Sometimes my actions surprise me. I’m sure they surprise others as well. I don’t like surprises. I like to be in control and ready for anything. Recently, I’ve been finding myself surprised more and more by my actions. I figure it’s time to sit down and think about why I do the things I do. Sometimes I do stupid things. Sometimes the things I do aren’t so stupid at all. I want to know for sure. I want to know why I—after all these years of maturing, growing and learning—am still a solitary man.

The problem lies during the moment I start to get close to a good thing (read: relationship). I purposely do something shocking and terrible to break the relationship and push it to the wayside—or I simply drop it without a word. The moment I start to become dependent on another person and rely on my relationship with that person—her—to fill some emotional need of mine, I become defiant and reject it all together.

I’m sure these feelings will be chalked up by most people as typical male fear of commitment. But that’s not it at all. I am a very committed person—to the point of stubbornness. As far as female relationships go, I’ve been ready for marriage since I graduated college. I don’t fear my lack of commitment—I fear women’s lack of commitment to me. Not because of an inborn distrust of women, but because I can’t understand why a woman would be committed to someone like me.

And there’s the rub. It’s my own low self-image—or a wise assessment of my own inadequacies—that keeps me from allowing a woman to get far enough to consider me a serious suitor. I don’t want anyone to consider me right now. I’m not nearly as attractive (physically, emotionally, spiritually, et al.) as I know I can be with minimal to moderate effort on my part. I don’t want to be noticed until I’m pleased with the way I “look.” Until I’m happy with myself, I can’t believe that someone else would be. I don’t want anyone settling for a lesser Michael—I don’t expect her to. If she does, I believe it’s in her best interest to lose that interest & forget about me until I’m ready.

I’m waiting on myself. And I’m a world-famous procrastinator. Instead of improving myself in the ways I know I need to be, I go out looking for temporary, ungodly, no-strings-attached thrills and entertaining life experiences. I don’t have any inhibitions when it comes to mutually insincere relationships, because I know I’m not damaging potential, long-term godly relationships. The lesser relationships can take me as I am. The relationships I really care about must wait for the better version of me—if I can ever become him.

Maybe that’s not fair of me (as if anyone was heartbroken), but that’s all I know. It makes sense to me now. I know why I do the things I do, and I understand why my heart is torn to pieces every single day by my very own hands.

On Saturday night, Deanne’s car parked on the street in front of Janna’s apartment. Deanne, Robby, Sharon and I got out, grabbed our bags from the trunk and buzzed Janna’s door. After greeting our wonderful Brooklyn friend & touring her fabulous apartment, we headed out for a night on the town.

We ate at Tortilla Flats, which was a cramped—but happening—Mexican restaurant in Greenwich Village. The food was quickly served (thanks Marantha) and it was delectable (so were the margaritas). Janna saw Michael Stipe across the street with his fella, when she went to the ATM.

Our first bar of the evening was Lit (we looked for Village Idiot, but couldn’t find it). It was still early—around 9:30—so the place was nearly empty. I had a few Vodka Collins, mainly because I didn’t know how long the night was going to last (otherwise, I probably would have taken it more slowly). The girls said the place was pretty snooty, but I didn’t interact with anybody other than the barmaid (who was nice), so I couldn’t tell. There were two chicks making out at the bar. And that was rather…odd.

We left and headed to a bar called Niagra. It was shoulder-to-shoulder packed—I don’t even think Deanne and Robby went in. I headed straight to the bathroom, and when I got out, everybody was outside on the sidewalk. It was a short-lived bar visit, but the events on the sidewalk were a little more interesting. Our little standing circle was invaded by a short, flustered black woman, who was asking for something (cigarettes?) and cursing at us. We just kept nodding & eventually she stumbled on down the sidewalk. Deanne informed me that a couple walking down the street had checked me out. Unfortunately, they were two guys. But I’ll take the compliment all the same.

As we walked, I called 411 to find out where Coyote Ugly was. By this time, I may have been a little tipsy, and my friends berated me on how loud I was talking to the employee on the other end (they quickly dispersed as I talked). It was really loud on the other end, damn it! Eventually, we found the place, and I must say that was the highlight of my night.

My friends were reluctant to go. Janna said the chicks wouldn’t dig me with my solid black, GAP-ish shirt (this was a dirty saloon, after all). I said I wasn’t there to make friends—I just wanted a t-shirt. I went to the entrance & the doorman looked me over, asked if I had come alone, and when I told him I had four other friends coming behind me, he let me in.

When I got in, the place was rockin’. It was wall-to-wall packed (with tourists like myself, I’m sure), and the barmaids were dancing on the bar. (I will never listen to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” the same way again.) My friends finally came in, and Janna made her way to where I was, became frustrated at how crowded it was up at the bar and said, “I just want a beer!” She went back empty-handed to the others over by the door, and I got the sense that my time there was limited. I dodged a few people and the whiskey pouring from one of the dancing barmaids’ mouth into the patron’s below her, and got right up to the bar. After a short bar dance from Sara (the hottest barmaid in NYC—with eyes that’ll make you weak in the knees), I ordered beers for the group. My friends told me to hurry up and get a t-shirt, so we could leave. When I got back up there, I bought a shirt and—before leaving the bar—I ordered another Vodka Collins (big mistake). I was pretty drunk by then, and I knocked over the first VC while attempting to pick it up. Without a word, Sara gave me another one, and out of embarrassment, I didn’t say anything and left her an additional $10 tip. When I got back towards the door, I could tell my friends really wanted to leave. I downed my VC in one, long suck of the straw & we exited the bar.

