Monday, June 26, 2006

On Getting Noticed

I'd been complaining to all my 'peeps' that I've received less and less attention, no matter how hard I try to look good. Even the cat calls from the construction crews have died down. Maybe it's just too damn humid, or maybe the competition is just so stiff in NYC that even the construction workers, who are usually so dependable when in comes to sexist bravado, have become highly selective.

I did, however, receive some recognition yesterday. I had decided to wear a cute Ben Sherman shirt I had discovered at Filene's Basement. I couldn't believe it was only $20. It was hot pink and had puffy sleeves. About three hours into the day I noticed why it was $20. The buttons were attached in such a way as to make the shirt gape wide open in the cleavage area, at least on anyone over an A cup. I started covering the peephole with my bag but eventually got tired of that and just let it all hang out. I told myself maybe you could only see something if you were at a certain angle. I was wearing a bra. As I stepped back into what I thought was my obscure bubble of singleness, I passed by what appeared to be two 18 year old boys. They seemed to be looking at me. "Yo,check it," one of them shouted as I passed, "Your tit's hangin' out." I turned the corner immediately, went into a deli and ordered an impromptu corned beef sandwich to calm my nerves and gather my thoughts.
Also, further evidence that the last of my pheremones leaked through a black hole in my sex appeal- was the fact that this big fat annoyoying guy didn't even want me. I belong to a fellowship that happened to sponser an evening of dinner and dancing recently. There is a guy I don't know too well who is bald and big, and sort of looks like Sloth on 'The Goonies.' Apparently he keeps bothering all the pretty girls and handing them his personal card that details his 'caberet show.' As I was dancing, I almost tripped over the guys small water, which he had put next to him in the middle of the dance floor. As the water rolled away from my foot, the guy comes up to my face and screams "You kicked my water! I would appreciate it if you picked it up please." Then he folded his arms and waited. I clutched arms with my girlfriend as we both stared at him, frozen in horror and disbelief. Then we ran. Later, he came over and gave our other friend his card, and proceded to describe his 'cabaret,' while giving me the evil eye.

This is why I have had two dates in the last year. This is why I agreed to go out with the last loser, who kept hors d'euvres in his gym bag. (Long story.) But I am gearing up, girls. I am going to fight back. I am going to stage a full out effort to meet guys. I am armed with new pics (new, not-heinous ones) and am ready to register with two websites. I have a ticket to a singles event, and I am even willing to try 8-minute dating, even though the whole concept horrifies me. Wish me luck, and give me strength. Mrs. BeenThere?

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