I went to a blogger party the other day, so I pretty much deserved what I got, but while I was there, I heard one of the weirdest pick-up lines ever. This sort of squirrelly looking dude with one of those faint, prepubescent moustaches that look like the wearer has just finished drinking Yoohoo and forgot to wipe his lip, came up to me and said:
“I see you’re wearing those fingerless gloves, circa 2001 Seattle Rave Scene. But I like your glasses, so I guess you’re at neutral.”
I stared at him for a moment, while he smirked at me, and then I said, “Oh, wow! Two insults and I don’t even know your name! How fantastic!”
(What I should have said was, “You have a moustache. And you’re short. You are a short, moustachioed man, and I do not like you. Please go away.” Don’t you hate thinking of these things after the fact?)
Anyway, lest you think I’m totally vain, I didn’t think he was actually hitting on me at first, because of, you know, the insults. I figured it out when he shook my hand, introduced himself, and sat down next to me. I don’t deal with confrontation, and didn’t really want to tell him to go away, so I tried ignoring him to see if he’d slink off on his own. That never works, BTW.
Before the Mouse and Madcat rescued me, he managed to alternately insult and flatter me at least two times: I was clearly a real writer, because of the way I constructed my sentences. But I looked like a friend of his, who apparently had a somewhat difficult personality, because he wasn’t sure if we would love or hate each other.
“I look like someone everyone knows,” I told him, which is true. I’d make an awesome spy, except for the part where I’d tell everyone everything.
When we left, he was hitting on one of the dating bloggers, who was regarding him with positive glee in her eye. Good material doesn’t come swaggering over to your table every day of the week.