I am daring enough to look a homeless person straight in the eyes and firmly say “Sorry, no”, when begged for loose change. But to approach a beautiful stranger for casual conversation? Let’s just say I would never earn my red badge.

I flirted with the idea that I might have a genetic condition; a Pretty-Woman-Phobia of sorts. This was a comforting idea because it meant I could blame my parents for my social incompetence. I racked my brain, but I can’t come up with a better explanation for why it scares me less to step into a ring across from an unreasonably aggressive pugilist who would love nothing more than to cause me physical harm. On blessed occasions when the God I don’t believe in sends a gift my way, I find a way to give the impression that I am a slightly more professionally dressed version of Rain Man. On a typical weekday commute home, I bought a Street Sheet from the homeless guide to San Francisco’s public transportation, justifying that “at least he’s working for it”.

“You find anything interesting in the Street Sheet?”, said a friendly voice behind me.

“Oh it’s riveting”, eliciting a hearty laugh from the stunningly gorgeous face behind me. Laughter is always a great way to break casual conversation into the comfortable zone, and for a while it was good. Then it dawned on me that this lady is actually flirting with me. The mild schizophrenia kicked in at the sudden realization, and the shy awkwardness dropped like a bomb on the conversation. The change in attitude was startling to notice; one moment it’s as if I was having a fun conversation with a friend, the next it’s like I am having a cavity search at airport security.

I thought about incidents from my childhood that have made me this way; what is it about me that makes me automatically aim so hard to please everybody, especially people that I want to like me? A friend once said that my underlying problem is I don’t know how to be myself in these situations, and that is probably the most accurate description of the problem. The very thing that my friends like about me_my absurd goofiness, is precisely what I censor in public.

Case in point, this past weekend. A friend of mine tried to set me up with a very hot lady friend of his. In fact, he didn’t have to do any setting up. She stopped short of writing it down on my forehead that she was into me, and I still wouldn’t have gotten it. It’s not that I didn’t notice the subtle hints of her attempting to make conversation with me several times and putting her arm around me, it’s that I understood that too well. And I drew blanks.

Ah Balls. Time to grow a pair.