It's all about bucks, kid. The rest is conversation.

I have to say, I totally thought more people would comment on that last post, but thanks to those of you who did! My opinion on chatting up a girl at a bar is this: you’re running on a slippery slope. One the one hand, you want to be confident, because I think most women agree that confident men are attractive, but at the same time, you don’t want to turn her off by acting like she should be grateful you’re over there, gracing her with your presence and conversation. I also think that pick up lines are always cheesy, and paint you as more than slightly sketchy. But that may just be me…
 

I was in full-on hermit mode this week, and spent most of my days holed up in my apartment, enjoying the central air and watching every episode of "White Collar" there is (Matt Bomer’s adorable 1940’s flair has officially ensured his show as my new summer obsession)—needless to say, I didn’t meet very many randos for today’s post, and considering the sheer number of hours I spent at home, it would be weird if I did (house-stalking is cute when you’re a teenager, but at this point, it’s considered a bit weird).

I do want to give a shout-out to Non-Rando Ryan, whom my friends and I ran into at Pub Fiction last night when we commandeered his table to watch the Aggies. Over the course of our conversation, we found out that he had actually read my blog. My response?

Me: You’re shitting me.

I have no idea how he found this, and he doesn’t remember, but on the off-chance you’re reading this at work, Ryan, while you should be doing something productive, thanks for putting up with us last night! It was a pleasure meeting you and good luck in Austin.

Since I fell down on the job this past week, I shall have to pull from past R.E.’s for today’s tale.

I moved downtown last summer, and consequently started going to more Aggie Happy Hours since I no longer had to drive 30 minutes to get to midtown. Last September, there was a H.H. at the House of Blues, where I met up with the usual suspects (a.k.a. Jeni and Debra). We were minding our own business, drinking some wine, when this guy sidles up to me and starts to chat.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember his opening line, but I do remember Jen and Deb abandoned me, so I was left to chat with the cuff link-wearing, commercial real estate broker, Mr. Slick, who clearly thought he was doing me a favor engaging me in the following, scintillating conversation.

Him: So...what do you do?

Me: I’m a teacher.

Him: A teacher? Wow. So you must be looking for a rich husband. I’m in commercial real estate. I make a lot of money. I own at least twenty of these blue shirts with contrasting collar and cuffs and Gordon Gekko is my hero (Okay, I’m taking some liberties here, but the sentiment was the same).

Me: Well, I mean, money isn’t everything.

Him: No. But it’s important, wouldn’t you agree? (Greed is good!)

Me: To an extent, but I don’t think it’s the most important thing.

Him: Right. So, do you like to travel?

Me: Yeah, I do. I’ve been all over Europe—I actually spent a semester abroad in Tuscany my junior year.

Him: Tuscany…that’s in Spain, right?

Me (incredulously): …no.

Him: Well, uh, I haven’t really been around the Mediterranean much, but I just went on this fantastic trip to Sweden and Brazil.

Me: That’s cool. Kind of random to hit two continents at once, but cool.

Him: Yeah. It was. You know what they say about Brazilian women? It’s totally true. American women don’t have nothing on them.

Me: …really?

After a few more minutes of him insulting me (still unsure if he was doing it on purpose, or if he was just that much of an imbecile), I managed to shake him off and successfully avoid him for the rest of the evening.