if you read the post from thursday, you know why i figured it’d be smartest to stay home tonight going to meet some people out at st. nick’s. at least this way i got to see the US win the gold medal in women’s beach volleyball… hot. misty may, i don’t care if you have a porn star name; i still want to win a medal with you so you’ll jump all over me like you did your partner in those *ahem*… regulation volleyball outfits.

but being home also gives me the perfect opportunity and occasion to do what needs to be done — finish what i started. here’s the last one, for now at least…

Girls: Endless Source of Pain and Amusement

Part Three – The Beach

i have never been hit on at the beach, nor have i ever hit on anyone at the beach. protocol is to sit down at a spot where the gawking is okay to excellent, and mostly just sit there sipping orange cream sodas, bullshitting with whatever friends i go with, and maybe reading. usually i also play some frisbee, which i am getting better at.

this time was no different. sit down, check out the surrounding scenery, make note of who’s cute and who isn’t, and lay back and relax. the beach is probably the only place where i can be content doing absolutely nothing for any stretch of more than 5 minutes. i was digging it. then justin, the only person i was there with on this particular day, decided to go down to swim a bit, leaving me alone in my beach chair to guard our cooler and read my book. just as i get to the point where i’m actually reading instead of re-reading the same sentence between being distracted by neighboring bikinis, i hear someone mumble something just behind me over my right shoulder.

i turn and look up, and it’s a girl of maybe 16 to 18 standing almost right over me. i won’t be too blunt in describing this girl, except to say that my dating history contains very few girls who are either hispanic or homely, and this girl happened to be very positively both. but, being polite and in an awkward, confused situation, i simply responded to her mumbling with an inquisitive and friendly, “excuse me?”. her response?

“are you gay?”

what!? did i hear that right? did she just… no, couldn’t be. so i say again — “what was that?”.

“are you gay?”

still, i honestly can’t belive anyone would start a conversation this way, so i ask a final time, feeling a little ridiculous, “i’m sorry, what did you say?” but oh yes, she asks a third time, the most insistent so far, “are you gay?”

so i finally just answer, “umm, no…” and she interrupts by saying, “then this is for you,” and hands me this:

before saying, “call us” and running off to join her equally homely friend who is already walking away 10 paces ahead, leaving the beach. i am so stunned i only give a half-hearted “thanks” as she turns completely around to depart without any attempt at further conversation.

essentially, the story ends there as i sit bewildered and unsure what to do with this scrap of paper not much bigger than a double-large postage stamp i am left holding. but, a few post-trauma observations need to be made.

firstly: did i make any eye contact with these girls at any point to bring this on? no, i didn’t even know they were around. if they were anywhere near my spot, the fact i hadn’t even seen them must be some testament to their, um, plainness (to remain tactful). secondly: who in the universe, even between the awkward ages of 16 to 18, starts a conversation that way? am i crazy or is that one of the strangest openers you have ever heard? especially with absolutely no attempt at a follow-up, you know, along the lines of, ‘what’s your name?’, ‘how’s it going?’, or, ‘what’s up?’ maybe i am expecting too much from the beach-goers of santa monica. lastly: i love the fact that they wrote down ethnicities so i would know which complete stranger was which when i inevitably called them back to arrange some sort of exciting second rendezvous, where we could start our evening with some other biting personal inquiry like, ‘are you circumsized?’ and possibly graduate to the second level by maybe following up with a cordial, ‘hello’.

as you can imagine, i did not call to see if these were real phone numbers or not — i could hardly handle two severe disappointments like that (see part one, last week). fortunately, carrying the scrap of paper in my wallet to aid in the story’s retelling allowed my charitable roommate to perform that test for me during a lunch the next day. lucky me, he assured me both via AND fanny’s voicemails proved their validity.

and you know what? they didn’t call back.