Of mice, men, chimps and chumps

*Post contains profanity.*

I have to say, Happy New Year to all first. Because the rest of what I have to say sets the tone for a fairly crappy blue year.

The score of Dave vs the Axis of Women now stands at a neat 0-8.

One of those fun defeats was another cute Thai waitress who positively beamed when I told her, "I think you're cute, can I take you out to coffee?" She unfortunately had a boyfriend and I'm unfortunately beginning to think I must have some kind of fetish for the hospitality industry. Seriously, if you ever find me cruising and hitting up MacDonald's Drive-thru's I want you to shoot me, then cremate me, turn my ashes into a mud brick and then smash the brick...with a Humvee.

The other defeat is, in the big picture, much more significant to me for many reasons.

I met this wonderful girl at a Christmas party recently. She is, easily, the most interesting person I've met this year. Spontaneous, cute, artistic and articulate...phrases like "point of consciousness" roll off her tongue as easily as a Lupe Fiasco rhyme, yet peppered with girly giggles...the adjectives don't really convey what an intriguing mess of contradictions this girl is.

Such an adorable mess at that, too.

We had a couple of pseudo-dates with other people tagging along which went alright. I decided to push the agenda by offering to make her dinner at my place.

I think I drove my friends and family nuts by getting very neurotic and nervous about the date. All the typical hang-ups got dusted off and thrown about,

"What do I wear? What music do I play? What should I cook?"

I mean, I haven't been on a proper date in years, so really all that can be simplified into,

"What the fuck do I do?"

And the zen-like answer I got from all corners -

"Just be yourself."

(Is everyone else hearing Robin Williams as the Genie from Aladdin? Beeeee yourselfff)

In some people's eyes (my brother) it was slight overkill. He said, in his wisdom,

"Man, you've upped the intimacy level way too quickly. If you're not on point and the chemistry isn't there, you've got nothing to fall back on. Nothing to distract her. You're McFucked."

That's my new curse for the year. McFucked.

My friends had only one thing to say when I said that I'd tried to be adventurous by inviting the girl to pick six ingredients which I'd use, Ready Steady Cook-style.

"Dude." (Shaking their heads)

When the ingredients came back as salt, pepper, garlic, pork, tomatoes and ice-cream, and I said that I'd try and be even more adventurous and make tomato ice cream you can imagine their response.

"Dude, you....are so McFucked."

"Just be yourself."

I've decided that that is the single most useless piece of advice ever.

Anyway, come date night I had, like a typical medic, prepared and over-thought the situation enough for me not to be too nervous. And dinner went alright. Nobody died from tomato ice-cream poisoning, and nobody choked on undercooked pork.

Maybe something I should say at this point is that the girl had already forewarned me that she wasn't looking for something serious, particularly not with a doctor (aha! the "doctor" card is absolute bullshit - see?) because she had had a disappointing relationship with a doctor in the past.

I think I surprised both her and myself by forging on nonetheless, optimism in one hand and a firm belief in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny in the other.

McFuck it! I'll just BE myself and she'll see that it'll be different with ME.

I think it's clear from my tone that I did indeed get McFucked.

Somewhere around the halfway mark of the dinner date the conversation got serious. Serious talking about her not being ready to have a serious relationship. With a doctor?

No, with me.

I live with self-doubt most hours of the day and one gets used to hearing one's own voice drone on about one's own inadequacies so much that functioning is not so hard.

However, when someone beautiful and intelligent is sitting in front of you and deduces it all, and reflects it back to you in words almost stolen from your own head...

The feeling of vulnerability is like being dissected open to your soul on an operating table without proper anaesthesia. You're aware that something painful is happening to you but have no control over it, and for some strange reason it doesn't feel wrong. It just hurts.

I hear (not in these exact words, I'm paraphrasing) "You're passive, serious. Not relaxed. You're not assertive, you're not quick."

Just be yourself?

Guys (males), all of you *know* what comes next.

"I Still Want To Be Friends."

This is where you feel like a dog that's been steamrolled into a worthless (and very flat) carcass but here she is, waving a bone at your flat, sorry ass.

And I'm sorry to say it, but I'm a sorry sucker for it too.

So, just be yourself?

Be a sucker? Be a passive, serious, non-assertive slow bastard?

That chestnut of wisdom "Be Yourself" does not live with the other classic axiom, "Change is a Good Thing".

It's the season of change. I've been living in this skin for a year and it's brought me to my knees in front of women that have either been Christian, psychotic allied health or a seductive force of nature, as in this case.

