Flirtation Situation

So the plan since January has been to work out like a mofo and hopefully give birth to a bouncing baby six-pack.
As of Friday morning, I'm officially expecting.
Now, I know there are those who will call the Sma shallow for being as utterly thrilled as he is about this, but I can't really be bothered to care. Its just so damned cool to see actual evidence that all my gymventures are paying off, that now little defined colonies of muscle are slowly forming where the Terra Incognita of my belly once read "Here there be flab".
The gymventures have been kinda enlightening. I've discovered that I am an even simpler creature than I once thought.

Case in point:

Thursday evening I climb onto the orbital-runner thingy (bad knees preclude the treadmill) for my 30 minutes of boredom and sweat (none too fond of the aerobics). I persevere, get about halfway done, at which point one of the vapid little personal trainer chicks (you know the kind, they show up to the gym with flawless make up and designer sweat pants and seem to be utterly incapable of saying anything more noteworthy than "Kommsvo!") gets on the treadmill in front of me.

The booty! Oh my sweet sweaty blogadytes, the booty!

With that spandex-clad carrot jigging and jiving away in front of me, I fell into total hungry donkey mode and spent an extra 15 minutes on the orbital thingy. I would have kept going to. I would have ran until my heart exploded, my knees shattered, ran until my body sweated out every last drop of moisture and my dessicated mummy ass would still lurch after her.

I am a simple simple creature.

Not to mention that the highlight of my Tuesday workouts is getting to watch the freakishly muscle-bound dwarf/little-person (whatever the PC appellation is these days) doing pull-ups.

Funny shit.

So I'm actually starting to get into a shape that isn't round. This is great. Great for my health, great for my mood, great for my possibly longevity.

But mainly, I'm doing it so I'll be pretty and get laid.

And it should work. It would have worked. Increased sex appeal meets increased self esteem should equal some sweaty horizontal fun.

The problem is I've forgotten how to flirt.

I mean, like completely forgotten how to flirt! This is weird. Once upon a while ago, I was a total charmer, a silver-tongued wit that could, would, and did chat folk right out of their knickers and right into a situation where tongues and lips were used for other kinds of communication.

No longer.

For reasons I cannot really fathom, every single time I try flirting these days, its either a) so subtle that the object of my affectionate lust is left utterly unaware that they are being flirted with, or b) so patently over-the-top-obvious that it doesn't count as flirtation and instead warps it's wicked way into flat-out propositioning.

Friday night was a prime example of problem a). The Hottest Co-Worker in the World, now an ex-co-worker, had her last day at the AST, and we decided to go out and get hammered to commiserate/celebrate. Started off at my place drinking up alot of the leftover bolla from the moving in party, and as there were only three of us actually inhaling the stuff, we got well lubricated.

Then it was off to Belly's for cheap beer, where Co-Worker of Utter Hotness was charmingly requested to have three children by an old bum. Sadly, this was the most charming bit of flirtation I witnessed that evening. I know she wants me to flirt with her.

She told me.

Hell, it turns out that The Coal Black Giant was planning on setting us up on a blind date back in the day.

But was I charming? Did I make my intentions clear without coming across as creepy?

Nope. I held up the wall and pulled a too-shy-to-talk-to-prettiness.

Complete failure.

And I like this girl. She's multi talented, engaging, kind, and all kinds of desirable. Seriously. You should see her dance. Its like getting a sneak peek at what Valhalla looks like on a weekend night. So hot its practically a combat sport.
Poop.

Anywho. Last night was a prime example of the other extreme. Of course, it didn't help that I spent the even surrounded by hot bi-sexual women in a full-on hotty frenzy.

But this time, rather than charming the thongs off of 'em, I just turned into an annoying creep who was obviously leading with the wedding tackle and letting the big brain take a serious back seat.

But I'm not gonna let it get me down. Eventually I'll regain the flirtation imagination. The charm will return.

In the meantime, a frustrated libido make for a very inspiring work-out partner.

So enjoy your RHOTW. My frustrated ass is gonna do laundry.