The other night…

The other night at Spaceland I saw lots of gorgeous women I wanted to talk to. Several of them I wanted to do a lot more to than talk. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty confident but I need an in, as all men really do. However, that confidence factor has held steady pretty much at the 7 range. Maybe 8 if I’m really on a roll like at SXSW where I began feeling invincible. But this time I had my sights on the 9s and 10s. I want the best fucking fruit at the market. Damn it, I deserve it. But when it’s loud and my flow never really releases I basically just find excuses why I don’t have to put myself out there with the jaw droppers. I wish I just had the kind of sex appeal that brought girls to me. Like Eric Harris often seems to have.

So i’m standing by the bar cracking wise with some casual dude friends when I notice this very good looking girl lock eyes with me. I pretend not to notice. Seems like something The Cool Guy would do. “I don’t care that you might think I’m attractive. I can just jerk off in the mirror.” She whispers something to her friend. Maybe they’re talking about me? Keep cool. Maybe she’ll just go away and you won’t have to come up with anything clever. She approaches. “Hey remember meeting the other night?” Um, yeah. Sure. “Eric, right?”

Eric Harris and I are often mistaken for brothers. Sometimes twins. I don’t quite see it beyond our shared fashion sense and hair choice. And that we’re both white which may explain why it’s mostly blacks who ask if we’re twins. We’ve even been mistaken for the exact same person which seems to have been the case here. After our set in Oakland a month ago a decent 7 came up to me and asked if I was the singer. I said, no, reasoning that she must think I was equally attractive otherwise she wouldn’t have been confused. Oh, she replied, and then walked away. The lesson I learned is a lot like Ray’s hard lesson in Ghostbusters. If someone asks if you’re a god you say, YES! So, when this good looking girl who just approached me at Spaceland wanted to make sure I was Eric, I said, yes.

“No, I know you’re not Eric. I was just asking if that’s how I met you. Andrew, right?” Uh, yeah. I’m Andrew. So we exchanged phone numbers and we’re supposed to hang out soon. I think it’s strange that she didn’t care that I pretended to be Eric. She didn’t even question it, as though there are long hairs all over Southern California pretending to be Eric Harris in order to score tail. It’s almost expected of the rest of us. The other funny thing is that I really don’t remember meeting her at all. I wonder if it was some rouse like all the hot girls that ask to be my friend on facebook that are more likely Nigerian princes trying to scam something out of me. I’ll have to make our next encounter a future topic here.

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