Do you make a lot of jewelry?

That's what this guy asked me as I stood in the aisle at Michael's trying to pick out a chain for one of my mom's unmatched earrings. He then proceeded to talk to me for several minutes, all the while I was standing there thinking, "Wow, he's hitting on me. I can't believe he's hitting on me. In a craft store. And, he's not obviously creepy. Awkward, but not creepy. Or obviously deranged. Or old. Definitely not old. And he doesn't seem to be homeless. Wow. How weird is that? Oh, hey, he's STILL talking to me."

It must've been the dress. I purposely wore my blue ruffled undies today because my sundress is a bit on the short side. I know I should probably give it to Goodwill, but I love this dress.

Anyway, the fact that this awkward guy came on to me is remarkable because stuff like that never happens -- unless the guy IS creepy or deranged or old or homeless. Or a combination of any of those things. Really.

And now I'm going to recycle a blog I wrote in December in a super secret location:

I finally went to the Laundromat and this creepy (and I mean CREEPY) guy was sitting a few feet away (did I mention he was reading Stephen King?).

I’m settling down with my book, and out of nowhere, he asks me my name. Had I been thinking, I would have given him a fake name.

MINOR TANGENT:

There was this time in high school that I was at the mall with Stacey and several others (although I don’t remember who else) and these boys on the second level called down to me to stay where I was, they were coming down.

(I called it a game of “Let’s laugh at the ugly girl.” Now, I don’t think I’m exactly ugly. I have very pretty eyes with long eyelashes, which is supposed to be a good thing, or so I’m told. I’m not hideous, but I’m not a knockout, either. I turn heads in a “wow, that girl is odd” kind of way, rather than a “I want to nail her” kind of way. And that’s fine. As Ani DiFranco says, “Too pretty is also your doom, ‘cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.”)

My other friends scattered, but I grabbed Stacey’s arm and made her stay with me. When the boys arrived and asked our names, we both gave aliases. I don’t remember hers. Mine was, I believe, Monique. I don’t really remember anything else about the incident, except that it made me feel like I was being laughed at, and I didn’t like it.

So, this guy asks my name and because I can’t think that fast on my feet anymore, I tell him my real name. And repeat it, because he can’t hear me.

I go back to reading.

He then tells me he thinks my bookmark is really cool. Okay. The bookmark I was using? My business card. I have tons of bookmarks at home (people think these are good gifts for some strange reason) but I almost never use one. I usually dogear. But this was a borrowed book. Sometimes I use a sticky note or a paperclip, but I didn’t have any of those around. So, I used my business card. And he thought it was cool. Really? Really?

This reminds me of high school, too, when Kim and Anthony used to have this game where they’d try to come up with the worst pickup line ever. (My favorite is still one of Anthony’s: God must be crying…because he lost an angel. Most of it had to do with how Anthony delivered it.)

When I tell him my bookmark is just my business card, he asks where I work. I tell him I work for the state. He asks where. I say, “the health department.” But he doesn’t hear me. I repeat myself several times, finally kind of yelling, “Maine CDC, the Center for Disease Control.” That finally seemed to shut him up.

It’s not nearly as bad as when I got semi-stalked by the insanely creepy guy at Bubba’s two Lucky Lass Throwdowns ago, but it was pretty icky. If there is a creepy/deranged/homeless/old man within 10 feet who is the least bit emotionally unstable, he will hit on me. (No one else hits on me, BTW. Unless you count when Thighs Queen used to call me “Beautiful Graceless” — which actually did make me feel sorta beautiful — but I’m absolutely certain she wasn’t actually hitting on me, that’s just her way.)

DO I GIVE OFF A VIBE? Really, I want to know. What is it about me that draws in these creepy/pervy/CRAZY men? (this reminds me of the scene in Garden State when Mark asks why it’s never a hot chick who wants to talk your ear off about some stupid pyramid scam….)

Because, if some stranger wants to flirt with me, I really won’t mind in the slightest if it’s a hot chick with red hair (although I suppose that last part is optional) or a very funny, geeky boy. Why doesn’t THAT ever happen?