I am a woman. I am also a lover of women, a “lizzie” or  a “carpet muncher”, if you will. So naturally people expect that I would be somewhat of an expert in the area of wooing the ladies. Since I AM  a lady myself, I know what a lady WANTS. Being queer, I also know what a lady NEEDS. So, it’s only natural that people look to me for advice in such gentile matters (All due respect to the Honorable and insightful Sunny Day, of course!!). “Lisa,” they implore,  “what can I do to make women like me?”

Well, my friend, there’s no harm in being an amateur.  We all have to begin somewhere.  And where’s a better place to start than First Impressions? We all know that the first impression, though rarely accurate, is still THE defining factor determining our potential dates, mates or squeeze toys.  That very first look, those very first words, that initial body language says so much. That’s why it’s important to get it right the first time around.

Let’s work from a true-life example, shall we?

It was “ladies night” at the local bar. I wasn’t at all looking to meet anyone—which was good, because you never want to LOOK like you’re on the prowl. There are two looks you want to avoid: “bird of prey” and “desperate geek”. My mind was free from burden. I was there to dance. Nothing more.

The bass was booming. Drinks were aplenty. I had not a care in the world. Then, through the flashing lights and swirling clouds of smoke and asbestos, I saw Her. She was leaning casually against the wall, not more than ten feet away. The rose colored lights shimmered down on her golden hair, giving her the appearance of an angel under some seriously cool track lighting. Our eyes met. The gaze lingered, not once, but twice.

Green light: go. 

At present, I was sandwiched in between the mirrored wall and a rather full-figured woman crawling around on all fours picking up the remnants of her candy necklace from the floor (why she wanted the candy now was beyond me). I proceeded in a straight, albeit slow, line towards The Girl. I made it past the swing-dancing butches and just barely through the Electric Slide lines. I was nearly there.

Again my eyes met hers. Again they lingered. 

On my way, I thought of things to say. Then it hit me--why this girl was so striking--she reminded me of a celebrity. Complimentary and a good conversation starter, I decide to use it.

I popped in a breath mint. (Good for her, good for me.) I was there. I was ready.

I yelled a greeting just barely audible over the chanting of “Shakin’ ‘dat Ass!”

She smiled broadly, exposing a perfect set of pearly whites, and screamed a greeting back at me.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” I shouted.

Her brow wrinkled. “Who? The what?”

I was aghast. She didn’t know Buffy? Obviously she hadn’t heard me. I repeated my observation, much louder and more articulate than before. Once she figured out who I was talking about, she would be totally flattered.

“Oh,” she says, “No one’s ever told me that. People usually say I look like Debbie Gibson.”

Debbie Gibson? Was this girl retarded? She looked NOTHING like Debbie G. But I was not there to argue, I was there to woo. Adaptability; it’s important, so I rolled with it.

“Debbie Gibson? She’s alright, but not as pretty as Buffy.” Smooth.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” I went for it. “Buffy’s much prettier. Not to mention that she fights evil and all. I mean, what does Debbie do?”

“She makes people happy with her music.”

“True,” I acknowledged, “but isn’t she all fake—like, her body—you know, breast implants and stuff?” I laughed, “HA! HA! HA!” and cupped my hands at my chest region to give the universal “big boobie” sign, indicating Debbie Gibson’s fake breasts. But as I made the sign, there was a tremendous ROAR from the nearby speaker. The music BLARED. My words, as it would happen, were completely muted, so the only thing the Buffy Look-a-like took in was me making the “big boobie” sign at her.

Her jaw dropped; her eyes bulged in shock. She fled.

I was left, imaginary breasts still cupped in mid-air, alone on the sidelines of the dance floor.

How does this help you? It doesn’t really, except to know that “nothing ventured, is nothing gained”. And never, ever, EVER make the “big boobies” sign at a woman. She’ll only take it the wrong way.

Best of luck in your pursuits of love.