Cleavage Watching

I was sitting in another workshop the other day, suffering through another afternoon of mid 80s stagnant heat, struggling to keep my eyes open yet again, when I found the perfect thing to push me through that 3 o'clock hour - unobstructed cleavage.

Normally cleavage can only be glanced at. I like to follow the Jerry Sienfeld approach: "Looking at a cleavage is like looking at the sun. You don't stare at it. It's too risky. You get a sense of it and then you look away." On this afternoon, however, I found myself privy to an unobstructed view of my cute classmate's perfectly tanned breasteses.

Naturally, I took this once in a blue chance to look. And by look, I mean gawk. Further enhancing the viewing was that it was the first day of Sun Dress Season. Second only to Simmons' first day of Halter Top Season on college campuses (I believe it fell on the third Sunday in April this year), is the annual first day of Sun Dress Season. A beautiful day when young professionals collectively decide it is much too warm to wear any pantsuit at work and, instead, begin wearing a silky yarn that is supposed to be a sort of fancy clothing but, in fact, could double as a handkerchief.

Seriously there is nothing that will cheer up a boring day at work like a cute girl prancing around in what looks like yellow lingerie. On the flip side, nothing can be much creepier than a guy blankly staring at a girls cleavage in one of these sundresses. Being caught mid-stare is one of the more mortifying - and awkward - moments you can share with a girl. You really have no excuse. There might as well be a neon light flashing above your head.

On this day, I was daring that light. I don't know if it was the heat or the boredom of class, but I think I stared for 12 straight minutes without blinking. It was like wearing sunglasses and staring directly at the sun. I only stopped when my glance firmly met with another male classmate mirroring my actions. My reaction was akin to when the ghost of Christmas Past brings Scrooge back to look at his grave. "Spirit... is that me? Oh God, no! Nooo!!"

I think I will be taking a moratorium on cleavage staring for a few weeks.

The Homeless Guy Test

Back about 15 years ago the gangster movie, A Bronx Tale, hit the scene. It was a cliched diluted version of all the DeNiro/Pesci mob flicks that came before it, recycled into one and spit out. I'm not saying it was awful, but the acting wasn't exactly coaxing any man tears from me.

Thinking back on that movie, two things stick out for me. First, was the way lead actor, Chazz Palminteri (Calogero), physically ran throughout the movie. Why did a skinny actor in his 20's run like a mentally retarded girl? What was wrong with his arms and legs and why could they not bend? This wasn't exactly helping his credibility as someone who you'd be scared would shoot you.

The other, arguably more memorable scene from A Bronx Tale is when Calogero takes a girl out for a first date and gives her The Door Test. Calogero's mentor, Sonny, explains it as this: Make sure all the doors to the car are locked when you pick the girl up. Then, walk to her side of the car and let her in. As you go around to the other side wait for the girl to unlock your door from within the car. "If she doesn't reach over and let you in, dump her. That means she's a selfish broad and that's just the tip of the iceberg, dump her right there."

Although I tend to disagree with the exact method Sonny uses, I am 100 percent in agreeance with the test's purpose. Actually, I am in 100 percent agreeance with any test a guy gives to ween out the keepers from the pretenders. These tests come in many forms usually centering around juvenile guy rules. My literary hero, Mr. Bill Simmons of ESPN, is the author of one of my favorite: the Field of Dreams Test.

I think the world is separated into two kinds of people -- people who loved "Field of Dreams," and people who don't have a heart. If I were dating a woman and she said she didn't like "Field of Dreams," I'd immediately dump her. I'm not kidding either.

Of course, I have one of these tests too. It's called the Homeless Guy test. You all know Mikey likes to go on dates in the city. Some time after our overly priced sushi and right before the awkward goodbye, my date and I are going to undoubtedly run into a man wearing an eclectic blend of woolen clothes and Hefty Bags in the dead heat of summer.

Whenever I see a homeless man or woman I will always toss some money. A single dollar usually - not much - just something to acknowledge their prescence and maybe help them grab a slice of pizza. Now many among you, including some of my friends, will ridicule me for this. I never understood why. No, I don't know if this guy is an addict, or if that dollar is going towards a beer or a line of crack. Unfortunately I do not have the time to take every homeless man I meet to the nearest bodega to purchase some Twinkies. I do, however, have the time and the ability, to say hello, acknowledge that they exist, and give them a dollar. Bottom line is at the end of the day my life is going slightly better than his - so who cares?

Now here is where the test comes into play. When that homeless guy approaches us I take careful note of every facial tic of my potential mating partner. Are they welcoming? Disgusted? Do they smile politely? Do they clutch their Coach bag and clickity-clack their ass in the other direction? It's not about giving a dollar (although I'm sure since I paid for dinner they could spare the buck), it's how they react, and, also, how they react when I give the dollar. I've had some girls acutally laugh when I give away my dollar. Generally speaking these girls lack souls and they probably poke at caged animals in their spare time. How you treat a homeless man says a lot about your character and just how selfless you really are.

In conclusion, I implore you men out there, in an effort to save you time, sanity, and greenbacks, to use this test on your woman. If she treats a homeless man like a leper then you are in store for years of going to her family's house every holiday, watching every episode of Friends until they pass out, having her forget to pick you up from the airport at least 4 times, and most importantly.... she'll wind up being the type of girl to go 'south of the border' once every lunar eclipse--if you know what I mean.

Don't tell me I didn't warn you.