Some of you have seen my status updates referring to an elusive Bartender.
Some of you have witnessed my adventures (or, rather, lack thereof) with this elusive Bartender boy.
Now that a respectable mourning period has passed, now that the adventure is over, the case is closed, the end to the saga has come and gone, it is time that I finally disclose the mysteries of my heart, the nonsensical thoughts in my head and my asinine (and failed) attempts to do just one simple thing – TALK TO THE GUY. My hope is that you, Gentle Reader, will be able to learn from my mistakes and, in turn, REMIND me to act on what I’ve supposedly learned from my mistakes. ‘Cuz sometimes a girl needs a friendly nudge, a swift kick in the arse, or a smack upside the head in order to get the f@#$ over herself and get the f@#$ over IT.
About 8-10 months ago (God, that’s a painfully long time in the world of crushing), I found myself frequenting a club in San Francisco, CA. There is nothing particularly special about this club; it’s definitely not the hottest spot, the “place to be,” the club with the most eye candy or the best DJs. This club, however, had a one up on its competition. This club literally had one thing that made it MY place to be. What was the club’s “secret sauce?” Simple. There was a HOT BARTENDER BOY.
Now, if you know me, you know that I don’t drink. I am always designated driver. Even on my own freakin’ birthday, I’m driving my drunk friends home. Yeah – basically, everybody wants to party with me, Chauffeur Extraordinaire. But, no joke, I actually wanted to develop a drinking habit just so I could find some reason to talk to this Bartender. I found myself at this club almost every weekend. I would dance near the bar. I would watch him from across the bar, sometimes from across the room. I stared so hard I’m surprised I didn’t bore holes through his beautiful head. I stared so much I’m surprised he didn’t catch the deranged (but hopeful) look in my eyes more often. He probably thought I just “happened” to be scanning the crowd, I just “happened” to be looking over at him. (WTF – But for the millionth time in one night?!? Please tell me guys aren’t really this dense.) My friends tried. They tried to encourage me – they gave me pep talks, words of advice, counsel, mental and emotional support; they grudgingly returned with me to this club week after week, even though the music was getting old and so was my schoolgirl crush. Sadly, I couldn’t progress past the staring and the crushing. I was petrified. Frightened. Frozen. During the week, I would imagine having the courage to speak to him, all the magical conversations we would have; when Friday or Saturday night came, I would freeze and resort to the staring and the sighs from across the bar, across the room. I would dance my heart out, but my feet wouldn’t move towards him. I couldn’t even be within three feet of the bar without completely freaking out. Every time I tried, it was as if I had touched a too hot tea kettle; I would jump back, retreat, tail between my legs.
Weeks passed. Months passed. Half a year passed. What was once funny was now pathetic. My friends were on the verge of taking measures into their own hands. Their encouraging words turned into threats. What was wrong with me?! What was my problem!?
Me. The problem was – the problem is – me. I am terribly, horrible, pitifully shy. Sigh.
There. Now the truth is out there. Feel free to bust me upside the head or smack me something silly the next time you see me.
“But, Nancy, WTF. How old are you?!”
“But, Nancy, you’re so,…LOUD! And friendly! And talkative! What do you mean, you’re shy?”
“But, Nancy, come ON. What have you got to lose with some guy you may never see again?!”
“But, Nancy, come ON. He can’t be THAT hot. Whatever.”
First of all, YES, he can be THAT hot.
Second, I’ve already run through every reason why, every scenario, every solution, every antidote, every possible kind of “help” to this “problem” of mine and, still, nothing (yet) has been able to get my feet to budge, my mouth to move. I’m still frozen.
Third, this argument about age – it doesn’t help. So shut up.
Now, the point of sharing all this is not so that I can rehash the past and figure out what went wrong and how I can fix it. Screw it. I’ve made a choice: This crush is OVER. The End. I’ve said my silent good-byes to the Bartender, I’ve closed a chapter to a book never written, I’ve shut the door, I’ve moved on. Oh – and the Bartender quit so, really, I can’t do anything about it anyway.
And let's set aside the fact that, really, I have no business crushing on this Bartender boy. (I know, I know. Sigh.) That's another story for another day.
