Category Archives: epic fail

When Your Wingman Fails You…

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Last night, I saw a wingman formation that was like an air show gone bad…

All lined up. Target in sight. But, instead of a successful manoeuvre, I watched the wing catch on fire and the pilot almost crash and burn.

Okay. Enough of sounding like I just watched Top Gun.

Four guys walk into the bar. They were:

Single Guy (aka the Pilot)

Married Guy

Married GO Train Guy*

and

The Party Starter.

Our boys looked like they had just finished work in the financial district; their ties weren’t even undone. Over by me were two girlfriends out for the night. A Brunette and a Blonde.

Our Single Guy spots the Brunette and starts with the general small talk chit chat. She’s receptive. She’s responding. She’s conversing. Eye contact. Body language. All good. Target is in sight.

The Married Guy and the Married GO Train guy are hanging back, talking to each other, keeping their drinks fresh. Unfortunately, the Blonde looks bored; she can, with one trip to the bathroom ruin the whole mission.

As I’ve said before, when choosing your wingman, you should always choose one who is going to make you look good. Not look good by comparison – there IS a difference – but make you look good not only to the female in your sights, but to her friend standing beside her. This, dear boys, is where our Single Guy failed.

Enter the Party Starter…

Of the four, he was the worst dressed. Couldn’t even suit it up correctly (but that’s a post for another day). Yes, the music was mediocre, but that did not give him an excuse to do a variation of the chicken dance – especially since no one else in the room was dancing. He’s calling unnecessary attention to himself and trying to chat up the Blonde at the same time. I know that some will advise that your wingman should distract the friend, but this was TOO distracting; his goofball antics where pissing the friend off.

Our Single Guy soldiered on. Focusing all his attention on the Brunette, they seemed to be hitting it off. But the Party Starter…? He just kept trying to liven things up. My friend and I sat a few feet away, watching the plane go down.

“The Blonde is NOT happy…”

“Nope. She’s about ready to call it a night. Single Guy is so not getting laid…Oh look, Married GO Train Guy just sent another text to his wife explaining that they’re still ‘out with the client…’”

As if we scripted the moment ourselves, the Blonde – who has had maybe one drink – has to go “to the bathroom” and takes our Brunette with her.

Yes guys, you know we talk about this shit in the bathroom. We also use the “have to go find a friend…” and “just stepping out for a smoke” (when only one of us smokes). These ladies did the walk around (aka “finding a friend”). Where the Brunette spent most of the walk convincing the Blonde to stick it out at little longer, for her sake. Reluctantly they return…

Only to find that the party is just getting started! Back to the chicken dancing! I’m serious about this chicken dancing, by the way. Dude stuck his elbows out, joined his hands in the middle, and moved his elbows to the beat.

The Blonde? Counting down the moments…

My friend and I are feeling really bad for Single Guy. He’s half-heartedly chicken dancing, talking to the Brunette, AND trying to keep the two Married Guys engaged in the conversation.

He’s taken a hit and is spiraling. His wingman?

Talking justalittletooclose to the Blonde, trying to distract her.

The ladies take leave, again. (BAD SIGN, BAD BAD SIGN), and lo and behold, there IS a friend. So now, the ladies are increasing in number and if you don’t count Married GO Train guy standing off to the side texting his wife, they’re even in number. Which, technically means our Single Guy is outnumbered.

He’s going down.

But finally…FINALLY! The Married Guy steps in to introduce himself to the new friend and takes over the conversation! MY friend and I almost high fived each other the way you do when your team is winning. Then, seamlessly, without calling too much attention the situation, Married Guy and Married GO Train Guy lead the Party Starter AWAY from the “party” and do their own walk around.

My friend and I, thinking that the day has been saved and that our Single Guy will be able to chat up the ladies on his own, do our own walk around. Without this crash and burn, the party we’re at continues to be boring. We decide that we’re going to get ready to leave…

But then…

The Party Starter returns.

He raises one elbow, then the other…

Puts his arms down.

Crisis averted.

When we saw them return, the crash junkies that we were found a new vantage point to observe. Only to be interrupted by Married GO Train Guy, who, misinterpreting our whole watching them for the last 20 minutes as interest, comes over to make his approach.

“How are you ladies doing tonight? You look bored.”

“We ARE”

“So uh what do you do?”

(BAD FIRST QUESTION. BAD BAD BAD. I would prefer “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” before “what do you do?”)

Name blah blah blah…drink? No. Blah blah blah…why aren’t you drinking? I’m working right now. Oh are you in the business?

(By the way, they DID work in Finance)

“I’m an anthropologist.”

“Really? What work could you do here?”

“Observe human behaviour.”

“Oh. Well here that’s easy. Mostly people are out to get drunk and get laid…”

“Yeah. And your friend in the grey jacket has been fucking it up for you all night.”

A moment of shock, then Married GO Train Guy starts laughing. “You’re so right! You hit it on the nose! You’re good.”

Offers a drink again from their bottle service. We decline, and decide that this would be the perfect time to leave. Except…that fucking chicken dance!

