Let's Get Physical Therapied

I went to physical therapy for an ankle sprain that was getting kind of unpredictable. It would just constantly roll. I would be walking and it would just go out like getting flat tired or something. You know, like when someone walks behind you and steps on the back of your shoe? That shit never gets old.

So, over a six week period I developed a crush on my physical therapist. She was a little mousey girl, kinda young and looked like she would be totally by the book, but had an appreciation for the smell of Thera-band. I like that in a girl.

By the second appointment, it was a bona fide crush. There is a hitch here, though. My personal definition of a crush involves something that is totally and completely unattainable. Like my crush on the e-surance girl. As the sessions went on she started to play along with my inane conversations and would follow me off topic of ankles and balance drills. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying hanging out for our hour a week. I chalked it up to a courteous bedside manner, but was developing a thing for her.

My ankle was pretty much rehabbed two weeks earlier than planned and I told her that we didn't need to have rehab anymore, but she told me to come back and work on my balance. That's when the conversation happened that changed everything. I was trying to balance on one leg on a foam pad with my eyes closed. It's way harder than it sounds.

I said "This is really hard. You aren't going to make me juggle now, are you?"

She said "Have you ever surfed?"

I replied with my eyes closed "No. Have you?"

She replied "No."

I just started cracking up and fell down and said back to her "Then why are we talking about it?"

I still get a kick out of that conversation.

Anyway, I finished up and she gave me her card on our last scheduled day and I was a little bummed that I wouldn't get to see her anymore. After two weeks I did the unthinkable and sent her an e-mail to her work e-mail thanking her for fixing me and then asked her out...over e-mail. It felt horrible and gross, but it fucking worked. It was also a better call than hurting myself again so that I could pay $35 a week to see her again. That felt dirty. I'm still shocked, but celebrated with one beer after I received her reply. One beer in eleven days. This is a new Hughge.

So, anyway, finally figured out how to ask a girl out when not drowning rationality and tact in ten Ketel & Sodas in a bar and then not remembering what the girl looked like the next day.

Speaking of that, as I hit that lucid state last night at 9:48 PM on Cinco De Mayo, my phone beeped letting me know that a text was coming in. You can also hear a pop in the alarm clock speakers a few seconds before this happens. I hate that. Anyway, my brain tucked away my almost dream of a dude in a Carpeteria jacket eating a cartoon taco and I checked the message. It was a number with no name asking me to go down to the bar to meet for drinks. It took me a second and I think I figured out who it was. Here's the story:

Was at the bar down the street from my house and just getting a toe in the water for getting heated. I was walking to the bathroom and saw this girl. She was a Ginger, which is normally not my type, but for some reason I ended up talking to her for a few hours and we exchanged numbers. You should never trust a ginger. It's totally documented.

About a week later, she texted me. It was my birthday and some Sangria had pretty much punched me in the face at dinner with my parents for my birthday, but I went out anyway letting her know that my charm may take a small hit due to the fight with a pitcher of Sangria, but she was game anyway. I hung out with her friends and had some drinks and everyone was getting along, but there was no connection I felt with her.

Long story short, at the end of the night, we were talking out in front of the bar and I wasn't getting a vibe from her so while we were talking I clicked my phone open and navigated to her name in my contacts directory. I then said good night and deleted her name out of my phone right in front of her and then walked away. What a prick?

Anyway, I think her name was Kendall and I think she texted last night. Her name is in my phone now as First Name: "Kendall?" Last Name: "Bar".