1. Impress her with facts about her life.
I would convey to her by means of reciting frighteningly specific facts about her existence, my profound interest in what I consider to be an incredible life. I would smile and punctuate facts about her daughter, for example, with sarcastic remarks in order to try and come off as endearingly attached, rather than like someone who might have constructed a shrine devoted to her in his house, which he occasionally stands in front of, naked, eating photographs of her face.
2. Compliment her height.
Sigourney Weaver is tall. 5' 11''. That's one inch above 5' 10''; what I have identified as the height at which women become difficult for me not to stare at. Not stare in the same way you might stare at someone with some sort of facial disfigurement. More like how you might stare at a man with an excellent beard. Or a flamingo. Maybe after I tell her how I feel about her height she'll reflect on all those times during her childhood when she was more than likely bullied because of it. Her insecurities will resurface. All her life she's been waiting for someone who can appreciate her height, but the closest she's come has been finding someone who appreciates her despite it. She'll leave her husband to pursue a relationship with me. Then we'll be happy for a while. Eventually I'll get sick of her. It's human nature. She won't want me to leave. She'll scream at me about how she abandoned her husband for me, and how I've contributed to the establishment of a rift between her and her daughter. I'll bring up that she left her husband for me and state that she should understand my perspective better than anybody.
3. Question her relationship with Woody Allen.
Despite those allegations regarding child abuse, I think Woody Allen's films are pretty cool, and I'm fascinated by his character. Him and Sigourney Weaver were friends as far as I know. One of her first on-screen acting roles was in Allen's Annie Hall where she appeared for like a second, the best second in the film. I need to know where she stands with him presently. I need to know whether or not she's ok with him being a creep. I would ask about what she thinks of his personailty. Does she find his lack of self-confidence endearing? Armed with this knowledge I can then subtly make it clear to her that I would never have any sort of impure thoughts about a child. I hate children, in fact. And I can decide whether or not to express my lower-than-average levels of self-confidence. Both in order to seem more attractive to Sigourney Weaver.
4. Show her the drawing.
I have previously made allusions to a girl I knew in my early teens who once attempted to win my affections by drawing a diagram of Sigourney Weaver. If she was 5' 10'' it might have worked. I would show Sigourney Weaver this drawing without much prior explanation. I would then gauge her reaction and follow up the presentation in one of two ways. If Sigourney Weaver did not seem to like the diagram for whatever reason I would proceed to share the story behind it. If she did like it, I would pass it off as my own creation and draw particular attention to the 'burning sheet with 'men' written on it'. She would be visibly flattered and rendered speechless. At that point I would make smooth advances that she would likely be unable to resist.
5. Make her uncomfortable by being uncomfortable.
In this hypothetical scenario, in order to maintain a certain amount of realism, it's likely that I would observe Sigourney Weaver in a situation that I could not have possibly anticipated. Perhaps we randomly meet on a beach somewhere and my hypothetical abdominal definition is greater than it actually is. I see Sigourney Weaver enjoying an afternoon with her husband. There's a certain amount of inner conflict. I want to go over there and speak to her because this kind of opportunity will never arise again. But I'm scared. What do I say? She's lying atop a towel across the sand, with her eyes closed. I can't just go up to her. I keep my distance for forty-five minutes, when she finally sits up to reapply sunblock. I walk perpendicularly to her line of vision, pretending that I haven't been watching her. Then I turn left and we make eye contact, I think. It's hard to tell because of her sunglasses. I stop and smile. She lowers her sunglasses. She has worked out that I know who she is. I walk over, maintaining eye contact. She smiles.
'Hello', she says with surprising enthusiasm.
'Hi', I reply with feigned confidence.
I tell her about how I'm a 'huge fan', because I've forgotten how to think and clichés are better than silence. She thanks me and I say more things that she has probably heard on a regular basis for the past thirty years. The conversation is strained. I leave her in peace. I cry a little bit when my back is turned, as I walk away.