Shoulder that weight.

In September of 2010, I had a bike accident and separated my right shoulder. Here's how it happened:

I was heading East on 45th from Wallingford to the U District. Just as I was mounting the curb on the bridge over I-5, I had to swerve left behind a utility pole. What I didn't see was the access box on the side of the pole. I struck the box (thank goodness for my helmet) with my head, which set me off balance. I then struck the square, wooden post with the "ramp metered" sign on it. It was painful and all that. I more or less recovered in about 5 or 6 weeks. I also neatly snapped the wooden post (apologies to WSDOT).

That broadly covers the mechanics of how it happened. Here's the why:

I talked to a girl.

There are bike-posts at the EMP. I had seen a white Bianchi Pista fixie locked to one of them several times and always wondered about to whom it belonged. As I was leaving that particular day, there was the owner of the Bianchi unlocking her bike! Her name is Monica. She's very pretty and - as near as I can tell - very nice. I was excited to meet her and strike up a conversation. We spoke of bikes and jobs and all that kind of chit-chat. But when it got a bit more personal, it also got awkward. We established that we were both riding towards the U District via Fremont/Wallingford, then - after a long pause - she pointedly informed me that she preferred to ride alone. I took the hint and just kind of dropped the whole conversation. This would have been the end of it, but we kept shadowing each-other all the way over Dexter and into Fremont. At some point she changed course, I've not seen her since.

So all of that in mind, I continued up Stone Way and then onto 45th. I was disappointed that the whole encounter had gone so awry. It began as an examination of the conversation, but morphed into a depressing critique on how ill-adept I am at talking to girls. It went even further to become a proof that women do not like me and that I shall be alone for the rest of my life. It was in this frame of mind that I went sailing onto the bridge. I was so distracted by my self-flagellation that I wrecked and ended up with $2,500.00 in ER bills, a separated shoulder and six weeks of relative inactivity (and weight-gain). Who knew that talking to girls was so hazardous?

Now I'm riding again; still trying to lose the weight (again!). Also still trying to talk to girls in spite of the apparent danger. I have managed to make a couple of friends (work friends, not "let's go hang out" friends) with the effort, but I can't help but feel like I'm still doomed when it comes to dating. It doesn't help that most of the girls I've ended up talking to are eight to ten years younger than I am. No matter how nicely any given conversation goes, I end up feeling like the "creepy old guy" at work. All of this says nothing of feeling like I'm always vastly out-classed by the women I work with. So, what's a boy to do?

I re-activated my OKCupid profile. I get an occasional visitor, but that's it. I've sent messages to a handful of women, but none of them has ever replied. The whole online dating thing is frankly stupid (but at least I'm not paying for the service). I haven't read one profile yet that didn't thoroughly intimidate me. In fact, lots of profiles I've read seem to be designed to make men run headlong the other way. There are a few who are so prickly that I wonder why they bothered to make a profile to begin with; I got the distinct impression that they didn't want to meet anybody at all. Equally baffling are the ladies who present the reader with a list of demands on personality and physiology (and indirectly income!) so particular as to exclude almost every man. Perhaps that's the point. But why go to all the trouble to prove to yourself (and anybody unfortunate enough to read your profile) how fiercely independent you are? Do you really expect anyone to find that endearing in any way?

Every time I read my own profile, I want to delete it and start over (or just delete it for good). Doubtless I'm over-thinking the whole thing, but I get so many mixed messages from the profiles I read that I don't know how to present myself anymore. I guess it's good to know what you want (or what you think you want); but I can't help but feel like my business isn't needed or even particularly desired.

Check this out: Every single day at work I see dumpy, schlubby guys with beautiful girlfriends/wives. It's mind-boggling! I can't help but wonder what it is that they have which I haven't. Can it be that I'm irreparably pudgy, dumpy and unattractive? Does it really just come down to resource allocation and the perception of a man as safety and being a provider? I'm at a loss and I'm starting to take it personally.

That's the worst part of it: taking it personally. I catch myself becoming angry at attractive women(!). WTF is that about? Resentment at a perceived judgement or perceived rejection? At least I catch myself; but it's such a compelling story to tell myself (how worthless I feel I am). It's difficult to break it up once it's rolling along. Again, I'm surely over-thinking this thing; but what the hell does one do with this kind of frustration?

Here's a joke that the ER doc who looked at me didn't get at all:
Doc: We've got your x-rays here, your right shoulder isn't dislocated after all, it's separated.
Me: Oh. Does that mean it's going to divorce me?
Doc: What?