I’ve written some posts over the past year that had not been published. I started to write about these posts yesterday, when I realized that these moments all had something in common: the guys involved felt like their testicles had been removed. At first glance, today’s moment doesn’t seem like one of those moments. But for me, it does. I usually see this moment in the beginning stages, see where it’s headed, and end up feeling that same sense of sympathy/pity that I now call “the Poor Puppy moment”.
I don’t even know what cutesy little name to give this particular situation, so I’m just going to describe it. It’s when you darling boy, try too hard. I know a couple of guys (and have witnessed many more) do this repeatedly and it leaves me shaking my head every single time. All I can assume is that at some point in your romantic/sexual past, some woman told you that you “couldn’t”. Whether it was sustaining a relationship or sustaining an erection, she told you that you were not capable. Or maybe your boys teased you one time too many and tell you that the only thing you can pull on a Saturday night is…yourself. I could list more examples but I think you get the idea.
Whatever the trigger was, you have now internalized these criticisms/jokes and have now set out to prove “someone” wrong. Except that instead of using it as fuel to get back on the proverbial horse, you use it as your primary reason for every single pursuit. It’s no longer your goal to get a date, or get laid, or even get a girlfriend; it’s to silence that little nagging voice in your head that sounds just like the person who said “you couldn’t”…
Let’s be honest. You know this. You hear that voice. It’s the voice you hear the moment you spot a girl that you might be interested in. It whispers, “you can’t get her…move on.” So, you summon up your (false sense of) courage and head in.
But you’re not subtle when you should be. Smooth when you could be. Funny when you normally would be. You go too fast, too hard, with too much. It’s like the stereotypical girl who tells a guy on the first date how many kids she wants and that she’d like a spring wedding (*coughkimkardashiancough*), you start in with all the tactics you think will work instead of properly assessing the situation and responding accordingly.
You head over, offer to buy her a drink and order two shots of something.
Step back and check; she’s drinking from a martini glass…why would you order a shot?
You introduce yourself and start talking about the club. Ask if she’s having a good time and tell her about the time you’re having.
Step back and check; did you ask her name? Did you find out if she’s there with anyone? Did you let her fully answer the question? Did you find out if she is having a good time?
You compliment her hair, makeup, and/or body. Whatever it was, you found it/them so irresistible you were compelled to come over and talk to her.
Step back and check; is she still listening to you?
While talking, you feel the need to let her know right away that you have job, work out regularly (when time permits because you have such a demanding career), and love watching football/basketball/hockey with friends (when time permits, because…) You’re thinking of going away for your next vacation because you like to travel, and yeah, you’re thinking of hitting up that Sandals resort in the Dominican again because you had such a great time two years ago…
Step back and…shut the fuck up already!
Chances are you’re in some sort of social situation with lots of people, noise and even music. Guess what, it’s louder than usual. So every great thing you’re saying about yourself is coming out like this…
“YOU HAVE AN AMAZING BODY. DO YOU WORK OUT? I WORK OUT ABOUT 4 TIMES A WEEK. MAYBE YOU COULD TRY MY GYM…”
“WANNA HAVE A SHOT? (signals bartender) TWO JAEGERBOMBS!”
“MY JOB IS SO CRAZY. IT’S HARD SOMETIMES FOR ME TO JUST GO OUT AND HAVE A GOOD TIME. I’M GOING TO NEED A VACATION SOON…”
“CAN I GET YOUR NUMBER?”
I watch, shake my head and think to myself, “tsk tsk tsk”. The last time I went out, my girl a Mr. Try Too Hard to “impress (her) in 15 words or less”. He started talking…and talking…and, talking. When he stopped she said, “not impressed…and that was more than 15 words.”
Deafened by the chorus of little voices, he couldn’t even hear himself.
(pssst. Neither can you…)
Poor Puppy. He walked back to his boys with his balls in his hand. For the rest of the night, I think he might have approached one other woman. He spent most of his time nursing his drink, his ego and listening to voices of failures past.
It’s hard out there. I get it. Aim high…of course. But actually try aiming instead of firing at will, and for the love of all that is good and holy, stop trying so damn hard.