A Sweet Song Keeps Georgia On My Mind

I moved across the country a few months ago, and I have started to slowly collect a few new stories as I build new friendships with people out here. A problem with that is having to think of new pseudonyms for them, and I don’t think I can continue to use names of recent draft picks from the Edmonton Oilers, as I have done in the past. Maybe I’ll switch to Doctor Who characters…

So I’m out for my friend, Donna’s, birthday. She brings her girlfriend Amy and their friend Rory (afterthought: yeah, I think this’ll do). Since it’s Donna’s birthday, she drinks free until midnight at this bar. We all have a few drinks, and nothing seems crazy, but this night happens to coincide with a karaoke contest. The contestants are not the best singers, and when it’s over, we’re all thankful for it. After the contest, the bar still has normal karaoke for the rest of the night. There are some good performers and some very good songs being sung.

Then, some girl goes up and sings “Georgia On My Mind” by Ray Charles. First of all, this is a great song. Second of all, she is good. Third of all…actually, there is no third of all, I am instantly in love with whoever this enchanting creature is. If I was a sailor in olden times, I’m pretty sure I would have crashed the ship, as a siren’s song can ensnare me with ease. While she is singing this song, I am enthralled, as displayed by my googly-eyes, but I digress.

Donna, Amy, and Rory notice this, and we start to devise how I am going to approach and talk to this angel. Donna and Amy give me normal advice on talking to women, which is always a nice idea to default to; for this, I start and carry on a normal conversation about Ray Charles and songs I like from him. Unfortunately, at this point, I’m way too intimidated to try to strike a normal conversation. Rory offers to pull a similar, “Haaaaave you met Ted?” move; which I feel is something I might be able to do. Although, this also involves me having to pretend that I am a coherent human being, which I am definitely not while around this woman right now.

Then I come with an idea, a brilliant idea. So the plan is that I’m blind. I believe it came about when we were trying to find common ground to talk about Ray Charles.

Step 1: Rory takes me by the arm to go talk to this girl and and introduce me. We’ll talk about Ray Charles and how I’m blind as well.

Step 2:

Step 3: Her love magically restores my sight.

I start to think I can do this and I’m getting pumped up about talking to her now. Rory is fully on board, while we’re laughing and securing our places in hell. Donna and Amy keep telling us how bad of an idea this is, but now we’re just having more fun making this plan.

I loosen up and it looks like the girl is getting ready to leave soon. Though, now that she is no longer in the context of “Ray Charles Goddess,” I start to look at her and realize she isn’t as cute without my rose-colored glasses. The instant crush dissipates and we all just focus on hanging out.

I realize that I don’t end up talking to anyone in this situation, so technically it isn’t a story about wingmanning. The moral of the story is making sure you have people to strategize with. Even if the ideas are horrible, sometimes it’s just fun to compose these things.

-Patrick

We Find Out What’s The Worst That Could Happen

The night starts like any other in downtown Campbell (back when Katie Bloom’s was still fun): start at KB’s, then hop to another bar when it gets way too crowded. I’m there with two friends: one who is single (let’s call him Ryan for now), and one who is not-so-much. It’s still early, there’s no one on the dance floor, so naturally, we get our beers and stand in the middle of the dance floor. This is one of my harebrained schemes to meet women; women like dancing, it’s awkward for three guys to dance by themselves, so claim good dance floor territory, and women will eventually start dancing around you…that’s my reasoning at least. The dance floor starts populating and it’s my turn to buy, so I go to the bar to get the round. I make my way back with three beers and my friends are dancing with women…HOW’D THE HELL THAT HAPPEN?!

That scenario ends when the not-so-single friend may, or may not, have kissed one of the girls. We don’t know for sure, we didn’t see it happen. But the way she’s pissed when she sees the ring on his hand, odds are that something happened. Needless to say, we have to go to a new bar.

We get to another bar and non-single friend feels really bad and just wants to sulk off to the side while Ryan and I continue to find women. We go to the bar to get a drink and discuss that WTF-moment. I overhear a small group, two women and one guy, talking about Antti Niemi’s poor play in playoffs against the St. Louis Blues. It wasn’t his fault, our defense couldn’t really handle guys like David Perron and Andy McDonald, and we couldn’t get goal-support against their defense and untouchable goalie-tandem, but I digress. I jump into the conversation to defend Niemi’s play and completely take over the conversation. I must have cock-blocked the other guy pretty bad, because I don’t even notice him leave.

While I can hold my own in any conversation about hockey, it was baseball season, so we transition to that. She’s a Giants fan, and I am an A’s supporter, where I immediately gave her crap for their poor performance early in the season (thank Christ I wasn’t still talking to her when the Giants won the championship later on). Ryan is talking to her friend, but we end up switching for a little bit, don’t remember why because we’re still drinking. Anyway, I end up getting the friend’s number, because let’s face it, she’s the better-looking of the two, then head to the restroom before we leave. Apparently, she tells Ryan to get her number from me. I find this out as we’re trying to flag down a cab. Needless to say, I’m a little confused and pissed, but instead of being mad, I just text her and asked her for her friend’s number, since that’s the one I hit it off with anyway.

I went on a few dates with her, then decided to run like hell, figuratively-speaking. Ryan and I literally running away from women is another story for another time. Turns out, the friend that Ryan talked to was bat-shit crazy…knives strategically placed around her room-crazy. Mine was just weird, so oh well, what can you do. That’s dating.

-Patrick