Lessons in Love: How to Pick Up a Frenchman

Saturday night, Dempsey's in East Village, 10 p.m.
Crista and I are hangin' at the Electronic Jukebox, as always, looking for only the hottest tunes Britney Spears has to offer, when suddenly, I am beckoned from a man at the bar. He's cute. Says something about Britney. We find out his name is Rich and is a French teacher in LI. He's with his friend, who's visiting from France. His friend speaks...only French.
Me: Bonjour!
Frenchie laughs.
Crista: My name is Crista.
Me: No, it's "Je m'appelle Crista."
Frenchie laughs. We chat with Rich. He speaks English. Rich says he "has my next drink." Crista and I retreat to our seats.

Crista: He's so into you!
Me: No, he's not! He likes you!
At our table, Crista teaches me how to flirt, like squeezing a man's bicep when walking by, pretending to lose an earring, etc. I love it. We devise a plan for me to get Rich. (HAHA, get Rich!) I get an idea. On a napkin, I write the following: Je voudrais vous donner ma telé! This means, "I would like to give you my phone number...or telephone, not sure which. On the back, I write my phone number. I walk over to Rich, napkin in hand.

Me: Excuse me, Rich?
Rich: Hi!
I hand over the napkin, French phrase side-up.
Me: I'm wondering, can you please tell me if this is correct?
Rich reads the napkin.
Rich: Yes, it is.
I turn the napkin over. The word vomit ensues.
Me: Well, I want to give you my phone number! I like, never do this, I'm really shy. (I say this while shrugging my shoulders, rolling my eyes to the ceiling, like only I do...at the most inopportune times.) But you seem really nice, and perhaps we can go out sometime?
Rich is in shock that this crazy girl with poor French-speaking skills approached him with incessant babble.
Rich: Sure.
I walk away.