Natalie Zed: Defying Gravity

Thursday, April 13, 2006

I am conducting a series of experiments.

I don't get hit on very often. Once upon a time, in the far off days of ANGST, I thought it was because I was ugly and a sure sign no one would ever love me. Now, several long-term relationships, lots of romping, and one happy marriage to the good, I am far less convinced that I am Swamp Thing. I am, however, a young woman who does not get hit on very often at all, and have set out to analyze this.

Firstly, I do not look like most girls do, and by this I mean do not dress/primp/spritz/shallack/mutilate myself to look like the folks on the tv box and the movin' pictures. I am clean and tidy, occaisionally I'll wear a little makeup and do my hair, but in general I don't do the whole young-female-mating-ritual getup, like doing my hair in a bouffant or wearing half a bottle of perfume or one of those sweaters that tie off under your boobs (and make everyone over 90 lbs look pregnant) or faux-yoga pants with PRINCESS written across the ass cheeks. I also have two basic Life Uniforms: 1) Plausible Grad Student, which is all glasses and button down shirt and sandals and stack of books, which is the antithesis of Come Hither; and Empress of Nerds, my casual apparel, which means wering stuff like a green t-shirt with Laterverian Ambassador printed on it an a skirt that is made out of the same material sweatpants are, and therefore the coolest skirt on earth. Neither of these images really send out a Sex Kitten vibe, and I think contribute heavily to the lack of attenion from assy men.

For nearly a year now, I've been going to the gym at the U about 3 times a week. It's a fine gym and free. It is also a meat market. The combination of sweat, lycra, and insecurity seems to be the perfect environment for pick-up lines and coquettish fluttering. I. however, am usually left entirely alone. I pick up a crappy women's magazine to numb my brain and am left to do my cardio in peace. Not a terrible fate, but one I wondered at.

Eventually, I was so tired with the crappy Chatelaine and Cosmo selection at the gym, I remembered to bring magazines of my own. I happened to have grabbed a Wired. I remember a really good article of digital cameras.

And two men tried to pick me up.

Curious, I tried again. Wired seemed to work consistently, 2 pickups per hour; Discover and Scientific American each earned one an hour.

Nintendo Power? 5 men approached me in less than an hour. Single Ladies, take heed: that shit is gold.

[Side note: Damn you Nintendo for how cool the games for the DS is, and how smashingly sexy the DS lite looks, and how I am so going to have to buy it, along with the new orgasmically awesome-look New Super Mario Brothers. DAMN YOU.]

I am taking requests: what other magazines should I bring to bamboozle the gym guys?
Natalie Zed updated @ 2:47 p.m.!!