The internet is down in the law school at the moment. It is 11:37 am. I have one of those colds that just keep on running, and I took some stuff that seems to be making me feel numb. Or else that’s the disease doing its thing.
I tried to get a haircut today. I have a job interview at 4pm, and my hair has reached the point of unruly. I’m reasonably certain I can get through this interview; I just wish it had occurred last Monday, rather than today.
Back on point, I tried to get a haircut. It seems allocating an hour to get a haircut just isn’t enough. If I don’t have an hour and ½, I’ll never get the cut done.
Speaking of which (for want of a better transition), what do I want to talk about today?
It’s funny. Ever since I changed this into an officially titled law blog, I’ve been talking less and less about the law. Perhaps that’s part of the point, whether I knew it or not, of the use of the word “casual” in my title. If nothing else, this blog is the document of a guy going through law school, not because he’s in love with the law, but because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.
Of course, that could just be the drugs talking. (A.k.a. cold medicine. Seriously people, what other terrible things will you believe about me?)
Today I think I’d like to talk about my bad timing. Sounds like a Scrubs episode title. My Bad Timing.
I’m a bit of an oddball. For whatever reason, I’m significantly better at talking to women who are in relationships than I am with women who are available.
This was the primary thing I considered as I drove home from Law Prom last weekend. It’s been revolving it in my mind for a few days now, and I’ve come up with a few possible reasons why this might be.
Reason #1: I hate competition. Pretty, single girls get talked to a lot. I don’t do well in pressure environments where I have to try to compete with guys around me.
Reason #2: I’m not an especially attractive man. Oh, sure, I have some nice facial features, but the weight thing is the real elephant in the closet. Women in relationships don’t care about this, because they’ve finished looking, at least for the present. Single women who clearly haven’t found themselves in my friend zone yet; however, don’t have this luxury. I am an unknown factor. I am a threat, in the same way that I feel threatened by large, ugly women with wide mouths, when they start giving me the moon eyes.
Reason #3: Self-fulfilling Prophecy. I believe reasons number one and two with an unshakable conviction. For this reason, I shoot myself in the foot every time. If a woman is looking at me from across the room, I instantly assume she is looking at me for the same reason I’d be looking at an unattractive person: I just can’t help it, like a car wreck.
Regrettably, this all puts me in some pretty awkward positions. At the moment I’m interested in three women in the law school. Obviously, there are a few others that are more or less attractive, but these three all meet the all-important personality requirement. For those of you curious, there is no hard and fast rule for the personality requirement. Chattiness is usually good. An interest in politics is always a plus. The ability to start dancing in an area where dancing isn’t especially encouraged is neat. Hell, a cute laugh is effective. But, I guess, if I had to point to one thing, it’s probably the exact same thing that the ladies look for in men. I like it when women take an interest in me.
Unfortunately, the first girl is in an extended relationship. She’s not married, and it sounds pretty rocky. It’s just pretty hard to compete with extended relationships. The second girl just started a relationship. No love is more difficult to break than young love. This one may be the most frustrating, because I started being interested in her shortly before she started being in this relationship. Timing is frequently a bitch for me. The final girl is something of an enigma. She’s single. Thing is, I can’t tell if she is hung up by my weight, or just really into me and overly shy about it.
You can probably guess which one I’m guessing.