Last night, I took my girl Christie Griffin’s advice and went out with two of my best friends and exactly 0 guys. And wouldn’t you know it? That CosmoGirl is worth her healthy weight in sex tips because while cruising the crowd to make sure all systems were go at the bar with a friend, four guys stopped me to chat.
Now, before you get your knickers in a twist about me giving myself undue props here, I have to note that they were standing together at the time, so if we we’re keeping score, (and, we kind of are) it would probably count as one come-on. But that’s one more than I would have were I was swimming in my usual sea of testosterone, so, let’s count it. A pattern seems to be punching me in the face here, and it’s this: G² – girls & glasses. Go out with your girlfriends, wear those glasses you hate and bam. Guys. Why? Because girls make you approachable and glasses are (apparently) a conversation starter, even if it means ignoring the first three Lisa Loeb references, which, spoiler alert, it’s going to.
Go. Me.
So I chat with this crew for a while until the crowd dissipates and the conversation continues with just one guy. He’s young, handsome, and a great conversationalist. (Life. It’s happening to me now!) Towards the end of the night he asks for my card so we can “keep the conversation going.” I don’t have one, so he takes my number and calls me so I have his. And just that gorgeous Manhattan area code is flashing across the screen, my phone dies.
And I mean dies. Like, complete loss of life-dead. Like, starts displaying snow-filled, never-before-seen screens featuring images from the past, future and hell before really dying-dead. So, now I may never know if he does in fact call.
But maybe that’s a good thing. I couldn’t help thinking that if that’s the kind of virus I can get from his phone, I better start backing away slowly from his pants. I’m only one Gardasil vaccine into the three-part series!
But I guess that’s dating in this city. Sometimes you can’t even give a guy your number without getting something you can’t get rid of. So here I am: one step forward, two steps back, and one strife-tastic reason to upgrade to a smart phone for dating in the information age.
Strife in the City 