I had an epiphany last night.

After lots of banter about who I am, how I feel, and why I’m probably undateable, I broke down and started messaging random women.  They were found for me, by OkCupid, through some alchemical algorithm that requires several advanced degrees to properly understand.

My hero.  (credit: LadyTaevyn)

Let’s just call it magic, okay?

OkCupid's secret weapon.

Funny thing is, those “matches” seemed to be pretty spot on.  I decided that if these potentially awesome (or awful) women don’t message me back, I wouldn’t get upset.  You see, I refuse to express or present myself any way but the way I normally am.  Sometimes it’s a little brash, sometimes it’s a little (okay okay, a lot) awkward, but it’s always genuine. 

I know for a fact that I am about the most unflappable dude in the universe.  There are only two things possibly imaginable that get a rise out of me.  If you are openly and brashly discourteous to the people around you, or if you pull up too close behind me while I’m trying to parallel park, I will destroy your world.

I’d also go apeshit if you laid an untoward finger on either of my sisters, but that’s just a biological response of a big brother.  No one can fault me for that.

I may have made a mistake last night by trying my first attempts at contacting strangers after having a few adult beverages.  They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.  Besides, I went back and checked this morning.  I didn’t say anything more awkward than I normally would, I was just far less anxious or caring about it.

The expected damage to my psyche.

GMB is a little more accurate...

The epiphany is not, repeat not, the fact that I don’t care if women write me back or not.  That was decided well before I even signed up for the bloody website.  If I didn’t really care about the hot waitress who turned me down last week, than why should I care if some woman I’ve never met doesn’t write back?

“But dude, what if she is just as shy and awkward as you?” asks Guyfriend 1.

“If I keep messaging her, she’ll think I’m some kind of creepo.  In fact, I would definitely be one.  Her loss.  Next?”

“But dude, what if she, like, accidentally deleted your message?” asks Guyfriend 2.

“Logical fallacy.  Reducto ad absurdum [see: this].  Next question?”

“Dude, what, hehe, if, she like, hehe, just plain forgot?” asks Non-friend.

“Then she’s probably smoking the same shit you are.  Get out of here.”

I enjoy hashing out solipsistic arguments by creating fake conversations with fictional people.  Thanks for indulging me.

~

The epiphany came from a trip to West Philadelphia last night.  You see, West Philly does not qualify as a proper residential area according to my Laws of City Living.  I’ll explain the gory details another time, but I consider trips west of the Schuylkill River to be a pilgrimage of sorts.

Agreed.

~ 

Sidebar: The opening credits to Fresh Prince of Bel Air were not filmed in West Philadelphia.  They were filmed in the Waring School/Roberto Clemente Playground at 17th and Green.  In North 

Philadelphia.  Zing.

~

Anyhow, I used to live in West Philly, and before I lived there I spent A LOT of time there socializing, dating, partying, coffee-ing, etc.  I have a very very very special place in my heart for that part of town.  Truth be told, I’m seriously considering moving back up there, in spite of my own laws.

I took a trip up there last night for an old friend’s birthday.  I had lost touch with this circle of people because I broke up with the girlfriend whom I met them all through.  Now, I have nothing but fondness for this woman, but I had to step away from her circle despite the friendships I developed individually with these people.  It’s been about four, maybe five years since we broke up, and about three girlfriends, six jobs, and a couple hundred thousand miles of traveling have passed since we were together.  She’s had the same "new" man for a few years now and he is a gentleman and a scholar.  I think it’s okay to start being friends with some of those folks again, don’t you?

Suppressing the urge to vomit rainbows.

It was a wonderful low key hang!  Turns out the ex-girlie and new man weren’t going to be there anyway.  She actually wants to set me up with a friend of hers, but I’m not so sure about that one.  At the party I get introduced to a roommate of a friend of my friend.  Say that one five times fast…  She’s a fellow performer, fellow traveler, fellow glasses wearer, and uber-sexy.  We were discussing the merits of spring reverb in guitar amps when I noticed she was wearing sublimely awesome designer heels.  Did I mention she was uber-sexy?

These are dope, but don't give her kicks any justice...

The epiphany!  (Which I’m sure you’ve all been anxiously awaiting…)

I think I’m a closet metrosexual.

Oh crapspackle.  Like I don't have trouble already?

Truth be told, I’ve known this for years.  Despite my dresser full of uncommon/awesome t-shirts, loved hoodies, and the fact that I only own two pairs of jeans, I dress up very nicely.  My profession requires me to dress formally on occasion, and I’ll be damned if I’m wearing some K-Mart black suit, white shirt, and mundane tie.

"I told Laura I wanted a RED tie dammit!  Blue is for fags and liberals..."

I like colored dress shirts and ties that subtly match with non-dominant colors.  I treasure my tie collection nearly as highly as my book collection.  I even have more pairs of shoes than I do total pants (slacks/khakis included).  I also have a thing for jackets…  I rotate three winter jackets, contingent on weather, occasion, outfit, and shoes.  Once springtime hits it’s on like Donkey Kong for fashion.

Best of all (or worst, for those non-fashionistas out there), I have an AMAZING pair of man-boots.  Don’t hate, be jealous.

Pimp-tastic.

So chastise me all you want.  I have already publicly admitted that I am a 6’1”, walking, talking contradiction.  When I’m not dressed fashionably I look borderline homeless.  So what?

But whatever you do, don’t call me a fucking hipster.  I’ll cut you.  You like American Spirits and PBR too, you Bohemian Bourgeois fascist hypocrite.

omg, if a sexy woman made this, i'm totally marrying her.

It’s a Saturday night and I’m dateless.  This is not the first time and I’m positive it won’t be the last.  There are still adventures to be had and I like to be first in line for the roller coaster.  Game on my friends.