Get Your Flirt On (Part 1)

{ July 14, 2010 @ 4:37 am } · { Love in 90 Days Project }
{ Tags: America Ferrera, dive bars, Dr. Diana Kirschner, Flirting, girls night out, Love in 90 Days }

     As some of my fellow dating bloggers have mentioned before, they are not exactly flirting wizards.  I never considered myself much of one either.  I felt the flirt component was missing from my DNA make-up.  When I got to the section in Love in 90 Days that talks about flirting, I was flabbergasted to find out that I did half of the sixteen moves Dr. D put on her list!  Without even knowing it, I’m a flirting machine.  That’s right people, just call me Flirtalicious.

     This probably explains why after so many of my dates I keep getting texts from guys I don’t want to see again.  I thought smiling and making eye contact was just good manners (Move #1).  I wasn’t trying to let off “hump me” vibes.

     Had a girls night out on Saturday.  Let’s take a look at how I unconsciously implemented these flirty moves…

     Entered dive bar in a little black summer dress, silver flip-flops, and a purple hoodie.  Make-up done, mangoes contained but on parade, and hair. . . well, on my head.  Place was pretty empty, older crowd.  We grab drinks and a booth.  There are four of us wrapped around the curved booth; Miss Ferrera (she’s an America Ferrera look-a-like), Shortstack, myself, and Half-pint.  (My friends are adorable but all a bit on the short side.)  We pass the time chatting when the younger crowd slowly trickles in.

     The first trickler is a short curly-haired dude already three sheets to the wind, hereby known as Drunkass.  Drunkass sits alone in the booth next to us.  Bar keep informs us that he has been trying to talk to us.  Miss Hospitable that I am, I lean over make eye contact, smile, and say hi.  (Move #1)  After he gets the other “hi’s” from the table, he then feels the need, and that it’s okay, to touch Miss Ferrera’s hair.  My eyes pop out of my head and Half-pint’s beer makes it out her nose.  She makes a mad dash to the bathroom as I try to contain my laughter.

     Upon Half-pint’s return, and not getting much response from the first hair petting, he moves on to Half-pint’s hair.  (Insert more eye-popping here – from all.)

     When Miss Ferrera and Half-pint duck out for a smoke, Drunkass joins them, giving Shortstack and I a chance to scope out the new tricklers.  We spot a trio of guys come in and, not wanting to be obvious, I look up, look away, then sneak another peek.  (Yeah, apparently that’s Move #3.)  The trio did not slip past Half-pint’s attention either.  She has a bit of a butt fetish and followed the ass parade back in the door.  She followed that up with a good bit of butt-gawking when she conveniently was at the bar ordering a drink when they were.  Half-pint Subtlety, her name is not.

     Drunkass makes notice of this and is not about to share our attention.  Next thing I know, Half-pint is bringing a round of drinks back to the table on Drunkass’ dime.  While she’s carting drinks over, he takes this opportunity to steal a seat next to yours truly.  Knowing it’s only a matter of minutes before my hair gets a petting, I went into what I thought was “deflect-mode.”  Turns out, I turned on the flirt machine.  It seems that I put it into overdrive and was dropping flirt-bombs everywhere.

Trying to keep his arms away from petting reach.  Quick distract him.  Ah, tattoos on his arm ask about those.  (Double whammy.  Move #5 – touch his arm, shoulder, or neck.  Move #13 – ask open-ended questions.)

He reaches to adjust his sleeve to show more of the tattoo.  Beer sweat flung from his fingers and…*WINK*…(Damn it.  Move #2 – wink.)

His conversation skills are lost in slur.  Bored out of my mind.  Hmm…I’ll just fiddle with the straw in my drink.  He’s still boring.  I need to drink more.  I’ll put the straw to my lips and take a sip.  (Mistake.  Move #7 – play with your hair, clothing, or object.  Move #6 – touch your lips, neck, or chest.)

So wasted now he loses balance from a sitting position and flops on me.  I push him back up to a seated position.  (Someone stop me!  Move #5 – touch his arm, shoulder, or neck.)

     Miss Ferrera and Half-pint stepped out for another smoke and I tried to encourage him to go.  He wasn’t having any part of that this time.  He leaned over whispered, “You’re a 10,” in my ear and went in for the hair swipe.  Cringe.

     I look up and spot a lone member of the trio and start sending “help me” eyes over to him.  I briefly made eye contact, he looked away, then looked up.  Then I looked away and then looked up.  (Move #3, Move #3, Move #3.)

. . .Did it work?  Can he read my smoke signals?  Is he coming to my rescue. . .