The Curse!!!!

Being a bachelor in Knoxville is hilarious to me.

My friend Mark Bernard once said that Knoxville has a curse. He's told me on many occasions how horribly frustrating it is to meet an impressive single woman in this city, and I never put a lot of stock in that statement. The way I figure it, any city probably has those kinds of problems. I figure that it's all about the bars a guy frequents, the amount of alcohol consumed at these said bars, the height level at which your collar is popped or the correct angle and placement of your crooked baseball cap. Chicks dig the guys with the crooked ball caps, man... the proof is in the pudding.

(Side note: For proof of this, consult the cute girl who I met at the bar last weekend. I was wearing a tie and jacket after I'd gotten off work, and the second question she asked me was, "are you gay?" I told her, "no, why do you ask?" and she proceeds to tell me that she assumed I was gay because I was "alone, really cute and wearing expensive-looking shoes and a tie." I left my fucking crooked hat and busted polo in the truck, and... oops... I'm suddenly gay. My fault. I love East Tennessee sometimes.)

At any rate, I didn't really see the point in speculating about Knoxville's curse so much, especially since I usually prescribe to this crazy theory that... hell... well, that guy, Tyler Durden, put it the best: "We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm beginning to wonder if another woman is the answer we really need?"

I can see his point, really. It's pretty lucid stuff when you think about it. Of course, I can also speculate equally on how the amount of hot dogs you consume on any given week will more than likely give you brain tumors.

Anyway, I digress. In my experience with this city... I can logically say from a subjective standpoint on this (thanks to my Tyler Durden theory)... Knoxville might indeed have a weird curse lurking around.

I find that meeting women, going on dates, taking them to the "good" taco bell, porn theater and Jon Ellison's "man barn" for intimate nights of passion is no problem. Neither is sending endless amounts of text messages that serve no point at all but to annoy me while driving. I've got that part totally covered. I also don't find it intimidating to start conversations, change out spare tires or give away free back massages. (Or sending text messages to the woman WHILE giving her a back massage... the 21st century is creepy, man.)

I find that in Knoxville, meeting women isn't the problem. The problem is meeting impressive women. Not that I'm that hard to impress. For the love of God, I love Friday the 13th movies, Pantera and whiskey. I've met women in Knoxville that impress me, for sure... but finding a cool woman who's actually compatible and impressive is the hard part, right?

(You're laughing at me right now, aren't you? Of course it's the hard part, I know.... but that doesn't mean I can't write a damn blog about it, right? Hell man, it's fun to write about this stuff!! Cut me some slack, chump.)

I think my biggest challenge here is not only the cards I've been dealt in life (yeah, I am a weird, horror-movie-loving, too-outgoing-in-your-face-friendly dorky motormouth, sure...but that's just me. Take it or leave it, sucka), but also the strange situation of being 29 years old and looking 30 right in the face. The fact that I'm pushing a number like 30 doesn't really concern me at all. After all, I know guys that are 35 who look, talk and act like they're 25, and I could say the same about myself. Right? Ahem.

However, any single 30-year-old dude could tell you all about it. It's that weird ass point in your life when you realize that you're not in college any more (say goodbye to the 19- and 20-year-old girls, man... seriously), and seemingly everyone your age has been married for at least five years and most have this weird thing called a "family." (What's that shit all about, anyway??)

I'm not even old, yet I still get weirded out when I realize that I'm nearly 10 years older than your average professional football player... or when I see some kid who was born in 1994. For the love of God, I was listening to Pearl Jam in 1994... wearing flannel shirts and sneaking a flask of whiskey in to the theater to see "Forrest Gump" for the second time with my buddy who was obsessed with Bubba.

So it's a weird place in life to be in that strange "in-between" phase. Too old for the young-ish hot chicks, too young for the hot, older, divorced rich ladies and too single for all the tens of thousands of married, family women with cute kids that already look like them. (Come to think of it, maybe I'm not too young for the older rich ladies. I should probably rethink my standards here.)

Is this blog even going anywhere?

So the question here is this: does age bear any weight on this curse problem? Do you think I never meet impressive, respectable single women in Knoxville because my age is at a weird place? Is that where the curse is at its strongest? I honestly don't think so. But it's really fun to speculate on this kind of thing, isn't it? It's something that actually provides really interesting conversation over a bunch of drinks. Or while passed out after a 2-minute-long dose of heroine in the bathroom of a seedy truck stop. You know, whatever.

Maybe... just maybe... this curse is a weird type of self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps it actually isn't a virus, or some shit you pick up from not washing your hands after some dude gets turned down by a gorgeous woman in a bar right in front of you... but maybe it's just happening because you secretly want it to happen.

Maybe the truth is that I have more-human-than-human standards when it comes to women... and this just inherently makes me veer away from the typical woman who looks absolutely gorgeous... but (of course) would be super happy with a guy who used to be a mega-badass-kickboxing-wrestler-football-captain guy in high school, but now has a gigantic beer gut and wears t-shirts that say stuff like "You can't buy these pythons in a pet store."

Yeah, maybe my subconscious brain tells me to automatically steer clear of those ladies for my own good? How come those women are a dime a dozen anyway? Why do they all look alike? Why do they all walk and talk the same?? Where are these chicks coming from?? And how do those guys who date them manage to own so many hilarious polo shirts??

Ah, whatever. I guess this blog makes me sound like I'm some kind of conservative snob dude elitist, but the truth is that I'm really not. I got nothin' against pythons. I owned a python for nearly four years. And truth be told, I did not buy him in a pet store.

But then you have to wonder... what do women want these days?

In thinking about it, maybe I should stop being nice... get a motorcycle, maybe... perhaps a helmet with a silhouette of a naked chick on it... start smoking... play more video games... get hooked on some random drug... work at a gas station... start fights in bars & nursing homes... play more video games... steal from my parents... talk slower & drive faster... get a penis extension... play more video games... and finally... argue with women for no apparent reason, except when you've stolen the last of her shoe money to buy more scorpions to fight in the back room of the Harley bar.

You know... I'd much rather just find a nice girl who I can be sweet to.

Anyway, so maybe I've brought this pseudo-curse upon myself by being too gentlemanly, friendly and inquisitive, not being a dick who puts out cigarettes on old people, not wearing popped-collar polo shirts and sideways baseball caps, having my standards set really high and feeling self-conscious about my age and my past. Maybe all that is the curse.

Or... maybe Knoxville was built on some ancient Indian burial ground and the ghosts of these really pissed off, murderous sons of bitches are sabotaging my love life.

Does it make me unhappy?

Not for a damn second, guys. Not for a damn second. I'll pass out under my coffee table tonight with a smile on my face. When I wake up tomorrow morning and pretend to be fighting ninjas on the way to the shower, I'll be smiling the entire time. Yeah man, the entire time.

I don't really believe that Knoxville has a curse. Not really. I just think there's a pretty apparent shortage of interesting, successful beautiful single women in this hilarious city. And never fear, interesting, successful, beautiful single women... I'll track ya down sooner or later. And no worries....I'll be the overly-friendly guy who'll not be wearing a pink polo.

When you see me in the street downtown tomorrow, be sure to say hello. I'll shower you with kindness and outgoing friendliness... and pass on the Knoxville curse. You'll never get laid again and I'll laugh at you as I drive home. With my hat on crooked.

Much love, Knoxville!!!