Our Man is ‘a sucker with low self esteem’

Self Editor’s Note: Yeah, you heard him. Our Man in America is a freaking loser.

I’M A FREAKING LOSER. Really. Seriously. I am.

I’ll tell you why. Recently, a girl I have had a crush on for 107 years, but one that rejected me — “… best friends forever” — told me she wanted to hang out. What do you think I said? So we are in her crib watching movies and drinking vodka when she tells me that she had broken up with her boyfriend.

“Awwww. I’m sorry, honey,” I said in the most caring voice, like an American mother consoling little Timmy after a fall off his tricycle.

Do you think my empathic expression was genuine? (That’s a rhetorical question).

I got so excited, if you see what I’m saying. Finally, here is my chance to end this woman’s miseries, I told myself. I told her he was no good. Unlike a parent, I didn’t wanna tell her, “I told you so. What did you see in that son of a bitch, anyway?”

What she said next is the reason I’m telling you this story.

“I’m OK,” she said. “I have been rebounding with this other guy.”

Did you hear that, good people? Apparently, I’m such a loser that I don’t even make the rebound list. And I’m such a dillweed that instead of telling her how I felt, I chickened out. And here I am bothering you with crap you probably don’t care about. I’m such a dweeb.

Some friends I have told about this have tried to console me by saying things like, “She probably loves you so much that she doesn’t wanna use you as a rebound.”

Screw that.

I don’t wanna be loved. I wanna be laid. Get me bound and rebound me.

I think my problem is that I’m a nice guy, and like they say, nice guys finish last. Actually, in this case, I haven’t seen anything that would even remotely imply that I finished. Get it?

My problem is that I treat girls I like queens. I want to charm them and allow them to know what a sweet guy I am. I don’t rush them.  I want to take care of them. This girl and I, for instance, knew each other of 70 years before I asked her out.

We went to movies together. We danced together. We had dinners together. Street fairs. Festivals. All the stuff I wanted to show her to prove that if she became my boo I would fill her life with joy. I guess by the time I asked her out, we had grown old together. It is as if we had been married and had grown out of love. (I wanna say it was her fault, but when marriages end, California is a no-fault state).

I wanna be bad — like the guys who finish first. I wish I had the audacity of those bad boys they date, who fondle them before they even know their names. But it is not in my nature. I can’t fake it. The last time I tried to act tough and told a girl, “I wanna take you home and bend you over the sink” she followed me home. My sink collapsed but I didn’t feel right. She is still waiting for my call.

I have no choice but to remain a freaking loser. A dweeb. I’m “a sucker with low self esteem.”

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2023634186564965079

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