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One Time When You Should Definitely Not Give A Guy Your Number

One Time When You Should Definitely Not Give A Guy Your Number

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A good friend of mine from my first magazine job--let's call her Elizabeth Collins--had a birthday gathering last night in the meat-packing district, at a place called Brass Monkey. Not very funky. More like an sports bar on steroids. But they have a great roof-top deck, and the revelers who were hanging up there with my friend when I arrived were quite awesome. (I even have a bit of a girl crush on one editor-lady I met. She is the lead singer in a honkytonk band--how cool is that?)

 

I had so much fun talking to her and the other peeps who had gathered, in fact, that it wasn't till I was leaving that I started to think: Shoot! Another night out, and I haven't flirted one bit! (All the guys who'd shown up were boyfriends of ladies they'd come with ... except for this one doofus whom I've met about a bajillion times. Despite that fact, he always seems befuddled every time we're re-introduced--which causes me to say, grouchily, Oh, yes, I actually DO know Doofus! This is the bajillionth-and-one time we've crossed paths!)

 

Anyway, as I biked home, I told myself: Look, missy, you have got to get your flirt on, one way or the other, before you go home! And I think the best way to do it is to just cruise on up to some guy standing on the sidewalk and say hello. ... I don't care if you don't want to!

 

Obediently, I kept my eyes peeled. I noticed one guy standing outside of Raccoon Lodge, who looked cute, I guess mainly because he was wearing a watch, and I like watches. But he was smoking, and I'm anti-cancer--and also, apparently, a huge chicken--so I kept going. I also kept going past the cute guy in the suit who was standing on the corner, at the next light, despite the fact he looked pretty good and had on a fetching lavendar tie, mainly because I wanted to catch the light before it turned red. On the Brooklyn Bridge, I saw some lunatic--a pretty cute lunatic but a lunatic regardless--running at a breakneak pace over the thing, at midnight no less, in what appeared to be his pajama bottoms--bright white pant-things with "I♥NY" logos all over them. (Maybe he wanted to save some time getting changed for bed?) He also had a bookbag on. But I didn't stop for him either. And really, if I should've stopped for anybody, I probably should've stopped for him. I'm sure he wouldn't have thought it was all that crazy if I just randomly said, Hey dude, want to go out some time? Because clearly he does plenty of insane things himself! I also saw the obscure 80's movie star Fisher Stevens (who was on his cell phone, probably begging his agent to get him some work) right after I passed Crazy Running Man. But I did not stop for Fisher Stevens, because he is so balding that he has almost no hair on the top of his head, yet he wears it long in the back. Not a good look for anyone, not even an obscure 80's movie star.

 

The deeper I got into Brooklyn, the more pissed I got at myself for not having flirted yet ... and the more desperate I must've been looking, because at one light I was stopped at, near the Fulton Mall, some dude rolled down his mirrored window and said, "Hey, baby, can I get your nuhhhhmmm-bah?" And I thought to myself, This is one time when it is not appropriate to flirt back. So I pedaled off without a word and came home and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and called it a night.

 

AN IMPORTANT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!: Although Monday is a holiday here in the US, I do have some readers all across the world--in Tasmania, Australia and Serbia ... just to name a few of the places that end in UH-HUH! So I am doing a bonus double-post today, to make up for the fact that I won't be posting on Monday. (See "How to Look Your Blow-Dried Best" for more information.)

xxx

PS: Edwinna and Fancy: I love the comments. I have some thoughts on what you both said ... but right now, I gotta run. So ... till next week?

 

 

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