HOW TO MAKE NEW YORK GIRLS REALIZE THEY WOULD RATHER BE WITH ADAM WADE: PART II

by Adam Wade

Installment #2:   COMPETITION

The backstory is that I met a girl at a bar, and she brought me back to her place. We played Monopoly for over two hours, she won, then I kissed her and went home. For the next month we played phone tag with each other but never quite connected.

Then...

I went to same bar where we met and I saw her again and she looked great. By the time the bartender got me a beer I realized I was in competition with two other guys at the bar who seemed to be all over her:

1) The jock

2) The intellectual

I played it cool, thinking about my history with this girl. Things were awkward with three vying for one girl, Here's what we had to offer to her:

1) The Jock: "People tell me I look like Nomar Garciaparra."

2) The intellectual: "Krispy Kreme Donuts have a lot of fat in them."

3) Me: "I will be singing karaoke tomorrow night at the Summer Festival Beer Tent."

The intellectual bails, and walks out of the bar. His departing words are, "I have to be up early to teach a class in Robotics." Suddenly, she now gives me her full attention and asks what song I plan on doing for karaoke.

I answer, "John Cougar Mellencamp's Pink Houses." Then The Jock aggressively puts his hands on her shoulders and starts massaging them. She lets out a sigh and smiles.

"That feels so good."   She coos.

I panic and start to twitch. If I'm going down, I'm planning on going down in a blaze of glory. I start singing, "Aint that America, for you and me?   Ain't that America, something to see, baby. Little Pink Houses, baby, for you and me. Oh-h yeah."

Nothing. The jock lowers his head and they start to French kiss in front of me.

What can I possibly do know but sing a little more. "Well, there's people (hand-clap),   and more people (hand clap) , but what do they know, know, know."

But it's no use. She gets up and says, "Bye, bye, Adam." She goes to kiss me goodbye on the cheek and I move away from her (in a show of some self-pride) and then tap her back a few times with my hands (instead of hugging her) and she leaves with the jock.

I'm left in defeat, staring at the bartender.

He says to me, "Looks like you really screwed that one up."

Reflecting on the encounter, I take the last sip of my warm beer and say,   "You know, I'm not Joe Blow. I'm Adam Wade. I didn't screw anything up. Though she is very vivacious and sexual, I believe that she just wasn't the right girl for me.   Y'know, good luck to her and the Red Sox. Let's face reality, I'm the winner tonight."

The bartender gives me a stupid look and says, "Whatever."  

I get up and walked out of there with my head up.

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