The way not to get noticed by the girl you like and are too scared to talk to Part 1

Posted: November 13, 2010 in Relationships
Tags: , , , ,

After breaking up with my first “serious” relationship, after being cheated on, dumped and literally been robbed of all the remnant of my self-esteem; I decided to flee my home country (El Salvador) and go to Mexico.  Of course all I knew from Mexico was “they seem to  have really hot, passionate and slutty  women” (as portrayed by their soap operas). Much to my dismay, The ratio of hot, passionate slutty women was not the same in my university as it was on those lying fictionalized TV portrayals.  Consequently, I began to mope and shelter the idea that I would never find another member of the opposite sex to disrespect me again… Alas!!! I was wrong.

Being the total lack of common sense and social intelligence that I am, I had to fall for the least likely prospect for someone In my social ranking. I fell for a quiet girl who was a member of a mexican province project equivalent of the spice girls. And if any spice girl she would’ve  been, she’d have been Baby Spice, yeah pretty much cute as button, very girly and in a sweet and pretty way very intimidating for an awkward misfit such as myself.  Of course I never grew the cojones to talk to her and be straight which would have robbed me of having anything to post.  No, my routine basically consisted of staring at her droopy eyed and remaining silent for weeks. Finally, one of my female class mates who had taken pity of my sad ways,  noticed I liked this girl and in one of our lunch breaks pointed her house to me. Quite surprisingly enough, her house was even cute. In the middle of Morelian suburbs was a squared little dollhouse with picket fence and blue roof tiles that seemed to be the perfect environment for this latina Baby Spice. By this time, my infatuation had grown and at nights I would work some excuse to drive by that house and stare at its windows.

It’s always wise to assume that things can and will get more f–ked up, and in my case they did… Just a single month after meeting the girl in question, I drove by at 5 am returning from a class mates flat, and as I stared at a bedroom window from the dollhouse (note to all misfits, while stalking keep your eyes on the motherf–king  road) I felt an abrupt bump on my front right wheel and heard a rather mute high-pitched growl. I had run over some french poodle. Before having to deal with an angry dog owner or some PETA freak, I decided to do what any reasonable (well reasonable under the circumstances) human being would do, dispose of the body and flee the crime scene.  I took the body of the dog and threw it some 20 km outside of town and never spoke of the incident again.

As Karma, God’s unbridled hatred against those who hurt all living things and my fate would have it, the dog I had accidentally assassinated would, of course, happen to be Baby spice’s poodle. As if the remorse of being an accidental homicidal driver wasn’t enough and my chances with Baby Spice not adverse enough I had to run over her 14-year-old poodle.  My friends (who had no idea of my canine encounter) suggested I should capitalize on the situation give the girl a puppy and get on her good side.  Seemed simple enough so I decided to buy the cutest (Disney’s lady and the tramp had nothing on this young bitch) female cocker spaniel.  Since I didn’t quite feel morally able To take credit, I decided I’d send the puppy with a cab driver and a note signed by a secret admirer. For a couple of days I felt the guilt off, and was making peace with the fact that I would always have to remain that a secret admirer.

One week had gone by, and she began telling one of my friends how she got so sad that She had to give Sophie (that what she named the cocker spaniel) away, but she said she was very excited about having a secret admirer. Guilt was back… Stupid dog apparently had chewed on her mom’s fancy high heels, Yeah even if you’re cute you can’t mess with women’s shoes, even I have enough common sense to figure that one out. So I decided to keep on playing the secret admirer.  For the mexican Flag day I decided to redecorate her whole picket fence with red, green and white ribbons completely wrapped around with a nice bow on the mailbox. (somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 yards worth) at 5am. I also left a note from a secret admirer. Of course she talked to my friends about it, and apparently she thought it was nice but her father was slightly upset of having to take about an hour to dispose of the ribbons and stopping their house from looking like a NY 5 de Mayo motive cantina.  The guilt of course settled back.

So with my guilt back I decided to keep on being a hopeless romantic (hopeless being the key word here) Kept looking for random oportunities to give her stuffed animals, key chains, basically crap I could get that looked cute and were under 5 dollars… Of course always signed by a secret admirer and delivered from 4 to 5 am.  This went on for days… Finally I had gotten fed up and was literally sleep deprived from so many early morning deliveries, I was like the shit shift UPS man for my sick and twisted mind´s guilt. It was time to lay it all on the line… I had to tell her I was done playing the secret admirer and what better time to do it than six months down the line with her birthday coming up.

I thought of the way to execute my last gesture, I would dress up in a chicken suit give her a cake and give her my final note explaining that I had to leave the country and there was now no point in me revealing my identity… Romantic, pathetic and a valid enough excuse. I should have thought of saying I’m a leper but my imagination at the time was rather limited. So Indeed, I arrived at her house got off a cab with the chicken suit on and a chocolate cake and my note.  I rang the doorbell she came out smile and surprised look in her face, I handed her the note and the chocolate cake. She then came close to me and hugged me. Before I could feel uncomfortable she pulled my chiken head and left my face exposed…. Awkward silence… Then she obviously asked me why I hadn’t told her… Another awkward silence… And then as if the tell-tale heart version of a Jim Carey movie I just blurted out “Cause I killed your dog….” Well guess you guys can fill in the blanks from there.  She did switch college shortly after.

So readers, (by now only probably my mom) When you see a pretty and intimidating woman, who you believe to be out of your league do yourself a favor and like yanking a band-aid in one pull.. Go to them and ask them out straight away, let the rejection be immediate so the healing can come from your next fixation… Till next week.

Your friend from thewaynotto,

Enrique Pinto

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Comments
  1. Sylvia says:

    hahahaha!!!!

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