October 21, 2002

There is somebody whose blog I like. He also likes my blog. We e-mailed back and forth a couple times, and I eventually decided I wanted to ask him out on a date.

However, I was plagued by the pressure that the blind-dateness of it would create if he accepted. What if we met and he picked his nose? What if I picked my nose? What if it was just the worst evening anybody had ever spent in living memory?

I spent days pondering this dilemma before deciding to try to meet him but not actually on a date—just on a friends hanging-out kind of thing. That way nobody would feel any pressure and then if there was chemistry I could ask him out on an actual date.

The problem was that I had worked myself up into such a state over the whole thing that the e-mail I sent was the most graceless, insulting invitation anyone has ever tendered in the history of the world. Unsurprisingly, I have not heard from him since.

So then I spent days pondering this dilemma. I had to do something, because every time I thought of what he must think of me after my incredible rudeness, I started to twitch involuntarily in strange places. But I couldn’t e-mail him, because if he wants nothing to do with me ever again (totally understandable under the circumstances), that would be intruding on him in an unwelcome and impolite way.

So I decided to blog about it.

If he is reading this, he doesn’t have to e-mail me or anything. He should just know that I’m not the boorish, arrogant prick my e-mail made me seem.

A total NEUROTIC FREAK, yes.

But not a boorish, arrogant prick.

I’m sorry.

Of course, there is also the possibility that he was so offended he stopped reading my blog and will never read this, in which case I am totally fucked.

And not in a good way.