I’m honest and upfront, I consider myself sweet and considerate. I’ve got a baby face and am often told I look like I’m twelve when I get really excited about the little things in life. I’ve got a keen wit and wicked sense of humor. And while these things are all well and good, I find I am missing one key element that would help take me from single status to dating status. I have no game. Zip. None. Zilch. For some reason, women are intimidating to me, especially lesbians.

Since recently becoming single, I’ve been going out more, making regular appearances on Allen St. with the hopes of flirting and maybe even getting a number. However, even with the aid of liquid courage I am still shy and reserved when approaching other women. Last weekend I made a pact with myself, I would ask someone for their number because well, let’s be honest, I need the practice.

While in Roxy’s, I picked up a few pointers from a friend of mine who only has to walk into a room and is instantly bombarded with cell phone numbers and flirtatious smiles. “Just make eye contact and smile.” She says matter-of-factly. “It’s easy. What’s the worse that could happen?” Hmmm, I think. Well, they could say “No” and I would be forced to deal with rejection for the rest of the evening. As the night went on however, I figured that she was right. It was time to just go for it. It was time to get in the game.

I began to flirt with the bartender, being that she was attractive and willing giving me alcohol. After a few nonsensical comments, I decided to “go for it.” I asked for her number. She smiled, took my hand and told me her name in a “you should know that first” kind of way. I recovered and told her mine. “How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?” She asked. I realized I had overlooked that part as well. “I don’t know.” I told her in my cute, honest, and sweetest way possibly. She smiled again, meandered away from the bar and told me to wait a few seconds. So I did. I sat patiently on the bar stool and waited. Then I realized, she might not be coming back. I quickly panicked, what did I just do?! But before I was able to step away from the bar defeated, she managed to slide back down my way and slipped me a napkin with her name and number written on it. Success! Relieved, I thanked her and blended back in with the crowd. I wasn’t even going to think about calling her; my first mission had been accomplished. While it wasn’t the smoothest performance, I still had stumbled my way through to a number. This was a step up.

Feeling a new sense of confidence, I decided to try again. I had spotted a girl earlier, feminine and petite, very cute. I saw her standing alone by the wall at one point. “Go for it,” I heard a voice tell me. And so I did. I walked confidently up to her, flashed a quick smile and offered to by her a drink. “No thanks, I’m fine,” she said politely. My mind raced, now what? I began to make small talk and things appeared to be looking up until she said, “I just want you to know I’m straight.” I gulped. “Sure, I knew that” I lied. My Gaydar is about as effective as a snowball in 100 degree heat. I spent the rest of the night talking with her and her friends before I made a less than subtle exit and headed home. No lucky number from Miss McStraight.

Once home in the confines of my own room, I recapped the evening in my head and made a mental list. Must first know sexual orientation. Must then make proper introduction and find out relationship status. Then, it is safe to ask for number. It sounded simple enough. But for a wanna be player such as myself, it’s a challenge. I can either rise up to the occasion or just date inside my circle of lesbian friends where a constant cycle of drama repeats itself every weekend. I made another mental note. Must call bartender. —- Lyndsey D'Archangelo