So in continuation of yesterday's post, I've decided to chronicle what happens with this girl, Kate, whom, as everyone should remember, I met at a party using the offbeat pickup line, "You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I can run really fast," which I stole from Jerry Seinfeld.

Well I called today at around 7, but I got her machine, so I left a nice message reminding her who I was and saying she should call me back. I left my number too. My friend Caroline says not to call again until Thursday, and if I get the machine, I should leave another message and then not call anymore. Hopefully she will call me before than, but I'm not expecting that. What am I expecting?

Some possibilities. It occurred to me Saturday night that this girl should have a boyfriend. She clearly falls into "the party" girl category of women and somehow I've found that those kind of girls don't like going too long without boyfriends. Perhaps it is a self-esteem issue. I, well, I am not that boyfriend. As in, me and "a party girl," would never work out, she knows it, and I know it. So then, if she doesn't have a boyfriend, it isn't like she is looking for me to fill that roll. In which case she won't call me or she already has a boyfriend. Which brings me to my next fear: What if, now again this is mostly fiction, what if she gave me the wrong number. But that doesn't scare me, what scares me is what if she gave me her boyfriends number. And that doesn't really frighten me either. What does frighten me is what if her boyfriend, probably a three-letter name - Tim, Don, Joe, Dan, let's use Dan, has a patsy of friends (see other possible three letter names). What if they get my message and return it pretending to be her. Then of course, I will fall for the prank and end up waiting in some parking lot for an hour when suddenly a pickup truck filled with a bunch of guys with three letter names who have had too much to drink pulls up. I can tell they have had too much to drink because at first passing me the truck doesn't stop, then it stop shorts and reverse to me. And well, the story goes on from there, let's just say I wouldn't be on top.

Or maybe it isn't Dan's number, maybe it is her desperate friends number. Maybe her desperate friend, Irene, will return my phone call and convince me that she is in fact Kate. We will talk for forty minutes on the phone, I will say all sorts of things that aren't funny, but Irene will laugh because after all, she is named Irene. Her laughs will reassure me of my pimpdom and I'll be all jived about what a smooth ass pimp I am. I'll probably write a post about it. The post will sound something like, "So Kate called me back and shame on you guys for doubting me. We talked for like two hours - it was one of the greatest conversations I've ever had. Just with some people, you know you are close, you know you connect, and that is how I feel. She likes Indie-Rock and we are meeting tomorrow at a coffee shop. All guys reading this take notes cause you have something to learn from me." Notice how cocky I sound in that post? So I've deluded myself into thinking Kate wants me and more importantly, that I am the smoothest motherfucker this side of the Mississippi. But of course, on arriving to the coffee house, I quickly realize there is no one there that resembles that Kate I have been spilling over the past few nights. Ready to walk out, as I think of all sorts of things that came up for her to miss this meeting, the girl with the blond hair that has been died into all sorts of appalling shades of blue, cut way too short, and then pinned into some sort of retro-cowlick in the front, says, “Avi?”

These fears, while funny, aren’t comforting because while worse than what is probably happing, they are so unlikely to occur and the bad enough truth is probably going to happen. She isn’t going to call me. Not because of Dan, not because she feels bad for her desperate best friend Irene, no but because the truth is that there is a weight rule in life. You have to punch your weight. Me, I’m a middleweight. She is a heavy weight. And I guess that this thing Kate and I have had (could have had) ending quickly is a good thing. I mean I don’t want to be around when she leaves me for other men in her fashion design department named Marco. You’ve seen High Fidelity; you know how much that stings. So this not working out, it is a blessing. But at the same time, the next time I am fortunate enough to use my big mother fucking bear claws on a defenseless little bunny rabbit and get the bunnies number, I may end up calling her that night out of despair and insecurity. Who knows? Maybe it will be just like Swingers. I will call her machine and leave a message just screaming of my anxiety with women. And then I will get cut off and leave an even longer message that almost draws the imaginary (keyword here) vision of my less than average sized penis that of course, doesn’t interest a big-dick admirer like Kate. And in a moment of total disarray, I will start dialing not Kate’s number, but the next number in the suffix (instead of 555-0000, I will call 555-0001, 0002…) asking for Kate. When the girl that responds, Emily, says that I have the wrong number I will moan about Kate giving me the wrong number. Pity will swell from my receiver to Emily’s and after about a thirty minute rant of self-deprecating loathsomeness, Emily will agree to go out with me tomorrow night only to prove to me that I am not a chump for girls to toy with. But then Emily goes into the bathroom and finds her friend Sheila and tells her about her date with me, when suddenly Sheila, whose number is 555-0001, says, that is so weird, I just got the exact same phone call. And when Emily asks Sheila whether or not Sheila agreed to go out with me, Sheila will say, “Fuck no, I ain’t no therapist. And besides that guy sounded like the biggest looser I’ve even heard of.” Not only will I have ruined my own life, as after a dumbass stunt like that you just have to kill yourself, but Emily will feel stupid also, and I don’t think anyone reading this wants Emily to feel stupid.

But none of this will happen. Do you want to know how I know? I know because I believe in MGM endings. Do you believe in MGM endings?