Actually, though, I’m toying with this idea. You’re right if by “working hard” you mean approaching every attractive person you see and declaring your undying love. But if by “working hard” you mean learning to read signals right, and send them right, and play it cool, and all that other stuff, then maybe there can be a profit by doing the necessary homework and practicing.
I was in a pretty good mood this morning. Feeling good about myself, feeling confident, feeling sexy. I decided to project that. Not with “in your face” projection, but with a quiet confidence. I took that to a training class. While on break, I spotted the cute lady who was sitting to the right of me. I gave her a little smile, and she smiled back. We waited for the elevator. And waited. And waited. When the elevator finally came, it wouldn’t go anywhere unless someone with authorization swiped their card. That happened to be me.
During this very long time, the woman kept looking at me and smiling. I returned the smiles. When we finally got off the elevator, I struck up a conversation with her. We talked all the way back to the classroom. I would have continued the conversation, but it was interrupted by a very cute interloper sitting to the right of me. We kept talking right up to when the instructor restarted the class.
Now, this isn’t going to end up in hot monkey sex or even a date, but I feel good about meeting Alex and Noshti. I talked to cute strangers. They were interested in me. Maybe this would have happened anyway, but the old me would have pretty much avoided them. I’d like to believe that my being confident, conversational, and observant had something to do with it. And I’d like to believe that these things were under my conscious control.
The art of the pickup: Fighting my own ignorance since 2007. It’s taking about as long as I thought.
No, and they weren’t wearing rings or anything. But it’s just unlikely that I’ll bump into either of them again. It’s certainly possible, but I’m not counting on it.
I suppose if I knew their last names, which I don’t, I could e-mail them, but that would just come off as either skeevy or desperate. I’d rather just leave things as they are and be content to move on.
I felt even better a couple of weeks ago when I just walked up to a girl about 3 orders of magnitude out of my league and said “Hi, I’d like to meet you.”
I must have woken up with extra testicles that morning.
Sounds like you’re doing better. But I seem to remember someone around here telling of a woman they knew who didn’t get asked out much, because all the guys thought she was “out of their league”. So I wouldn’t put too much stock in the whole league business.
The whole “league” thing intrigues me. Normally you’d expect to see attractive people with attractive people, plain with plain, fat with fat, old with old, and athletic with athletic. But more and more I see widely mismatched couples who seem very happy together.
A few years ago I sort of met a woman while on the way to the pool. Very attractive. Not the skinniest woman I’d ever seen, but only very slightly plump. And she carried it well. Then her boyfriend showed up. He had to weigh a good 300 at least, probably more like 350. Seriously, he made John Candy look thin. And the woman seemed very into him.
The two from today were in an orientation meeting at work. The hot girl was in the alley behind work, in front of the medical school. She’s usually there with an equally hot friend.
Work fast, buddy. They leave for Holland in a few days.
I’ve been watching “Snapped” out of the corner of my eye. Money seems to trump the looks “league” a lot…until the husband gets whacked for the hottie pool boy or something.
One of them smiled at me on the way home tonight. But it wasn’t a quick little out of the corner of her face. It was a full on from about a hundred feet away. And it lasted all the way until we passed each other. At first I wondered if she was smiling at at friend of hers who was behind me. But there was no one behind me. It was definitely meant for me. And it was so familiar that it was almost uncomfortable. I kept wondering if I’ve met her before, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t.
Well, someone could start a thread on IMHO “Women: would you prefer a guy who’s a bad dancer to a guy who won’t dance?”
Until those results are in, I can only speculate that, yes, most women would enjoy to dance with you so long as you don’t horribly embarass them. True, everyone will notice you’re a bad dancer, but in under two minutes their interest will have moved elsewhere. In the meantime your partner is enjoying being with you (and enjoying your ordeal, but that goes without saying).
I find this whole dancing fixation bizarre. I suck at a lot of things, and few of them matter all that much. But this ritualised form of rhythmic movement is somehow so important that a lack of talent in that particular area turns me into a romantic nonprospect. People who say men are obsessed with sex have never talked to a woman about dancing.
It’s funny, a few years back, I was at a company Christmas party. It was kind of a big deal, what with tuxedos and evening gowns and all that. I was trying to score with a particularly cute coworker, and getting nowhere. (We later ended being close friends.) Socially, I was doing pretty badly at the party. Not crash and burn bad, but just not having a great time. I asked a few people to dance, and got turned down.
Keep in mind that I suck at dancing.
So I said “fuck it”, and decided to dance with myself. And, as they say, “Like no one is watching.” I was almost intentionally ridiculous, un-self conscious, and I dare say a wee bit ethanol-enhanced. Within minutes, three of what can only be described as the prettiest girls in the company approached me and enthusiastically asked “Can we dance with you?”
out of the corner of her face. It was a full on 
from about a hundred feet away. And it lasted all the way until we passed each other. At first I wondered if she was smiling at at friend of hers who was behind me. But there was no one behind me. It was definitely meant for me. And it was so familiar that it was almost uncomfortable. I kept wondering if I’ve met her before, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t.