The Artist

2009-06-23 5:21 a.m.
I knew it was a bad idea from jump. She's too damned young. Not by law, just by range.

She's an artist - a talented one. She wanted to learn how to make a website. But it wasn't her way of getting me to make her a website, which is the usual case in such a situation. She wanted to learn how to make one on her own...

Let me back up...

At the local bar with B and M. B nodded towards the bar to point out some girl. I looked over, she looked alright. Not my type, but not too bad from afar. I gave the "not bad" shrug and turned back to my drink. I glanced over a little later and saw she had a friend with her but thought little of it.

Long forgotten after a few more rounds, we found ourselves at the bar and B was offering a round of shots. I happened to be standing directly over the two girls and figured I'd spark the introduction. Mind you, I'm currently the perfect wingman - disinterested in dealing with the opposite sex for any prolonged period due to lack of patience.

So, I invited them to the shot and slipped B a $10 as he'd recently quit his job and it was a big gesture for him to offer a round in the first place. And then she turned around. A stunning face with starry eyes. Her clothes were too un-fitting to tell much else. I sparked the conversation to give B the chance with the girl he was eying. She's an artist, intrigued by my profession, but she said the magic sentence: She wants to learn how to do it herself.

Sidebar. I don't do what I do for the money. Sure, the money is good, but I actually believe in this strange thing called the internet - as the extention to humanity for better or worse. Anyone who wants "in" to my world is instantly a person of interest to me, not a sexual or loving interest, just another soon-to-be-enlightened one. An enlightenment that I can offer with honest excitement.

Numbers excahnged and I searched for M so we could break the fuck out before I drunkenly took the conversation in the wrong direction.

Realizing that she was young (soon to be 24 at the time), I squirmed through 3 days before texting her. "You should come out and play this weekend." A few painful hours later: "I just got out of work - freedom! How's my website??". "I guess that's what we're going to have to find out. Going out tonight?"

A couple days later, I met her with two of her friends at some bar. She's fucking STUNNING. I dragged my chin off the floor and kissed her on the cheek, introducing myself to the friend and saying hello to the one from the other night. Awkwardly sailed through the conversation without any overwhelming waves and then made my way out before any storm of awkwardness had the chance to take over.

Texts started back and forth every day. Nothing flirty, friendly.

A couple days later she came by. Cordial conversation from across the room. She's from my city. She's a fashion designer. She's a painter. She's gorgeous. 90% getting to know each other, 10% web site. Explained how it worked and showed her the basics. Buzzed and mentally exhausted from what was obviosuly more work than she'd hoped for, she left. I was intrigured.

More texts.

She came by again. This time we dipped a little further into our respective bottles and the vibe was a little stronger. Still no deliberate flirting besides a couple compliments. During the conversation about past relationships, she started apologizing for shit that doesn't matter. I read attraction. There is no way there was nothing there.

We made it to the local bar and she asked my intentions in an eventually direct manner. Essentially "Are you just trying to fuck?" "Hell no, that's not me; I'm just trying to get to know you better. I mean, I really dig you, so I'm trying to get to know you better and hoping this grows." "Good."

I hadn't realized how much was left uncovered in that conversation. After that, my head kicked into gear. Walked her home and asked her to come out to play the next day - if at least for one drink.

Her birthday was that weekend (this past Saturday) and I went out to get her a gift. Some art supplies for the broke artist - simple and thoughtful. A lesson well learned.

She called from the local bar. I was downtown with friends. She didn't want to come to the city, but her friend convinced her to since she had to go to NJ. "Hit me when you get to the city." She did, eventually, but never came down to meet us. "Let me know where you are and I'll meet you." A few more texts basically saying, "we're not anywhere yet." Then one of the guys we were with bought shots. Pro Tip: When drinking straight whiskey, there's absolutely no reason to drink shots - even if it's just whiskey. It's like dumping buckets of water into a full bathtub.

The show we were watching was good, but by then, hard to enjoy. I was wasted and dissed. I stepped out and hit a cab. Got home. Texted... "I know I was pushing a little hard, but honestly, I have a gift. Come have a drink." "Be there in 5."

I cleaned up for a second and head out. I was wasted. She loved the gift. I'm not sure how we got there - likely related to the gift, we got back to the intentions conversation. "I thought that you got from that conversation, that I was just interested in being friends." I was floored. I hadn't. Not like I was ready to propose or some shit, but I KNEW something was there. I was far too drunk to get that across clearly. I sloppily tried to get my point across. "I'm crazy about you. You dig me. I'm not even sure why this conversation exists." And then I got into my drunken rambling that likely began to sound desperate. I'm not. I was disappointed. In myself for not seeing it - as i know something was there. In her for not going with it. In myself for even fucking bothering.

Walked her home. Went for a kiss. "You're drunk." I was defeated. No arguments. I was drunk, but sincere. But no matter how bad of a condition I seemed to be in, I knew what that meant. She gave a huge hug and wished me a good night.

I wrote an email the next day. Blah Blah, miscommunication is a bitch, blah blah...
"To be fair, the shift from looking at you as "Beautiful, Sexy, Creative and Interesting" to "My cute artist friend" is monumental and demands an overdramatic drunken rant. This is definitely not an apology as I may have been sloppy, but I was sincere."

Nothing since. I can't deal with the young'ns. Nice thing about women in my own range is that you can say you really dig someone and they can easily say me too, or not, and you continue from there. I've never been one for the boring games. Anything I find that interests me, I dive in face first. This does not always fare well with people and less so for the younger ones who prefer hints and distractions.

I feel like I did something wrong, but have a hard time finding where. Besides the sloppy delivery. But honestly, that shouldn't fucking matter. I was sincere. I may make a fool of myself at important times, but I do it because I'm the sane one. Fuck the games. Fuck the bullshit. I play my god damned cards and win. And if she's gone, it's her loss. But I'd sure as hell rather she wasn't.