Monday, October 13, 2008

Want Some Pheromones?

The scene: Sitting in a girlfriend’s apartment Saturday evening, sipping on some wine, listening to some tunes and getting ready for a house party (I know, people still have house parties at this age?)

As she doubled up on her mascara coat and I explained the misfortune of a powdered drink packet exploding in my Cole Haan purse, she casually strolls over and asks, “Want some pheromones?” I immediately broke into laughter. Not want a shot, want a hit, want some high gloss nail finish…but want some chemical stimulus to secretly secrete scents to lure men in? All bottled up in a little scientific vile with dropper?

Not one to turn down a new experience, she handed the bottle over. With a careful sniff, it appeared to merely smell like coconut. But surely hidden beneath this pleasantly tropical topical was a powerful attraction agent.

You can’t even imagine what my evening was like. As I entered the hazy smoke of the bonfire, clearly there was something going on. Men stopped in their tracks, mid-sentence to the perky blondes with blue eyeliner, unable to turn their gazes off of us. Drinks were abandoned. Like the zombies in “Thriller”, males felt the irresistible and unexplainable urge to hone in on us. It was a miracle! I was swatting them off left and right, waiting for the perfect specimen to catch my eye. Finally, after six men in polos and two financial advisors, I found him. Six feet tall, sparkling green eyes, an unassuming smile. He was on to the pheromones- too smart to let it outwit him. We locked eyes and instinctively both knew.

Of course that isn’t what happened.

I talked to three guys with girlfriends (because naturally the men not trying to schmooze women are the most interesting to converse with), had one guy tell me Virgos are bitches (I’m a Virgo), and realized I was perhaps too old for a house party.

Think I’ll stick to my natural pheromones.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Did You Know? I Can Have Anything I Want!

A couple weekends ago I had the honor of wing-womaning to my little brother and his friends. If you aren’t familiar with this practice, it’s when one woman joins a crew of men and assists them in their chick picking. I happen to be particularly skilled in this area, sometimes so good that the target hits on me. Off point completely. Regardless, as we sat in an apartment living room and strategized over Michelob Golden Lights and a carefully deejayed iTunes playlist, my brother’s best bud actually said the following to me:

“You’re so lucky, girls like you can have anything they want. You live a dream world.”

Wow. Newsflash in the most gargantuan proportion to me.

If this is a dream world, pray tell, what the hell does hell look like? Because the previous night I completely blacked out and lost three hours of my life and got my $350 camera stolen. My old landlord is MIA and owes me $850. The most genuine interest I’ve had from a man recently was a 50 year old wearing a chicken hat telling me I need to embrace life. I want to go on a vacation but “singles supplements” make it largely unaffordable. I really question if I can afford to have a $4.56 latte anymore. I managed to lose money co-hosting a garage sale. Out of the four cards I received on my birthday, one was from my bank. People run into me with their shopping carts at Target like I’m invisible. Panera was out of French Onion soup yesterday.

This is my dream world. Tickets on sale for entry, all it’ll cost you is a smile and maybe a “I like your shirt.”