Why You Should Never Wait

Girls are complex creatures indeed, their depths descend deeper then perhaps I will ever fathom. It is a common consensus that women are infinitely more complicated then men, especially when it comes to the realm of romance and all its logical connections. I reached this “common consensus” with the help of two females amidst some intellectually rewarding conversation. The fact that I was 7 and 14 years their junior I’m sure was irrelevant.

However, basically the only understanding I gained was that I cannot and will not be able to understand women. I won’t be able to understand why they seem predetermined to want guys that treat them like shit and determined to treat the guys that want them like shit. This sad trend was only just disclosed to me, perhaps my eyes being truly opened for the first time in a wild and wondrous trip to Atlantic City. Being the type of man that I am, I’m always more inclined to gamble with my dignity then my money. So after giving away $150 in a hopeless game of black jack I went out with only booze on my mind. My friends though have become quasi disciples of a book called, The Game, about the art of picking up women. To completely bastardize the book and sum up all its subtleties into one line I’ve gathered that basically the way to pick up women is to simply treat them like shit. As my friends chatted excitedly about the techniques I was skeptical until I realized this would probably account for the slimness of my success in that department…that is of course if I’m not holding my lack of good looks accountable, but that’s neither here nor there. After drinking, and then dinner with drinking, and then more drinking we headed out to the Tropicana to take in that AC night life. Low and behold though, the interior section of the Tropicana had a ceiling deceptive enough to pass for the sky and I was immediately so disoriented by the bright sky above that I was wide awake. This was a very clever gimmick indeed; the more people stay awake, the more they’ll spend.

After entering the bar and seeing a tall cooler stacked with forties I knew we had come to the right place. There were groups of guidos, the pride of Jersey, to my right, some clueless Pennsylvania girls to my left, and I think an unconscious rabbi behind us slumped over in a chair, but I can’t be sure. Across the bar I recognized a group as New Yorkers by their perpetual air of boredom and superiority. I belong over there I thought, then I took a huge swig of my forty of Coors Light and realized I was right where I belonged, by the bar.

My friend, a deacon in the art of “The Game” had provided me with several plausible situations in which to enact its teachings. Out of the corner of my eye I saw he had already engaged in one as he stood conversing with two girls, neither of which I knew…the birthday tiara however spoke volumes for what I could expect. At a moment of opportunity he signaled for me to come over. I immediately went over and proceeded to make fun of the two girls he was talking to, just like the “good book” had said. After assuring them that my friend and I were both entirely too good for them, I made them laugh with some running commentary, usually only pausing to brush back more Coors. It was an enjoyable time and then at the height of their enjoyment. As I had had them laughing to the point of tears we walked away. “We gotta get back to our party now.” Without further explanation we turned and walked away.

I questioned this at first. I mean wouldn’t any self respecting woman feel so insulted by this that they’d just move on? After making a very predictable trip to the bathroom they came right back to us as we stood amongst our other friends…they were hooked. “So are you going to buy me a drink for my birthday?” Usually, I’m all too eager to share my love of drinking with others, but again I was reminded by those fateful words of deacon Frank, “thou shalt never buy a girl a drink.” “Absolutely not” I replied to the shell shocked girl. The result was even more unexpected. Not only was she now more desperate for me, she had even gone and made some poor bastard buy her a drink then come right back to me to try and get me jealous. “So Matt that guy right over there bought me a drink.” I looked over and saw some sad soul sitting by himself at the bar…if only he would’ve read the book, he’d at least still have those five bucks. “Good for him” I said, thinking exactly and you came right back to me. I had to give the book credit I was going against everything I had ever done, and success was coming easier then shooting fish in a pale.

After the forty and four kamikaze shots, in addition to the 5 hours of straight drinking previous to that I was thoroughly tight. We all then decided it was time to leave. Again we used the same technique with unabashed commitment. “Alright we gotta go, we’re heading over to Caesar’s.” The looks on their faces alone was worth saying that. “Wait, so you’re just gonna leave us?” they asked…pleaded. “You’re both welcome to come but we’re leaving now.” The game says that you should always maintain control and be unconcerned with your targets. Our “targets” chugged their drinks and hurried over to us as we were walking out.

While standing outside discussing our options leaving the girls five feet behind a group of guys approached them in what I now knew were all the wrong ways. The birthday tiara girl actually had the audacity to respond by saying “I’m with him” then walked straight up to me and kissed me. My heir of imperviousness dropped, now I was just as shell shocked as anyone else. I had done nothing but mock and ignore this girl since meeting her and she had just mouth raped me. I mean she didn’t tie me down, but the kiss was certainly not two way. As she grasped for my hand I reluctantly gave it to her, if only to keep her away from my mouth. The teachings of The Game were holy indeed, one could only imagine the power of it should it fall into the wrong hands.

Birthday tiara girl cried that night as I left her at her hotel without ever giving her a number…or a last name. I couldn’t lead her on though; I’m not in the business of asking girls to wait, of letting them hang on for a possibility that will probably never come. No, I leave that vicious and savage act to girls, I’ll just go on mindlessly drinking, at least now without the concern of emptying my wallet for female returns, I’ll tell them to buy their own drink and leave me to mine.