Remember that big mistake I was talking about? I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently it’s very bad to drink hard liquor after drinking beer. “Remember the saying,” Janna said, “Liquor then beer—you’re in the clear. Beer then liquor—never sicker.” As we walked to the final bar of the night, I began to feel my throat tighten up. I did not want to get sick. Never have, never will. I didn’t think I had that much to drink. I can usually feel the Vodka Collins creeping up on me, so I blame my surprised wooziness and sickness on the faux pas mixing of liquor-beer-liquor. By the time we got to the Korova Milk Bar (of Clockwork Orange fame), I was out of it.

I took a seat on one of Korova’s very comfortable two-person lounge chairs and only got up when it felt better on my stomach than sitting. While I appreciated the concern of my friends (they bought me a water & kept an eye on me), I wasn’t completely oblivious to my dilemma. I swayed a little, standing up against the railing or while walking, but I made sure my feet were firmly planted below me. I think I eventually sat down and fell asleep for who knows how long. We left the bar and headed back to the car. I fell asleep in the car, and when I hit the couch at Janna’s apartment, it was lights out for me.

On Monday night, I met Cheryl and Tanya at Bungalow Billiards in Shirlington. It was half-price burger/beer night, so we went there to watch the Red Wings hockey game. It was fun. Cheryl was really into the game, I was trying to be, and Tanya was poking at her food. The Red Wings lost in overtime (we were there for a while), so Cheryl was pissed when we left. The place was great (much better than the one in Chantilly), and the waitresses were really nice. We thought about coming back for the game on Wednesday (ladies play pool for free), but that’s Robby’s birthday. It’s nice having a female friend, who’s into sports. Other than Cheryl, none of the girls I know are into sports. None of my friends, period, are into sports. That’s one aspect of me that’s underdeveloped, because of lack of support. I love Washington sports, and I want to go to games, darn it!

Tuesday night was Diane’s newly instituted “Cheap Tuesdays” night. Our inaugural group met at Bryon’s Grill in University Mall for half-price burgers. I showed up an hour early, because I had nothing to do & I wanted to drive around Fairfax City and George Mason University for old time’s sake. I forgot how much I loved that city. University Drive…probably my favorite street in the world. It always feels good being on the Mason campus. I have nothing but fond memories of college. Anyway, I sat at the bar for an hour by myself, drinking Vodka Collins after Vodka Collins. Finally, I went ahead and ordered a hamburger, so I had something else to do other than talk to the barmaid and stare at the TVs. The demographic there was so old. I don’t understand it. Apparently, Mason students are too poor to eat out. The only hot college chicks in the restaurant were the waitresses. (Ha!) Diane showed up around 6:45, and I bought her a milkshake. We sat at the bar until Michelle & Robby showed up, then we got a table. Robby’s the only one that ate. Since I was already full, I just got myself a milkshake. Afterwards, Robby left to run some errands. The rest of us went downstairs for the second part of “Cheap Tuesdays”—the half-price movies. We saw Fellowship of the Ring for $1.50. I was expecting the place to be really ghetto with a horrible-quality film reel, but I was indeed impressed at how relatively clean the place was & at how pristine the film actually was. It was a new print, because it had the preview to The Two Towers at the end. Michelle was very excited about that—in fact, she was rather giggly and talkative throughout the entire movie (much to the chagrin of the folks in front of us). Diane really enjoyed it (it was her first time seeing it). I love the movie and the story, so I was just thrilled to be seeing it again on the big screen after 5 months. (Unlike some movies that will remain nameless, LotR is an absolute masterpiece of story and characterization.) I loved it. For next week’s “Cheap Tuesday,” we’ll go see A Beautiful Mind. Maybe we’ll get more people to show up this time.

Today at band camp, I snuck over to the lake with Shauna during lunch. We sat along the cool, damp bank, sucking on Tootsie Pops and tossing stones into the shallow water. The sun was warm, and the breeze was fresh. It was one of those perfect days that you wished would never end. Our fingers met, as we both reached for the same stone lying on the ground between us. After a couple of embarrassed attempts, our fingers intertwined, and we sat there holding hands. She dared me to go skinny-dipping in the lake, and when I told her no, she called me the biggest pussy she’s ever seen. I said that’s impressive coming from the biggest whore in marching band.

[This was a dream I had.]

I went to Dremo’s Friday night and had some drinks at the bar. While I was a bit miffed at how crowded it was (some band was playing, so there were more people than usual), I was pleasantly surprised to see who was behind the bar. It was midnight and, apparently, I was more tired than I thought, because I was seeing double. There, serving drinks, were two darling bartenders with the same red top on, the same pinned-up long dark brown hair, and the same…face?

There are two Krissy’s?

“We’re twins,” said Teresa—Krissy’s sister.

Oh, man… This story just keeps getting better.

I’ve already been informed that Krissy’s taken, so I wasn’t there to hit on her. Besides, I’m not seriously interested. (How compatible could I be with someone with facial piercing?) I’m just curious and interested in making a new friend. Not to mention—knowing the bartender at your local bar is always a good thing.

That being said… Her sister could still be single, right? (Ha, ha) Teresa’s nice and piercing-free. They both look like Famke Janssen, and that’s a wonderful thing.