You may recall that on Tuesday I mentioned there was one more thing about my weekend that I wanted to report on. On Sunday night, I went out with my devastatingly handsome actor friend, whom we'll call Atticus Davidius: 6'4; pretty face; partial to blazers with jeans and a T-shirt. A quite HOT, very alpha male. (Who is, incidentally, beginning to get recognized in the streets, thanks to a number of big Hollywood roles in the last year. Pretty crazy!)
Atticus knows about my blog, and our plan had been to hit bars in Williamsburg and get our flirt on! But he had just run into his ex-girlfriend and was feeling a bit melancholy and strange; and I had abruptly stopped taking my anti-depressants that morning (don't try this at home), alarmed by how fat they were making me. So I was feeling enormous and neurotic. The two of us were not in the best shape for being charmingly extroverted.
However, we found two good seats at the corner of the bar, and bravely trudged on with our mission.
Atticus picked out a woman he liked — "because she looks like she has a dark side," he said. *
I, too, had spotted a hottie. He was sitting almost directly behind me, with a group of about five friends — a straight couple and two straight guys — and did not seem to be attached to anyone. And he had very black hair; skin that was such a rich olive color it was almost purple; very red lips; and was wearing in a slate-gray button-down. Confirmed: He was quite attractive. And, to be honest, I really thought he was kind of out of my league, looks-wise.
Atticus did not indulge any of my self-pityingly BS. He gave me some advice that was almost identical to that of Jena "Do Gentlemen Really Prefer Blondes?" Pincott: "Every few minutes, give your crush-boy a look."
"What? I can't! That seems too aggressively flirtatious!"
"Come on!" Atticus reprimanded me. "Are we here to flirt, or what?"
So, with a little more cajoling, I started glancing over every once in a while — and to my surprise, soon enough, Crush-boy was looking back!
I kept in mind what Jena had said: That it takes an average of thirteen glances before a guy will approach a woman.
After we'd been there about an hour — and I'd shot over maybe a total of eight looks in Crush-Boy's direction — Atticus and I both were feeling like calling it a night. We were too chicken to actually speak to our crushes, but as I was walking out, I ran into Crush-boy coming out of the bathroom and we STARED at each other. Then I moved on ... but I couldn't help looking back one more time before I reached the door — and who had stopped in his tracks to watch me but Crush-Boy!
In all honesty, I was — and remain — amazed by the experience. (And yes, I've been checking Craigslist Missed Connections every day since.)
When I heard Jena's 13-glances advice, I thought I've been making eye contact all my life and it doesn't make a damn bit of difference. But the only kind of eye contact I'd ever made before was shy, polite eye contact: maybe a total of three or four glances, tops. It's a whole different story when you up the numbers.
I'd also thought: What kind of woman would give someone 13 glances — that sound kind of trashy. Kind of pathetic! But I didn't feel trashy or pathetic when I was giving Crush-boy looks. I felt attractive, seductive ... and powerful.
Next thing I need to try: actually maintaining someone's gaze when he looks back at me!
Atticus and I have a plan to go out again tonight to try our luck. Although you know, Atticus is so hot, I'm sure NO guy is ever going to approach me if I'm hanging out with him! Maybe I need a new wing-man. Sadly, Atticus is moving to L.A. in three weeks, so I'll be forced to find one then.
*Funny, isn't it, how many men find "being dark" attractive! It always makes me want to say: Dude! I am SO dark! I read Baudelaire, for God's sake! I've seen Taxi Driver! I'm so depressed about my anti-depressants I can't even keep taking them — how's THAT for dark?