100 Emails, 20 Dates An SF girl's systematic quest to end her singlehood

The Better You Look, the More Creepy Guys Hit on You

At the risk of sounding vain, when I look good, I often know I look good. Although sometimes, I am utterly clueless about it. I'm still not sure if it's a self-fulfilling prophecy -- that when someone knows they look good, they project self-confidence, which is attractive, making them come across as looking good -- or whether it's just being honest with oneself. Either way, it seems to work.

As I got ready for my friend KP's birthday bash last Friday night, I knew I was looking good. I finally figured out how to wear two cute things from my wardrobe (my jacket still had the tags on it from a year before). My hair was perfectly flippy. I felt confident.

So when I got to the bar and saw that there were a ton of unaccompanied guys, I was thrilled. I was there to hang out with my friends, don't get me wrong, but I do need practice talking to boys. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

I forgot, however, about the perverse Murphy's Law of meeting people: when you look good, only creepy guys seem to notice. So, when a floppy-haired guy in a blazer (with pocket square!) and jeans crashed the party and started talking to KP and me, I really shouldn't have been surprised.

I couldn't tell if his slightly slurred speech was because he was drunk or because he was trying to come across as sauve, but KP kicked him to the curb when she said, "Who are you and what are you doing at my birthday party?" His half-hearted offers of buying us tequila shots retracted, he sheepishly went back to the main bar upstairs. Yet he still retained a slight swagger, the way only d-bags really can.

But of course, fueled by some more liquid courage, he returned later to chat up Sonia and me. The encounter doesn't really merit a play-by-play. It's more deserving of a bulleted list.

• He offers to buy us shots.
• We say we're not doing shots.
• He says we're missing out and that "we don't understand the art of doing shots." (Let the record show that he insulted us first.)
• He brings up that he's from Texas for the first time.
• He says we're all going to do tequila shots.
• I say that's an obvious choice.
• He suggests scotch.
• I say it's criminal to do shots of scotch. But I'll drink bourbon.
• After much back and forth, he buys us shots of Maker's, because he's from Texas and he grew up on bourbon.
• We all drink them. Sonia does her first-ever bourbon shot.
• He says he didn't think we'd actually do them in a way that I think is genuinely intended to convey respect for the fact we did do them but actually conveys a bit of derision because he still thinks we're the kind of girls who don't do shots. Which we're not, but come on, we're not in college anymore. Since when is it bad for girls to appreciate liquor?
• He says he's from Texas, but his family is from Scotland, so he wants to buy us scotch and sodas.
• We politely decline.
• He insists, saying that the bar has a scotch made by his family over in Scotland.
• Our friend D. tells us she can give us a ride home if we leave soon.
• We politely decline the scotch and sodas.
• He buys them anyway.
• We take two sips of them, nod in agreement when he points out the peaty flavor of the scotch, then apologize for not finishing them because our ride is leaving.
• We leave.

Why do I bother getting dolled up if these are the interactions I'm going to have?