I'm really feeling that if Oh-Seven is not kind to me, I will break things.

I want to thank Marcus and Sid for the drinks, and apologize for not taking their advice more to heart.

I want to thank Fi for the song we recorded - I am going to try and hang my memories of this week on that, rather than on this.

And to the significant two others involved in this situation: I realized after writing all this you may stumble on this post. This post is not meant to upset the balance we've negotiated and I'm not looking to cause any trouble. Go about your business and don't underestimate my capacity to be civil. I am a public servant, after all.

***

As Oh-six turns away for the last time, I want to wish much love and happiness to all my friends and everyone who has made this year alive for me.

Faithfully yours,
!dave~

Closing out the year

*edit*:

1) When I say "old" in the next paragraph, I mean - "longtime", not "aged" or "geriatric" or "crusty"
2) Said "longtime" friend is Fiona SNARE nee Wong - my apologies for naming the sound file incorrectly (old habits die hard!)

Tomorrow I'll find out if I really close out the year on a win (this will mean something to some, and nothing to others), but I received a beautiful gift from an old friend when I got some people together today to jam in my garage.

Just listen:

Fi and Dave - All my life (K-Ci and Jojo cover).

Fi thinks K-Ci and Jojo sound wishy-washy on the original track (blasphemy! "All my life" was one of the defining songs of my San Francisco trip in year 10); I forgave her totally after we recorded this.

Happy new year to you all. I hope 2007 brings much love and no more squalor than is necessary.

Pep talk

Headspace is a little scrambled right now.

Emergency medicine has been keeping me busy lately, but after work I get home and bash my head against metaphorical brick walls in the vain hope of creating 'music'. Eventually some bricks fall together in not-horrible ways and I sit, slightly satisfied that I've got a nice beat track. The only problem is that that brief euphoria dissipates when I realize I've got no melody, no lyrics to drape over it, i.e. no *song*. I sit there, struggling to be inspired by myself.

Not dissimilar to my current social situation, really. Struggling to be inspired by myself.

I've been going to salsa classes recently after my mate invited me along. I figured it'd be fun, and a good chance to meet new people outside of medicine.

So I'm there and somehow manage to score a dance with a cute little asian girl who is all the more cute for being able to dance. I, unfortunately, am not blessed likewise, in either category, and the combination of trying to make conversation and dance at the same time renders neither functional.

The music stops and it's been such a poor showing that I don't even bother trying to offer her a drink. There's an awkward moment and we walk off in opposite directions.

I told my friend esme about this and she laughed (it *was* funny in an awkward-Jason-Biggs-having-sex-with-an-apple-pie way) but when she said, "the picture of a deflated Dave is getting familiar" I thought Things Really Need to Change.

Both my salsa mate and a new acquaintance told me this last week that the power lies in positive thinking - in not taking these hits personally and staying positive in of myself.

Struggling to be inspired by myself.

I do, however, remain surprised by my ability to jump headlong into a situation in which I'm completely out of my depth. Last night I tried to ask out a gorgeous eurasian waitress (degree of difficulty - 5.0) and to cut a long story short, my opening salvo was,

"Hi, can I have two Jack and Cokes?" - trying to flash the most cute smile I can muster, although it probably looked like a grotesque cubist painting...and the dismount, an hour or two later -

Trying to beat the Last Call for Alcohol, I front up to the bar, hoping to catch her again, I get hit by a different waitress who says,

"Sorry, we're closing."

I've come too far. I have to dig deep.

"Um, I just came up to ask her" I point, "to coffee." (EMBARASSING!)

"Well, she just started her, maybe you could ask her another time?"

What? I can't get stopped by that. I'm committed. I'm Jerry Maguire with the memo.

"Uh, look, could you just, please?"

She asks the girl over. My heart is about to rupture in about ten different ways and so out comes,

"Uh, hi, I'm Dave...I just, actually, um, came to...

"...to like see if, to ask you..."

"to coffee."

She smiled, (I think), but said

"Sorry, I have a long term boyfriend."

Somehow I manage to apologize and leave, despite my legs feeling like an amorphous blob of caffeine and energy.

The upshot of this all, is that, despite being deflated Dave yet again, I have to thank the sympathetic nervous system for reminding me how it feels to be alive.

But, of course, being far too self-analytical, I know there are a multitude of ways that that scenario could have been run better, smoother, flirtier.

Honestly though, I'm scared of smoother, flirtier. Why? Where is that line between smooth and flirty, and sleazy? I've talked to a couple of different people about this lately. I open it up to public forum.

Go. Inspire me. Struggling to be inspired by myself.