1. Painted cat whiskers on my face and told a boy—in graphic detail—about the crocodilian reproductive system.
Last semester I went to a frat party, knowing that the tall computer nerd I had been Internet stalking for the past week would be there. It was a Halloween party, so naturally I wore a short black dress. I also painted cat whiskers semi-gracefully onto my face. After two or three beers I felt the warm buzz that alcohol induces filtering throughout my body, giving me a false sense of confidence. This is dangerous because when I’m tipsy, all the weird thoughts that are constantly looping in my mind come out, and Drunk Me thinks it is acceptable to say all of them loudly and eagerly. I finally located my target, backed him into a corner of the crowded kitchen, and proceeded to regale him with my knowledge of the crocodilian reproductive system. I literally talked/slurred about how crocodiles reproduce for at least thirty minutes, not letting this guy get a word in edgewise. I also noticed he was wearing a T-shirt with “Wisconsin” emblazoned on the front, so I then spent at least ten minutes bombarding him with all the different types of cheeses I knew and how much/little I enjoyed said cheeses. I saw him last week at the same fraternity house and after talking for a few minutes, he gracefully interjected a comment about my love for crocodiles, so perhaps all hope is not lost.
2. Locked us into a garage together.
In my freshman year of college I was going through a rough patch in school, work, and life in general. I dealt with this through a series of poor decisions. One of these decisions occurred when I was at my brother’s apartment on a Thursday night. We were all drinking and listening to music when a coworker/tentative friend showed up. I was not romantically interested in him in any way, but I knew that he was into me, so in my drunken state I decided to lock us in the garage together. As in, I literally did not let him leave. I bolted the door and hid the key in my pants. I then proceeded to ramble extensively about the term paper I was writing on symbolism in The Bell Jar. When my rant ended I used him as a human pillow for about four hours and then left early the next morning, subsequently ignoring all his texts and invitations to hang out for the rest of forever.
3. Tried to go dumpster diving for cupcakes.
I had strong feelings for a coworker/friend for the better part of a year. This manifested itself in me acting like a complete nutcase around him for the better part of a year. One of the most memorable occasions was when I tried to use dumpster diving to appear cool and alternative but just came across as a possible homeless psycho who ate cupcakes out of the garbage. We were hanging out one night after work and we drove past my favorite cupcakery. Instead of merely stating that I liked their cupcakes, I casually mentioned the time the police caught me in their dumpster rooting around for free cupcakes. I don’t know why I thought this would make me seem sexy and cool. I followed my story up by asking him to pull over and jump in with me. He politely declined.
4. Invented a game called “catch and kiss”—when I was five.
My questionable methods of attaining male attention started very early in my life. I believe I was about five when I invented an extremely complicated playground game I called “catch and kiss.” The game’s objective is simple. If one of the boys could catch me on the basketball court, he had to kiss me. This may not have been so strange if not for the fact that instead of running away I would just stand in place and smile expectantly at the boys, daring them to catch me.
5. Tried compiling a scrapbook filled with photos I’d “accidentally” taken of a boy.
When I reflect on my “flirting” tactics in the tenth grade, I am forced to accept that I was certifiably insane. The object of my affection was the son of a preacher (really), and I joined Christian club almost entirely to spend more time with him. (There was also free pizza—I’ll do anything for free pizza.) If that isn’t bad enough, I also decided it would be cute to secretly compile a scrapbook of photos I’d taken of him without his knowledge and then “accidentally” drop it on his desk on the last day of school. Luckily my history teacher confronted me about hiding in the back of the classroom and photographing the boy, so my plan never came to fruition. I’m fairly sure that if it had, I would have been on the receiving end of a restraining order.