An Aquatic Tale of Dating

I know that it's taken me longer than originally promised, but here is the finished product of this manifesto. The title of this blog is an epiphany that hit me the other day when I was talking with my friend who is just getting back into the dating scene of Orlando. And that's when it hit me. (insert subtle *bing* sound.) Dating in this town is exactly like swimming in shark infested waters! But alas, part of it, could even be equivalated to maybe even a deep sea fishing adventure. It is with that in mind, that I bring to you (insert drum roll please):

AN AQUATIC TALE OF DATING



First, the shark infested waters theories:
The scene is typical.. It's 9:00 on Friday night, after a long week of work. You are standing in your Victoria's Secrets finest, (so, for the most part stark naked) infront on your looming closet. Or if you're a guy, it's boxer briefs, or perhaps just a towel after a quick shower. Whichever the case, both parties are on the same wave length. As you stand there, you are trying to figure out what collaboration of clothing you are going to adorn as you head downtown this evening to unwind. If your a female in this theory, chances are, your closet is bursting, your floor is already covered with clothes, and yet, you still call your best friend complaining that you have nothing to wear.
After contemplating what seems like the simplest decision of the evening, you make your final selection, get dressed, put the finishing touches on your hair and/or makeup, and head out the door. Cell phone & car keys in one hand, digital camera in the other.
Fast forward past the drive downtown blaring some "get you pumped for the evening music". You collectively gather with your friends at a central location, grab a few cocktails, down a few shots, and perhaps even grab a late bite to eat to line the stomach for the evenings alcohol consumption.
Sporting your evenings duds and a slight buzz, you walk down the street with your posse headed to your next destination. And that's when you encounter the shark infestation.
As you stroll along, you are in essence chumming the waters, and you are now swimming among the masses of unknown. You look your best, you're feeling pretty good, and your out to have a fun time. If you are exceptionally better looking than your counterparts, chances are you stand out among them and the rest of the crowd, and you are, my friend, a prime target for the evening.
You chose your destination, grab a drink, and stake a claim at a 3x3 section of airspace where you and your friends will set up camp temporarily as your scope the prospects that are looming on all sides. Girls are guys alike both stroll by you, some flashing a quick smile, others stopping to strike up a semi formal generic conversation that could either make or break the deal in a matter of moments. You as the new inhabitant of the water, are now in shark infested territories. It is, at that exact moment, then it becomes apparent: It's a typical Friday night for a single person in the city of Orlando.


Fast forward a few hours, a decent amount of beers/cocktails, and a few passerbys that you'd soon like to forget. You find a member of the opposite sex that has grasped your attention for the time being. Most likely it was his chiseled biceps or washboard abs. Or perhaps it was her barely covered chest and legs that go for miles that caught your attention, but either way, you've found your target, and you're now wearing the hat of a "Master Angler." This is where the fishing aspect comes into play.

TBC--My lunch hour is over.