I normally don’t like to go too far into detail about my personal life on this list – wait, that’s a lie. But I don’t really like to exploit my failures for the amusement of the masses. OK, that’s a HUGE lie. But this sucks. I’ve reached an all-time low in Dustin – girl relationships. I was dumped twice in the span of a week. Well, OK. I guess I was probably more appropriately dumped once and just kinda cut the second time. More like an unrestricted free agent that just wasn’t signed again. But I told you I wouldn’t talk about football anymore. And the first time probably wasn’t so much “dumped” as it was just designating me as a transitinoal player instead of a franchise player. And the second time was probably what hurt more, because not only was that the one I REALLY wanted to work, but it was the second time in a fucking week. I mean, come on! A man can only take striking out so much before he throws the bat down in disgust and gets fined for hurling a water cooler at the heckling fans. But this wasn’t even striking out so much as getting tricked. Like getting picked off on that fake baseball, throwing the potato over the first baseman’s head play. See there’s a not-so-affectionate term that some of us guys refer to as “diving on the grenade.” It can be more tactfully called being the wing man. It’s the guy that talks to the really pretty girl’s… well, not-so-pretty friend so your friend can talk to the pretty chick. It’s a very noble man that does this job proficiently.
This past Friday, I was the grenade. I came to that realization fairly early but chose to ignore it. Besides, we had hit it off pretty well despite the circumstances which could have possibly led us to one another. So then I thought that maybe I wasn’t really the grenade, but it was just a coincidence. I can’t tell if my initial thought was the pessimist in me coming out or if the justification was the optimist peeking through. At any rate, I’m willing to accept defeat again. It’s the damn Valentines Day curse. Cupid’s got the arrows sharpened and pointed the right way, but the tips are laced with cyanide.
Well, I was telling a mutual friend of me and the girl about how we met that Friday night. Maybe she was “diving on the grenade,” but I wasn’t the only guy with the non-grenade guy…
“So at least you were the best of all the other grenades.”
-Chris Hudsucker Augsburger
Not really, I was just the least explosive of all of them.
Kicking Cupid in the nuts,
Still Standing Right Here…