If “smarten” isn’t a verb, it should be.
May 6th, 2003 | by Scott Jennings |You’ll just have to visualize this, but right now, I’m tapping my temple with my index finger to indicate how smart I am.
As you might imagine, the ongoing situation with the go-go dancer was a source of some stress for me. This is how it boiled down: she had an incentive to keep me coming to see her, since I was great fun to talk to, entertained her while she was working, and tipped generously; I had an incentive to get our encounters out of the go-go bar, since nothing under a black light should be trusted.
I’ve never been gushed over harder in my life than I got from this dancer. When I said anything borderline clever, she’d come back with “I love you,” which stunned the hell out of me the first time I heard it, but now seems to almost make sense in context. She could go on and on about how I was her favorite customer, and when I countered with an analysis of my competition, she said I was her favorite person aside from her parents and her best friend. She was expert with her flattery, masterful at the care and feeding of my ego, and a natural at conversation. It never seemed too polished, but it did start to feel empty. I had also grown tired of staring at her crotch, following her from one end of the stage to the other, and being such a regular at such a tacky hole.
As much as I wanted to believe that she immediately recognized how awesome I am, it was just a little too much to trust. (It takes most people at least a couple of months to reach that conclusion.) She gave me her phone number, which is a sure sign of trust, but she never answered when I called or returned my messages. In the end, I’m still a trained economist, and I still remember the first day of the first class, and I still remember being taught that people respond to incentives. She has one set of incentives, I have another. Was the gushing and the flirting and the broad platitudes about what a great friend I was and the phone number and the vague promises of going out in the future all part of the game to keep me coming back? If it was, then I’ve been had; she played it extremely well. I wasn’t the first, I won’t be the last. I know how this game is played, I’ve played it before, and like I’ve said, she broke the rules when she gave me her phone number. Illegal procedure, fucking with expectations, fifteen yards and loss of down.
So are you ready to hear about how smart I am? I went to my local go-go bar yesterday, just like I had been doing two or three times a week for the past few weeks. We shot a game of pool, she beat me for the umpteenth straight time, I made fun of her unorthodox style. Then it was time for her to get on stage, and since I was the only patron in the place not trying to take a nap, we kept talking. This is when I told her that I wasn’t going to come see her in the bar any more. She turned on a little pouty face, which I waved off. Spinning her own words back at her, I told her that I thought of her as a friend, which I really need around here. I told her that I was honest when I said I love talking to her and have a great time with her, but I’m just not comfortable staring at her crotch. After all, and here comes some incontrovertible and irrefutable logic, friends just don’t stare at other friends’ crotches.
She was disappointed, but understood. I made it clear that I still wanted to talk and hang out and be friends (which I do — she’s a fascinating girl, I’d love to see what makes her tick, and I’m totally willing to not be in love with her), but I wasn’t coming back. If she wants to hang out or talk, she has my phone number.
She’ll get one call from me, probably tomorrow or the next day. If she calls me back, then awesome, we’ll get to know each other in natural light and go from there. If she doesn’t, then that will be that. When I don’t write about this again, you’ll know what to assume.
Jennings Vacation Update: New York City, July 11 through July 20. This time: judicious viewing of the Del Close Marathon and participation in said marathon with Learn NC Help Desk, followed by general bumming about and nuisance-making. It’ll be wall-to-wall improv yet again, and I’m planning to hit a lot of stuff that I missed last time out. I’ll pay Zohar back the $10 I owe him, and I’ll make a huge production out of finally giving Dan Kois the $5 I owe him for his NCAA pool. Also, I’m going to booze it up hard.
While I’m on the subject of my infrequent sojourns to my once-and-future home, I may as well bring up the topic of casual sex. I was disappointed with the quantity of casual sex I had during my February trip (none), and I’m expecting an improvement in that department for my next visit. Several people have affirmed for me my rock-star status in New York, and as such, I believe that I am entitled to at least one blowjob for trip of one week or longer. I feel this is fair. I don’t have any unusual riders written into my contract, no bowls of yellow M&Ms, no hotel rooms with windows facing southeast, nothing at all out of the ordinary. I don’t care how you decide to arrange it, but someone is going to have to take one for the team and blow me. I’m not even specifying gender! I can not possibly be any more accommodating. I think nothing more needs to be said on this topic.
I’m making preliminary plans to spin off this stupid journal into its own website. I’ve needed a new e-mail address for quite some time, since the one I have currently is very very stupid, and I despise my registrar and hosting company (register.com is terrible). A new domain name appeared to me organically (after Ross White pointed it out), and I’ll get around to registering it soon. The new name also happens to be a good name for a personal blog site, so I figured I might as well do it up and take myself to a broader audience.
I haven’t made any decisions vis a vis continuing to post entries here. Can both of my loyal readers handle punching in a completely different URL to get their dose of Jennings? I’ve been pretty content in the neighborhood of eighty views per entry, will spinning off make that number go up or down? I don’t lose much sleep when I don’t update this journal for a week or so, will having my own website be too much responsibility? My writing is self-indulgent and rambling, but is it self-indulgent and rambling enough to fit in with every other blog site on the Internet? This should be enough suspense to get you to stay tuned.
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