I hear a lot of my girlfriends complaining about how wimpy the men are here. It's true - the average Portland boy will not approach a girl he doesn't already know. Instead, he'll just adjust his thick, black, plastic-framed glasses and attempt to make eye-contact with her from across the room. Then he'll spend the next two months reading the "I Saw U" ads in the Portland Mercury or cruising the "Missed Connections" page on Craigslist in hopes that she posted a vague description of him.
I might be exaggerating a little bit, but you get the idea. If you are of the female persuasion and you want to actively date in this town, you have to be the one to make things happen. Of course, since I am also from Portland, I am extremely awkward and non-confrontational. Plus, dating isn't a huge priority for me right now. That being said, the closest thing to a date I've experienced recently was the night in October when Tweaked Out Elvis Costello bought me French fries and told me all about the time he tried to start his own religion.
But I digress. Something happened to me today that completely threw off my groove.
|Not my finest fashion moment|
My bag has a map of Vancouver B.C. on the front and this guy thought that was really cool. Turns out he loves Canada. So we had a weird conversation about Canada, which somehow turned into a conversation about film. I learn that he's from L.A. and does videography work for a living. I tell him that I'm a writer, musician, film geek, etc. He's intrigued, especially when it comes out that I have a scriptwriting background. He tells me about his projects, I tell him about mine. We discover that we have a mutual friend in common. We share a good laugh about a town where every one in five people is a midget. At one point, he moved over to my table. It was all very natural, yet strange because I'm not used to strangers being that interesting and conversational.
It got to the point where he motioned to the bar across the street and offered to buy me a drink. I should have probably gone with it and said "yes," but I was so thrown off by the whole interaction that I told him I had to be somewhere and made a less-than-graceful exit. I spent the drive home yelling at myself.
Stupid automatic defense mechanisms. Portland girls aren't socially equipped to handle boys from Los Angeles.