Try This Out

I can’t say the last few months have been great for Spencer Porter. I went from happily in a relationship to woefully single. I went from being an underutilized and underpaid assistant to a C-List celebrity to an overworked and yet still underpaid assistant to a C+ List Celebrity. I went from 202 lbs. to 205.

OK. 206.

I haven’t been feeling like the Spencer of old – the Spencer that sang pop tunes out the balcony of his freshman dorm, the Spencer that called his Intro to the Humanities professor a transvestite (during lecture, on stage), or the Spencer that told a very off-color menstrual blood joke during a Freshman dorm meeting, and got subsequently booed out.

This general malaise has manifested itself in a number of intriguing ways. First off, I use big words to make myself feel better. I also gloat about my SAT score in front of people that couldn’t care less. And finally, I think of lists of three related yet distinct items, making sure that the third of these items is decidedly humorous.

I didn’t say I was good at it.

But high on the list of reasons why I’ve been a Crabby Cathy recently is a lack of romantic opportunities. Much like power plays are to hockey teams, I need these romantic opportunities to “score,” which I’m told feels good upon your skin.

I explored a myriad of options:

As the Roblob indicated, I may have “backslid” once. OK, fine, twice. It was, like pretty much all my freshman relationships, a horrible mistake that led to a lot of tears, self-doubt, and a trip to a milkshake. And not the milkshake that brings all the boys to the yard. A coffee milkshake.

But I moved on. I went out to bars, to house parties, to ladies of the night. All came up dry. Except for one night. But then again, for those in the know, that night didn’t exactly leave me a winner.

So I went to the last bastion of hope for the underappreciated single. After one of my roommates (spoiler alert: it was Rob) went out on a date with a veritable 10, I decided to use his tactic. And no, not the “Wear a Belly Shirt and Awkwardly Bob Your Head Out of Sync With the Song” tactic that he has nailed.

I joined Yahoo!personals.

I’m not proud.

I posted up a profile (Headline: “Let’s Laugh at People at the Mall!”), a couple decent pictures from my time below the dreaded 200 lb. line, and waited for some hits.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It is now my fourth day on Yahoo!personals, and after visiting god knows how many girls’ profiles, sending “icebreakers” to a good handful of promising young starlets, and tailoring my profile to convey the most genuine, charming, and handsome man this side of the Roblob, a total of two – 2 – girls, have so much as clicked on my profile.

Two.

I have more testicles in my pants than hits on my profile.

Wait.

No. Got ahead of myself there. Just trying to prove a point.

So, just as it was time to chalk up another disaster for good ol’ Spence, the internet giveth back.

Just yesterday, I got word of the greatest event to come my way since loud jackets with unnecessary embroidery.

Harmlessly checking yahoo.com, I stumbled across a headline that sent me to lagalaxy.com. It had nothing to do with any new British player. It wasn’t about any ticket sales. It was devoid of interest to most casual observers.

The Los Angeles Galaxy, the MLS team soon to be the home of David Beckham, is holding an open tryout.

On February 11, Aram Spencer Baron Porter, back down to 195 lbs., will be there.

And just like how I barely made my High School Varsity Soccer Team, just like how I barely made the Stanford University Soccer Team, I will barely make the LA Galaxy.

The Tryout is in three weeks. Training starts tomorrow.