Here's the rest of the story:
She was wearing an all black, skintight outfit when I saw her that day. Her smile, effervescent and omnipresent, provided just the radiance I needed on this cold, winter day. All of her actions seemed elegant and beautiful; it was as if she did everything the way it was supposed to be done. She stood in the dining hall, placidly yet perfectly, waiting for her turn to scoop some delicious portions onto her plate. The eating utensils were already in position, as was the beverage (it was bottled water this time). A priceless picture.
"Here's your chance." Donnie was in a supportive mood, and I appreciated that. He hinted that I should make her my goal: "Be nice to tap that, wouldn't it?" Donnie's objectification of this divine creature was spoiling my vision of her. She was too good, I thought. Too good.
"No she ain't, dude. Gotta shoot for the sky, man. You want to be settlin' for second best?" Actually, at this point, I'd settle for anything. Perhaps I should approach this matter with some realism, not idealism. Perhaps I should target the ugly, imperfect, dismal women of this fine institution. They'd be excited some guy even talked to them.
"It's your call, man. Do whatever the fuck you want. I still think it's a bad idea, though. Gotta go for the gold. Who knows, maybe it's your lucky day." Or maybe not. The feeling that comes after failing – the one of being crushed, if not obliterated – was not something I desired at this point. I needed to do some homework, some investigative work on this girl. What if she had a boyfriend? No sense wasting my time on her then, right? I also needed to find out what kind of guy she liked, so as to present myself in such a fashion when making my sexual advance. "Whatever, dude. Sometimes you just gotta fuck all that shit and do it." Haste makes waste, Donnie. Haste makes waste.
So for the next few weeks, I kept a close watch on her. Unfortunately, she sensed my inquisitive behavior; she caught my stares and noticed my unshakeable presence lurking in the shadows of her environs. The stalking went without confrontation, though, so all was good.
Overheard conversations informed me that she was single. They also informed me of her desires: she wanted a man who was smart, funny, and mature, but also sensitive, loyal, and well-rounded. Maybe my investments were wise after all. Maybe.
A sneaky peek in her room yielded other positive and valuable information: she was born with the Sun in Virgo, much like myself. An abundance of marijuana-related paraphernalia also enabled me to intuitively reason that she was fond of engaging in one of collegiate America's favorite illicit activities: getting stoned. It came as no surprise, then, that the friends of my desire referred to her room as"The Green Factory." How cute.
"You did some research? Is that what you did?" Donnie puffed on his cigarette, laughing smoke rings between inhalations. "Fuckin' dork. So what'd you find?"
I informed him of my findings. "Well then, what's the hold up? Why ain't you in her face right now asking her out?" Good question, Donnie, good question. Courage was my shortcoming. I was always too cautious. What if she says no? What if she doesn't like me? What if she gets offended?
Donnie shook his head as though he were dealing with a helpless child, incapable of learning the simplest task. "You see this?" He pulled out a lottery ticket . "I buy one everyday. Yep, a dollar a day down the drain. Been buyin' 'em for the past three years."
Donnie's expenditures on lottery tickets: $365 * 3 = $1,095.
"You'd a thought by now I'd of given up. But I know you can't win less you try. Same shit holds true for you." Donnie's words, as blunt and direct as they were, somehow managed to strike a chord within me: I was inspired by his directness, his ability to seize the moment and quickly take action. I decided it was time. Time for me to test myself, to see who I really was. I would ask her tonight.
Preparation was my forte, and naturally I employed this tactic for my big proposition. I visited Mario at the local barber shop. "Tonight's a big night. Give me something special." Always willing to satisfy a loyal customer, Mario took his time to trim my hair perfectly.
Haircut: $15.
Tip: $5.
Quality service should always be rewarded well.
I stopped by the local convenience store on the way back to my dorm room. My purchases: a new razor, shaving gel, and aftershave. The razor was nice – one of those fancy schmancy triple blade gadgets – and the aftershave, although purchased from a convenience store, was more than adequate.
Razor: $9.87.
Shaving gel: $5.43.
Aftershave: $7.34.
I was contemplating purchasing her a gift. Would flowers be appropriate? Donnie ruminated on my question before answering: "Yeah. But don't get a bouquet or anything like that. Just a nice flower. A single flower. Maybe a rose if you can find one."
So I scoured the city high and low for a flower in the midst of December. Finally, after an hour of searching, I found it: a single rose, delicate and beautiful. Just like her.
Rose: $8.00.
"Okay, you set now, man. No more fuckin' around. It's time to roll the dice and play this lottery ." Donnie was right. So I quietly sat in my room, eating dinner in solitude. Vivaldi played in the background. Upon the conclusion of my meal, I dressed myself in a carefully selected outfit: a collared gray shirt, tailored perfectly to my slender body, atop dark blue jeans. My sleeves were rolled up – about a quarter inch before my elbow – and all but the top button were buttoned. As for accessories, I sported my stylishly conservative wristwatch and all black dress socks. And in regards to shoes, my previous girlfriend fortunately had not ended our relationship prior to giving me one valuable tidbit of information, something that came especially handy today: "Shoes can make or break an outfit. Guys just don't realize that." Not this guy, sweetheart. I pulled out my new shoes, fresh from the autumn catalogue of Kenneth Cole.
And with that, I exited my dorm room and began the trek to hers, conveniently located just three flights down. Drum roll, please.
The elevator left me off right outside her door. Deep breath. Knock.
Nervous look from side to side. Sweaty palms. Knock knock.
"Coming. Just a sec." Footsteps.
Heart beat faster.
The door opened, and there she stood: beautiful, dressed in a silk bathrobe, Oriental in style, with her straight, lively hair resting gently on her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled betwixt the flutter of her magical eyelashes. "Yes?"
Quickly. This must be done quickly. "Look, I think you're beautiful, really beautiful, and well, I think you also look nice, and I'm a really nice guy, and –
And now for the $10,359.96 lottery ticket :
"I'm just wondering if maybe we could go out some time, you know, like maybe to a movie or to get something to eat or even to the grocery store or whatever or if you want to stay in we could like smoke or something 'cause I have some and I heard you like to hit it up, you know?"
To the grocery store?
I called Visa the next day. "Hi, I was wondering if I could get my credit limit increased? Yeah, I just need to buy another lottery ticket ." $10,359.96 down the drain. And I ain't paying that late fee.