what's a few more bruises?

This has been just another, typical, Valentine’s weekend for me…and apparently, I have now become the worse half of the blind dating scene. This last one was with a girl named Jessica, who, while not too interesting, was at least somewhat attractive…though she obviously considered me to be hovering much closer to empty on the attractiveness gas gauge. Yes, there is nothing like being rejected by total strangers to really wreak havoc with your ego.

All of this followed right on the heels of heading out to drink after class last week. It was here, that I asked the question which I swore that I would never ask anyone, ever again, under any circumstances…except that when drinking I forget this oath until it’s too late. The lady from class that I went drinking with is unhappily married, thus we started glancing around the bar, staring at the different folks drinking, and commenting on how many drinks it would take before we’d consider having sex with them.

I saw a good looking girl and mentioned how I’d gladly buy her the drinks, being that I surely wouldn’t need one to be convinced of sleeping with this girl.

“Well that’s good,” my tactful classmate said, “because you’d need to.”

And it was at this point that the dreaded question slipped out. “Gee thanks…so what, exactly, is my attractiveness rating?”

Even after a few drinks, I wanted to bash my head against the side of the table. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, was all I could think.

“You?” she said studying me, “you’re just average.”

Average. You know, we couldn’t lie to help a guy out…oh no, we have to choose this moment to play the honesty card. And while ‘average’ is the majority, the fact remains that ‘average’ is dull, frumpy, overweight, balding, and at risk of becoming your parents. And unlike the socioeconomic class system, there is no shifting into a different attractive bracket. You’re stuck. Forever labeled. Doomed to a vanilla ice cream kind of life. With no sprinkles. And only an occasional dab of chocolate syrup.

You know, the fucker could at least have thrown me a bone and given me a ‘slightly above average’ on the attractiveness scale…and worse still, this from a lady who, moments before, told me how she was in love with Greg Allman when she was younger.

So it would only figure, now that my ego is stationed well below sea-level, that I had a job interview today. Needless to say, I don’t think I did much impressing during the question and answer phase of this process. But at least this means that I can continue to sleep until noon, stay in my sweats for days on end, and leave the apartment only when the food inventory reaches critical levels. But can you really expect anything more from an ‘average’ person?