After my failed date with destiny (or, at least, my failed date with Mr. Kringle) on Friday evening, I was too tired and dejected to go to the holiday shindig I'd been planning to attend with Ruby Finch, so I went home. In the hopes of distracting myself from loneliness and disappointment, I decided to watch the Netflix DVD I had on hand: Midnight Cowboy. This three-time Oscar winner is a filmmaking feat, in the way that it makes the viewer empathize with a couple of very unsavory characters: a street hustler and the homeless cripple who befriends him. But it is not exactly a pick-me-up. I went to bed feeling absolutely wretched.
Luckily, a good night's sleep did me wonders. I went for a late morning run, then headed over to my favorite local coffee shop to do some writing. It was crowded there, so when a tall stranger walked in and began looking around for a spot, I cooperatively removed my jacket from the side table next to me and also lowered my leg--slung over the side of my cozy chair--so as not to prohibit his movement into the space next to me. As he sat down, I noticed he was the cute willowy dude whom I've seen in the coffee shop before. I also noticed he was reading a book of Frank O'Hara poetry. Hmmm. Interesting. Then I told myself he was too young for me, and that he probably had a crush on the buxom pink-cheeked gamine sitting opposite us--who wouldn't? In other words, I told myself to forget it, so I didn't bother to make eye contact.
But when I engaged in a very enthusiastic fidget after about 15 minutes, he spoke to me, saying, "Ah, that chair--it looks so comfortable, but really, it isn't."
We got into a nice little chat. When I left, shortly afterward, he said to me, "Well, I'm in here a lot, so maybe we'll see each other again."
It was very pleasant.
Later that evening, as I was getting ready to go out to a few parties with my friends Daisy Milliner and Harry Berkeley,I had the same wardrobe conniption fit that I'd had the weekend before: I haven't got a stitch to wear! Everything I tried on looked terrible. I finally settled on a skirt and fishnets and THE SAME BLACK SWEATER I ALWAYS WEAR.
Having decided that I was not going to even bother flirting that night--because surely no one was going to want to talk to me, not when I was wearing such a mediocre outfit--I didn't even bother to put on my nice heels, opting instead for my comfortable ankle boots. Thirty minutes later, when I picked up Daisy and Harry from some bar and saw how HOT Daisy looked, in her little red dress, it seemed clear I was just going to have to resign myself to the fact that all male attention that night would go to her.
But lo and behold, strangely enough, lots of people seemed to want to talk to me that night. At the first party, I met a wonderfully interesting person--a male of the species--and we exchanged contact info. At the second party (full of married people, or so it seemed), one dude kept staring at me from across the room; and when I had to leave rather abruptly (because a friend was overly intoxicated), the stranger came over and asked for my number before I could put on my coat.
Lovelies, what shall we conclude from all this lack of effort on my part leading to the meeting of two nice gentlemen?
Perhaps the conclusion is this: Not working too hard--not working at all--is the key to meeting nice people? Having no expectations is best?
Of course, I hate it when people say I won't find love till I stop looking for it. But there's a reason certain sayings become cliches: because there's at least some truth in them.
Then again, I think the real reason for the sudden magic might be the new shampoo I'm using. From Trader Joe's! It's this Tea Tree oil stuff, which, though much gentler than the dandruff shampoo I'd been using for years and years, also keeps me from getting a flaky scalp. My hair hasn't looked this silky and smooth in ... forever?
So maybe that's it?
One other thought: I've also been using a new deodorant--Trader's Joe's Unscented Paraben-and-Aluminum-Free kind--and perhaps the lack of smell means my phermones are able to transmit more powerfully?
But tell me what you think: Do you think laying low and letting people come to you work out for the best, flirtation-wise?
PS: Dear commenters: i'm sorry not to respond to each of you individually, especially after all your comforting remarks yesterday. but i'm very glad you don't think my crazy conversational choices were such a big deal ... and i'm really glad to know i'm not the only one who says stuff like that!
Also, I now have a page fan on Facebook. I'd love it if you signed up.