I feel really bad for Single Guy. He hasn’t fully turned the situation back around…yet.

So… I walk over to where he and Married GO Train Guy are talking. Upon seeing me stand beside him, he snakes his arm around my waist as if to say, “so you do like my Married GO Train friend here!”

I clap him on the shoulder with one hand, remove his hand from my waist with the other and say:

“The Brunette is very lovely. I think you still have a chance. Get rid of the guy in the grey jacket. Your friend will explain why I’m telling you this…”

Then, we went home.

*NB: (for my non-Ontario readers, the GO Train is a commuter train that takes you from the city’s core to suburbs and outer lying areas. For a Downtown dweller like me, I feel bad for those who must live plan their social lives around not missing the last train…)

Was this a Wingman or an Asshole?

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Standing at the bar, a hand “accidentally” grazes my ass. I turn and give an arched brow.

Him: So sorry! I didn’t mean to…sorry!

Me: (gives a curt nod) Cool

Wingman: (to him) what happened?

Him: (to wingman) I accidentally touched her ass.

Wingman: Yo! I would’ve smacked that! Whatever (downs shot)

Me: (stares in open-mouthed shock that the fucker would say that loud enough for me to hear him)

Him: I’m sorry. He’s drunk. Like, I didn’t mean to…

Wingman: yo, fuck that bitch… (stumbles off)

Dude from Friday can never wear this t-shirt
Source: Backyard Tees

Him: …listen. Let me buy you a drink to apologize for both myself and my friend. I don’t think he realized you could hear him…

Sigh…

Turns out I may have to work with Him in the future. Which is why I avoided being charged with assault on Friday. At the end of that conversation, I bid adieu to my client and left…

Weakassness: Stop Slacking on the Approach

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First, I started with the slacking on your physical appearance. But the slacking thing is part of a larger theme. I’ve been having a few conversations lately with women and well…

It’s almost like I have to take you guys to remedial school. For example, I was reviewing my high maintenance field research with a girlfriend of mine and telling her about some of the “okay” levels of pickup attempts I had experienced of late. If you compare my experiences to hers (and some others), what I had previously considered “meh” were actually quite stellar in comparison to what’s been going on out there. I got worried. For you guys. Was it them? Was it me? Where was this disconnect? I was confused.

Then last night, I made what I considered a successful run at my High Maintenance experiment (more on that later over at thesugarcoatedbitch.com); but then experienced two very weak attempts to get my attention. Ah, so this is what the ladies were complaining about.

Weakassness.

That’s my new word for it. Because these attempts/approaches are so weak and so seemingly pulled out of your ass that I can’t think of any other way to describe it. I’m not saying you need to have a rehearsed plan of approach every time you go out (that would be stupid), but it’s almost as if you weren’t even thinking about the woman before you opened your mouth.

Weakassness #1 “let me maybe buy you a drink…?”

As I waked through the crowded club with my martini in hand, Weakass #1 ended up in my way. As he moved to let me pass, he said “hi, you’re looking lovely tonight…”

Me: “thanks.” (thinks: oooh. Maybe a “Mark”?)

Him: “mumblemumblemumble…look lovely.”

Me: “you just said that…?”

Him: “no, I said your drink looks lovely. So…I guess your drink matches you! (big smile).”

Me: “ah” (smiles…walks away)

Later in the evening, I’m standing at the bar. The girl that Weakass #1 had moved on to knocked my clutch out of my hand. In that moment, I dropped my High Maintenance mask of indifference and the real me flashed her a standard HLBB side eye of annoyance. This #3amgirl in the making then apologized profusely, and rushed to reach down and return my clutch to me. In that moment, Weakass #1 offered to buy me a shot, which #3amgirl endorsed.

(huh? Yeah. I wondered that too.)

Ahem. I think I just reviewed this a couple of posts back, but let me repeat:if you’re going to offer a woman a drink, PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF WHAT SHE’S DRINKING. IF a girl is drinking a martini, do not offer a shot as her next drink. It only shows two things:

  1. You’re not attentive. Look, if you can’t identify what she’s drinking, ask. It’s a perfectly legitimate question, and it demonstrates that you can be attentive.
  2. That you’re not responsible. We all know what happens when you mix different types of alcohol. When has vodka and tequila ever been a good mix?

Weakassness.

One of my companions for the evening was with me and happened to be offering me a drink at the same time. When I explained that Weakass was trying to buy me a shot, he smiled and said, “do you want us to handle this?”

Didn’t matter though. Weakass didn’t follow through on the drink; he then proceeded to slink away with the #3amgirl. Later that night, I spotted him drunkenly dancing and making out with said #3amgirl.

Weakassness #2 – “lemme holla at ya…sorta”

I am the queen of bad pickup lines. From men saying that they can “fix” my sexual orientation from gay to straight (yes, he assumed I was gay because my hair was short), to guys pretending to grab my ass and apologizing for it, I’ve heard them all. All the bad ones.

New one to add to the list:

“Yo. Hi.”

Really. That’s all he said.