The point of sharing all this is to help that Shy Girl, or Shy Guy, take those tiny little steps – whether it’s to confront his/her own personal Bartenders or Demons or Crushes or whomever, whatever. Because I realized, through all these months of angst and having no balls (well, figuratively speaking, that is) to do what I wanted to do, being painfully shy is not just some “cute little trait” that some of us are born with. To be as shy as I am, to the point where people can’t tell if I am a Queen Bee Bitch or just really weird and oblivious, there is probably some hidden issue you’ve gotta get resolved and be FREE of. I figured out what my issue (or issues) were and, since my discovery, I’ve been praying and working it out to be FREE of them ("thawing myself out," if you will) so that, the next time I see some Hot Bartender Boy type or some Hot Bartender Boy type sees me (okay, obviously, he doesn’t have to be a bartender and he likely won’t be), I won’t treat him like he’s some untouchable king among men. Good Lawd. The guy is just a guy. I need to stop trippin’ and start thinking straighter. In the meantime, here are some other helpful lessons I learned along the way:
1) That other person is JUST A PERSON. Just like me, just like you. Stop idolizing.
2) Crushing might seem fun but, it’s NOT. If a crush lasts more than a couple weeks, you need to get over it. That’s all there is to it. Anything more than a couple weeks, you’re borderline obsessing. And that ain’t cute.
3) Crushing is non-committal so, if you realize that you have issues with commitment, deal with it. Don’t sweep that s@#$ under the rug.
4) Don’t beat yourself up. If you’re still chicken s@#$ and your friends are giving you s@#$, forgive yourself. The more you focus on all your flaws, the worse the problem SEEM to be.
5) Don’t let that other person define you. You are who you are, NOT because of how hot your crush is, how many guys/girls like you, who does or does not want you but, BECAUSE you are simply wonderful and wonderfully created. And Somebody out there loves you. If that other person doesn’t see it, that’s ok. Move on.
6) If everything seems blown out of proportion - including this crush, your feelings, your failures and your incompetence - just remember to maintain perspective. You WILL get over it. You just have to make that choice.
7) If you really, really can’t get the courage to talk to that other person and you really, really believe you are supposed to and you really, really have to - drinking alcohol works. Just don’t get stupid, drunk - or drunk, stupid.
Okay, so Lesson #7 should be performed under strict direction, observation, assistance and with the utmost caution. And, in case you didn’t get it, I was KIDDING.
Anyway. Hope this helped somebody out there. If anything, I hope it gave somebody a laugh. I think it was a little therapeutic for me, documenting this drama.
Peace out.
Some of you have witnessed my adventures (or, rather, lack thereof) with this elusive Bartender boy.
Now that a respectable mourning period has passed, now that the adventure is over, the case is closed, the end to the saga has come and gone, it is time that I finally disclose the mysteries of my heart, the nonsensical thoughts in my head and my asinine (and failed) attempts to do just one simple thing – TALK TO THE GUY. My hope is that you, Gentle Reader, will be able to learn from my mistakes and, in turn, REMIND me to act on what I’ve supposedly learned from my mistakes. ‘Cuz sometimes a girl needs a friendly nudge, a swift kick in the arse, or a smack upside the head in order to get the f@#$ over herself and get the f@#$ over IT.
About 8-10 months ago (God, that’s a painfully long time in the world of crushing), I found myself frequenting a club in San Francisco, CA. There is nothing particularly special about this club; it’s definitely not the hottest spot, the “place to be,” the club with the most eye candy or the best DJs. This club, however, had a one up on its competition. This club literally had one thing that made it MY place to be. What was the club’s “secret sauce?” Simple. There was a HOT BARTENDER BOY.
Now, if you know me, you know that I don’t drink. I am always designated driver. Even on my own freakin’ birthday, I’m driving my drunk friends home. Yeah – basically, everybody wants to party with me, Chauffeur Extraordinaire. But, no joke, I actually wanted to develop a drinking habit just so I could find some reason to talk to this Bartender. I found myself at this club almost every weekend. I would dance near the bar. I would watch him from across the bar, sometimes from across the room. I stared so hard I’m surprised I didn’t bore holes through his beautiful head. I stared so much I’m surprised he didn’t catch the deranged (but hopeful) look in my eyes more often. He probably thought I just “happened” to be scanning the crowd, I just “happened” to be looking over at him. (WTF – But for the millionth time in one night?!? Please tell me guys aren’t really this dense.) My friends tried. They tried to encourage me – they gave me pep talks, words of advice, counsel, mental and emotional support; they grudgingly returned with me to this club week after week, even though the music was getting old and so was my schoolgirl crush. Sadly, I couldn’t progress past the staring and the crushing. I was petrified. Frightened. Frozen. During the week, I would imagine having the courage to speak to him, all the magical conversations we would have; when Friday or Saturday night came, I would freeze and resort to the staring and the sighs from across the bar, across the room. I would dance my heart out, but my feet wouldn’t move towards him. I couldn’t even be within three feet of the bar without completely freaking out. Every time I tried, it was as if I had touched a too hot tea kettle; I would jump back, retreat, tail between my legs.
