Anyhoos, greetings fellow admirers of Dan. My friends call me Suki and I used to write this site called spinachdip nyc until it got old and broke its hip and my parents took it to the big bloggy summer camp in the sky. You might also know me from when I filled in at Gawker back in October. Dan guest blogged for me earlier this year, and it was only right that I return the favor in his hour of need.
Dan and I have little in common. Other than being dudes, we couldn't be more different. He lives Uptown, I live Downtown. He's a nice, clean cut Irish boy. I'm a dirty ass foreigner. Dan makes the girls swoon, I get hit on by gay dudes on the subway. Not that I'm complaining.
So it's kinda weird that I end up following in Dan's footsteps. Only weeks after he and his longtime girlfriend split up and he shut down his blog, I ended my blog. And a couple of weeks ago, I ended an off-and-on and hot-and-cold relationship of 3 years (now I'm waiting for Dan to win the Mega Million so I can do the same).
And since Dan has [redacted] going, it's probably inevitable that I'll start writing again. But will I too rediscover love, or a half reasonable facsimile thereof? I'm not so sure. Because I have this problem: I don't know how to talk to girls. Why, just a couple of hours ago, I passed a pretty girl in my building's foyer, but when she smiled and said hi, all I could do was get all Matt Saracen and squeak out a feeble "H....ey".
I'm painfully shy. If you look up "introverted" in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of me at a party, standing in the corner, nursing a beer and trying to avoid eye contact. But besides that, I never learned to talk to girls because I never had to.
Angelina last week and she thought I was being arrogant, but it's true. Every romantic and/or sexual relationships I've been in, it started because the girl took the initiative.
But it's really a curse. It's happened often enough that it made me complacent and I got to this point in my life without developing a very important skill. Can you imagine being Shamu, hand-fed all your life, and one day realizing that life in captivity has made you a killer whale who can't kill? You'd wonder, "What if I knew how to be a cold hearted killer? Oh, how I would love to taste the blood of this dolphin-humping grad student." You appreciate the free food and rent, undoubtedly, but it is not in the killer whale's nature to jump and flip for food like some common seal.