I was already stopped in front of him because the club was crowded. So, since I wasn’t going anywhere, I turned to him and said “really? That’s what’s hot in the clubs right now? ‘Yo. Hi.’?”

He shrugged and smiled. I stared blankly.

“Yo. Hi.” I want to meet the woman this previously worked on and help her with her self esteem. But while I do that, I need to know: what in the entire fuck is “Yo. Hi.”

Are you that worried about investing any effort that may get you a date and/or laid? What do you expect to get in return for saying “Yo. Hi.”? Tell me. I want to know. Please weigh in, because I’m at a loss…

Oh, and just as I was about to close this post, I got a voicemail from a dude…

“Hey. It’s ______. Gimme a call.”

This is his first communication with me. That was his voicemail. No, “nice to have met you”…No “this is __________ from Thursday night…” No. Just, “Gimmie a call…” 

Sigh. We are not amused…

Trying Too Hard…You Poor Puppy

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I’ve written some posts over the past year that had not been published. I started to write about these posts yesterday, when I realized that these moments all had something in common: the guys involved felt like their testicles had been removed. At first glance, today’s moment doesn’t seem like one of those moments. But for me, it does. I usually see this moment in the beginning stages, see where it’s headed, and end up feeling that same sense of sympathy/pity that I now call “the Poor Puppy moment”.

I don’t even know what cutesy little name to give this particular situation, so I’m just going to describe it. It’s when you darling boy, try too hard. I know a couple of guys (and have witnessed many more) do this repeatedly and it leaves me shaking my head every single time. All I can assume is that at some point in your romantic/sexual past, some woman told you that you “couldn’t”. Whether it was sustaining a relationship or sustaining an erection, she told you that you were not capable. Or maybe your boys teased you one time too many and tell you that the only thing you can pull on a Saturday night is…yourself. I could list more examples but I think you get the idea.

Whatever the trigger was, you have now internalized these criticisms/jokes and have now set out to prove “someone” wrong. Except that instead of using it as fuel to get back on the proverbial horse, you use it as your primary reason for every single pursuit. It’s no longer your goal to get a date, or get laid, or even get a girlfriend; it’s to silence that little nagging voice in your head that sounds just like the person who said “you couldn’t”…

Let’s be honest. You know this. You hear that voice. It’s the voice you hear the moment you spot a girl that you might be interested in. It whispers, “you can’t get her…move on.” So, you summon up your (false sense of) courage and head in.

But you’re not subtle when you should be. Smooth when you could be. Funny when you normally would be. You go too fast, too hard, with too much. It’s like the stereotypical girl who tells a guy on the first date how many kids she wants and that she’d like a spring wedding (*coughkimkardashiancough*), you start in with all the tactics you think will work instead of properly assessing the situation and responding accordingly.

You head over, offer to buy her a drink and order two shots of something.

Step back and check; she’s drinking from a martini glass…why would you order a shot?

You introduce yourself and start talking about the club. Ask if she’s having a good time and tell her about the time you’re having.

Step back and check; did you ask her name? Did you find out if she’s there with anyone? Did you let her fully answer the question? Did you find out if she is having a good time?

You compliment her hair, makeup, and/or body. Whatever it was, you found it/them so irresistible you were compelled to come over and talk to her.

Step back and check; is she still listening to you?

While talking, you feel the need to let her know right away that you have job, work out regularly (when time permits because you have such a demanding career), and love watching football/basketball/hockey with friends (when time permits, because…) You’re thinking of going away for your next vacation because you like to travel, and yeah, you’re thinking of hitting up that Sandals resort in the Dominican again because you had such a great time two years ago…

Step back and…shut the fuck up already!

Chances are you’re in some sort of social situation with lots of people, noise and even music. Guess what, it’s louder than usual. So every great thing you’re saying about yourself is coming out like this…

“YOU HAVE AN AMAZING BODY. DO YOU WORK OUT? I WORK OUT ABOUT 4 TIMES A WEEK. MAYBE YOU COULD TRY MY GYM…”

“WANNA HAVE A SHOT? (signals bartender) TWO JAEGERBOMBS!”

“MY JOB IS SO CRAZY. IT’S HARD SOMETIMES FOR ME TO JUST GO OUT AND HAVE A GOOD TIME. I’M GOING TO NEED A VACATION SOON…”

“CAN I GET YOUR NUMBER?”

I watch, shake my head and think to myself, “tsk tsk tsk”. The last time I went out, my girl a Mr. Try Too Hard to “impress (her) in 15 words or less”. He started talking…and talking…and, talking. When he stopped she said, “not impressed…and that was more than 15 words.”

Deafened by the chorus of little voices, he couldn’t even hear himself.

(pssst. Neither can you…)

Poor Puppy. He walked back to his boys with his balls in his hand. For the rest of the night, I think he might have approached one other woman. He spent most of his time nursing his drink, his ego and listening to voices of failures past.

It’s hard out there. I get it. Aim high…of course. But actually try aiming instead of firing at will, and for the love of all that is good and holy, stop trying so damn hard.