New York Bar Hopping …and subsequent stumbling

The last few weeks I’ve begun reverting back to some of my old partying habits that seem to spur from a love for the adventuresome. Of course it’s not Man vs. Wild adventuresome, but there’s something about just moving from bar to bar, party to party that keeps the night exciting. With each move you never know what you’re going to get…unless that next move is to McSorley’s on 7th St. and 3rd Ave. in which case you know exactly what you’re going to get, lights and darks. McSorley’s is what I would describe as the epitome of a man’s bar, dirty, grungy, loud, packed with men, a layer of sawdust blanketing the floor to soak up booze and vomit, and most importantly light and dark ales. It’s definitely not an experience for everybody but I think it’s certainly an experience everyone should try once. Which is what I told a co worker when I dragged her there to meet up with some of my college buddies. It took some particularly convincing rhetoric to persuade this wine drinking, low key, conservative summer intern to accompany me to a vulgar scene of obscenities and inebriation. Naturally I just told her there would be a lot of single guys there, neglecting the fact that there are a lot of single guys at every bar in New York…it’s where we go to feel especially single when even the most desperate of girls still won’t talk to us.

So, after finishing some delightful apple flavored Belgian Beer at the more local Beer Bar, on 45th and Vanderbilt we made our way to the 6 train. After pounding a few darks and lights while watching my poor friend labor through a mug of light we did the inevitable talking with strangers that happens there. There are no select tables of private parties at this place. They will literally sit you down with anyone if you ask for a table. You just hope to get sat next to the guy just offered a job by a big bank (a rare occurrence given the current economic climate) and have him buy everybody round after round. When I thought she had absorbed all the intenseness of the place she could we took the party to a near by favorite, Phebes, on 4th St. and 3rd Ave. Phebes was the place everyone ended up heading at the end of the night. Close to campus, with great bar music, and just…well it was just popular among us NYU students for some reason. Here we had a few more rounds of drinks along with a bit of awkward, unskilled dancing by yours truly before deciding to call it a night. Fatigue had set and the effort of a work week was wearing on me. I only just made it home after passing out on the subway, luckily missing my stop by only one.

The very next night I found myself out at a friend’s apartment sharing drinks on their East Village Rooftop absorbing the stunning full circle view of Manhattan with both rivers plus up and downtown immediately at hand for my viewing pleasure. The company was good, the drinks were alcoholic, and the weather was divine. It was a clear night with a light breeze drifting west to East while the temperature rested in the mid seventies. Giving into the urge to head out we made our way to a trendy place called Side Bar on 15th and Irving. Well, it tried to be trendy but after interacting with its occupants I was disappointed in the quality of drinkers. The place was too crowded to just hang out and relax with an overpriced beer in hand. So I decided I’d do something I almost never do, hit on a complete stranger or strangers in this case. With nothing to lose and the possibility of an entertaining story to gain I decided to put myself to the test. There was a side area raised a bit above bar level and I spotted a group of cute, dancing girls happily enjoying themselves while the guys with them sat brooding over to the side with grim, serious faces refusing to smile or do anything that might make them less cool. “What a bunch of uninteresting losers” I thought to myself. Then I strode up there, with blind, ignorant confidence, chugged the beer in my hand, turned smiled at my friend who I told to watch and walked right up to one of the girls. “Hi, my name is Matt and I just wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful tonight.” It should be noted that this is the most forward line I’ve ever used. Initially I think she was in shock because she took a step back, but I knew the one thing no woman can resist is a compliment on her appearance. She quickly smiled and actually extended her hand, introducing herself as “Alisha.” “Alisha,” I said, “it’s very nice to meet you.” As I began speaking with her I noticed out of the corner of my eye some definite unease growing among the guys from the group, huddled over by themselves off to the left. I didn’t let it bother me though, these self absorbed, over serious deuchebags were the worst kind of people and I could care less what they thought. At this point I was now talking to two girls, I don’t remember the other one’s name but it turned out they were both interning at Investment banks, J.P. Morgan and Morgan Stanley. Their voices peaked with delight as they told me this, clearly pleased with themselves and their prospects of earning obnoxiously large amounts of money. I couldn’t have cared less. When they asked me what I did I put them to the “Matt Wealth Importance test” (trademark pending). It’s a little test I’ve devised to see how invested a woman is in wealth and occupation as far as determining the quality of a person. I comfortably responded that I had just graduated and was just hanging out, unemployed at the moment. They weren’t able to hide the ghastly look on their faces as they heard this. The test was done and they had failed…miserably. These two well dressed, cute girls had transformed into hideous ghouls right before my eyes. They tried to hold their composure but still almost walked away from me mid sentence before I decided to just keep the conversation going by telling them I was only kidding and was in fact a financial analyst at one of the most well known companies in the world. The damage was done though and I had lost any and all interest in knowing these two superficial money whores. I did, however, find it quite amusing when the guys around them decided to hone in and really mark out there territory. As we were in mid conversation their guy friends would come up and start trying to grind with them all the while trying to give me tough, get the hell out of here, looks. It was enough to make me laugh right in their faces and feel embarrassed for them all at the same time. How anyone like that could take themselves seriously is beyond me. I walked away without saying good bye, happy that I had dared myself to engage in conversation, disappointed it had been with people of no substance.