D ear Christy,
I ride the bus from Denver to Boulder five times a week. There is a super cute guy who rides on my same bus and he always makes eyes with me. How do I let him know I'm interested in him?
--Lonely bus babe
Once upon sometime ago, en route to vaca in Los Angeles, those dreaded Santa Ana winds decided to slap my airplane around the sky like a Ping-Pong ball.
As we circled over the scary dolphin/whale-infested Pacific (underwater phobia here), I think I threw up a panic attack and a vat of Bloody Marys.
Meanwhile, as the stewardess was ensuring all seat belts were fastened, my brother was chuckling at my debilitating fear and some damn baby was screaming like a pack of Honey Boo Boos.
I'm getting to my point. Suddenly, after losing her groundings from dear old Santa Ana, the stewardess fell right into my bro's lap -- who in turn asked for her digits. Now they're happily married.
I'm kidding, they're not married, you wangs. People don't meet like that. They meet in bars.
You should pull a turbulent stewardess and situate your lovely mini-skirted ass near his seat. When Mr. RTD takes a sharp turn, plop into his lap. Fortuitous drama, clearly.
How's that for a "how we met"?
If that simulation doesn't tickle your Elmo, then keep an eye on his interests -- what he's reading, watching, Facebooking, tweeting, listening to, masturbating to... strike up similarities.
Although, what you really should do is pull your head out of your ass and talk to him like we the people.
My boss is a total chauvinistic dick, I catch him staring at my boobs all the time, and he always wants me to go to happy hour with him. I love the job, but I don't know how to handle the situation. I want to move up in the company, but I feel like if I don't accept his invites, I'll drop off the radar.
Not acceptable. But it happens.
Oh, the woes of the workplace. (I harass my Daily comrades daily. They love it.)
However, when I was a shoe salesman, Al Bundy-style, at a high-end department store, a creepy boss-dude used to stand under the stairs in the backroom and watch bitches in skirts trot up to fetch their customer's furry Uggs. (IN 2004, PEOPLE. Time for them sheepskins to sleep.)
Once winter hit -- jackpot -- the creeper was like Boulder's "potty peeper" at Lilith Fair.
All joking aside, sexual harassment in the workplace is wrong. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it.
It's uncomfortable for all parties. I mean, where are we? John Travolta's bathhouse or something?
Aside from avoiding it (Fantz-style), you should pull an adult move and go to human resources. HR will keep manners private while giving you sound advice.
Don't let this deter your climb to the top -- we all know that the top is tops: blue skies, birds on things and way more vacation time.
Plus, you get a quicker buzz.
All good things.