Weeks passed. Months passed. Half a year passed. What was once funny was now pathetic. My friends were on the verge of taking measures into their own hands. Their encouraging words turned into threats. What was wrong with me?! What was my problem!?
Me. The problem was – the problem is – me. I am terribly, horrible, pitifully shy. Sigh.
There. Now the truth is out there. Feel free to bust me upside the head or smack me something silly the next time you see me.
“But, Nancy, WTF. How old are you?!”
“But, Nancy, you’re so,…LOUD! And friendly! And talkative! What do you mean, you’re shy?”
“But, Nancy, come ON. What have you got to lose with some guy you may never see again?!”
“But, Nancy, come ON. He can’t be THAT hot. Whatever.”
First of all, YES, he can be THAT hot.
Second, I’ve already run through every reason why, every scenario, every solution, every antidote, every possible kind of “help” to this “problem” of mine and, still, nothing (yet) has been able to get my feet to budge, my mouth to move. I’m still frozen.
Third, this argument about age – it doesn’t help. So shut up.
Now, the point of sharing all this is not so that I can rehash the past and figure out what went wrong and how I can fix it. Screw it. I’ve made a choice: This crush is OVER. The End. I’ve said my silent good-byes to the Bartender, I’ve closed a chapter to a book never written, I’ve shut the door, I’ve moved on. Oh – and the Bartender quit so, really, I can’t do anything about it anyway.
And let's set aside the fact that, really, I have no business crushing on this Bartender boy. (I know, I know. Sigh.) That's another story for another day.
The point of sharing all this is to help that Shy Girl, or Shy Guy, take those tiny little steps – whether it’s to confront his/her own personal Bartenders or Demons or Crushes or whomever, whatever. Because I realized, through all these months of angst and having no balls (well, figuratively speaking, that is) to do what I wanted to do, being painfully shy is not just some “cute little trait” that some of us are born with. To be as shy as I am, to the point where people can’t tell if I am a Queen Bee Bitch or just really weird and oblivious, there is probably some hidden issue you’ve gotta get resolved and be FREE of. I figured out what my issue (or issues) were and, since my discovery, I’ve been praying and working it out to be FREE of them ("thawing myself out," if you will) so that, the next time I see some Hot Bartender Boy type or some Hot Bartender Boy type sees me (okay, obviously, he doesn’t have to be a bartender and he likely won’t be), I won’t treat him like he’s some untouchable king among men. Good Lawd. The guy is just a guy. I need to stop trippin’ and start thinking straighter. In the meantime, here are some other helpful lessons I learned along the way:
1) That other person is JUST A PERSON. Just like me, just like you. Stop idolizing.
2) Crushing might seem fun but, it’s NOT. If a crush lasts more than a couple weeks, you need to get over it. That’s all there is to it. Anything more than a couple weeks, you’re borderline obsessing. And that ain’t cute.
3) Crushing is non-committal so, if you realize that you have issues with commitment, deal with it. Don’t sweep that s@#$ under the rug.
4) Don’t beat yourself up. If you’re still chicken s@#$ and your friends are giving you s@#$, forgive yourself. The more you focus on all your flaws, the worse the problem SEEM to be.
5) Don’t let that other person define you. You are who you are, NOT because of how hot your crush is, how many guys/girls like you, who does or does not want you but, BECAUSE you are simply wonderful and wonderfully created. And Somebody out there loves you. If that other person doesn’t see it, that’s ok. Move on.
6) If everything seems blown out of proportion - including this crush, your feelings, your failures and your incompetence - just remember to maintain perspective. You WILL get over it. You just have to make that choice.
7) If you really, really can’t get the courage to talk to that other person and you really, really believe you are supposed to and you really, really have to - drinking alcohol works. Just don’t get stupid, drunk - or drunk, stupid.
Okay, so Lesson #7 should be performed under strict direction, observation, assistance and with the utmost caution. And, in case you didn’t get it, I was KIDDING.
Anyway. Hope this helped somebody out there. If anything, I hope it gave somebody a laugh. I think it was a little therapeutic for me, documenting this drama.
Peace out.
