It has now been about one year since my divorce, and during that time, I’ve had varying degrees of luck with online dating and getting my jackass dad to help out with the membership renewals.
In order to increase my success, I decided to try a different approach. I devoted an entire week to the singular goal of getting a date out in the real world -- the old-fashioned way. My week-long dating experiment recently concluded, and while I am pretty exhausted and my wallet is a little lighter, it was an eye-opening and rather successful experiment.
Here’s how my week went, broken down on a day-by-day basis.
On Monday, I actually hit the gym twice (first at 7:30 a.m., then later at 6:30 p.m.) to improve my chances. Either way, it’s a tough nut to crack with so many people listening to digital music players and focusing on their intense hatred of guys like me.
I talked to one attractive lady blasting her quads and lats on the free weights. While the conversation was pleasant, I didn't sense much return interest. Turns out I had an enormous shit stain all down the side of my sweats. I went home immediately to clean the shit off my sweats.
Takeaway lesson: Make sure you don't have giant shit stains on your apparel. Women don't like that. They will quickly pick up on the fact that you are covered in your own, or someone else's, shit. Let's face it, guys--it sends the wrong message!
Now when I hit the gym, I first take a detour to the local dry cleaner's. There I have a professional thoroughly inspect my clothes and make sure I am not covered in shit. Lesson learned!
Tuesday: Grocery store
I visited my grocery store around 6 p.m. because I knew it would be filled with after-work shoppers. However, I had my eye on the girl who worked at the deli counter. She seemed very friendly and approachable. When she asked if I needed help, I quickly raised a wedge of camembert.
"Will this give me gas?" I piped in a voice approximating Gilbert Gottfried's, except more obnoxious and nasally.
The girl shrugged. When I repeated my question, she sighed and said, "Everyone has different gas parameters."
Jackpot! Sensing that success was just around the corner of the proverbial cheese wheel, I asked her for her number. She replied by asking for her supervisor. And then the police. When the SWAT team came, I really felt that was going too far. I mean, come on.
Takeaway lesson: Your odds of finding love in the grocery aisles are better than trying to meet someone in the weight room because there’s no loud music to talk over (or other major distractions, like being covered in shit). Plus, gas is a great way to open the door to a lasting relationship. It tells your potential mate that you are "toot-friendly," and that she can look forward to enjoying the many gases emanating from your every pore for years and years to come. Let 'er rip, guys!
Wednesday: Art museum
A museum offers a more eclectic, cerebral gathering of people -- especially if you are a pretentious slice of douche like the author of this piece I found on Yahoo! During my visit, I pretended I had the vaguest appreciation for art when, of course, all I wanted to do was swing my bacon. My approach was rather passive: I stood in front of a "painting" for several seconds before I started scratching my balls in the hope of giving off pheromones. Unfortunately, women weren't picking up the scent. Even when I shouted that it was me who had painted The Momma Lisa, no one gave me their phone number. Artists must NEVER get laid.
Takeaway lesson: Although I didn’t have much luck, I still recommend putting art museums high on your list if you want to repel women. Unless it was just a coincidence, many single ladies appear to frequent art museums and galleries trying to escape the likes of men like me.
Thursday: Coffee shop
Of course, I made Starbucks the venue -- they’re just too popular to go anywhere else, and I haven't had an original idea in my head for decades. Once I purchased my coffee and sat down, I immediately started primping at my moussed hair. Then I unbuttoned my shirt and oiled my chest. Then I started to trim my pubes. Eventually my flirting paid dividends. A young woman looked over at me. I sensed she wanted cunnilingus.
"What are you drinking?" I asked, putting down my styling comb.
She smiled and said she was having a latte, but that my "pubic" hair had landed into her cream and she now felt like vomiting for a full week.
When I told her I'd hold back her hair as long as she needed, she did not give me her phone number. After that, I didn’t see a single opening for myself to start flirting with anyone. I packed up my portable barber kit, swept up my trimmings, stropped my razor, and left. The coffee sucked, too.
Takeaway lesson: Don’t trim your pubes in a public place. Apparently there are laws against it. Also, avoid using the word "pubes."
Friday (early evening): Music festival
I started my Friday evening at a jazz festival. As people who know me know, I love jazz. Just love it. Anyway, the festival was crawling with trim. I had a blanket to sit on and brought a picnic basket with some cheese, crackers, and wine. I was also without clothes, all the better to enjoy the jazz. Throughout the concert I received several interested looks, but no one sat down next to me despite my pubes. After I polished off the bottles of Chianti, I saw a young woman who seemed interesting. I chased her across the festival grounds until I lost sight of her. Oh well, at least I got to work out in the nude to some jazz.
Takeaway lesson: It’s important to consider the image you present to the women you’re trying to attract, and packing the wine and cheese definitely helped me out in this instance.Also, wait until your second date or so to show your johnson.
Friday (late night): Nightclub
I left as the festival was finishing up and walked to a local nightclub. It was nearly 11 p.m. by then, and the place was pretty packed. Among the crowd, I saw a woman whom I recognized from the festival. She immediately bolted and ran. This made it difficult for me to initiate a conversation.
I got out on the dance floor and started "voguing." Men, I can't recommend highly enough doing some "voguing" for potential mates. It tells them you are supple, lithe, limber, and not afraid to follow trends that went out of fashion twenty years ago. I got several numbers that night, but it was only the next day I noticed they all began with 555. Was it possible that so many attractive women live in the same area code??
Takeaway lesson: If “nightlife” will be the main way you choose to meet women, time your visit so that you tumesce at the exact right moment. Once you do, you'll get more numbers thrown at you than a magician at a math teacher's conference.
Saturday: Botanic Gardens
A buddy of mine whom I hadn’t seen in a while invited me to a party at the Botanic Gardens. He told me that women love flowers and shit, so why not? But just to increase my odds of impressing all the single women in attendance, I decided to arrive in a hot air balloon. I had never operated a balloon before, but it sounded fun and spontaneous. When the basket spontaneously crashed through the glass pavilion, killing two and injuring five, I said I was sorry.
Takeaway lesson: If you’re looking to meet women at the Botanic Gardens, don't arrive in a hot air balloon and kill people. I mean, we want to date the women, not kill them. So play it smart, guys.
I rounded out my week by attending church services. Though it's been a while since I've read the Bible and all that, I felt confident I could fake it. Jesus this, Jehovah that. I mean, how hard could it be? And Jesus was all about getting laid. Wasn't he?
The church provided doughnuts and coffee in the foyer after service was over, and I hung out there in my best casual manner. When I wasn't getting the attention I had endured a church service for, I started to talk loudly about the end times -- which is what I understand these religious types do all the time. Then I started to scream that the rapture was nigh. I bellowed about wrath and furious vengeance and blood raining down and the seven-headed beast that would--- That's when I choked on my bear claw. The reverend wrestled me into a Heimlich, and I was saved, hallelujah. But I doubt I'll be back since he's not a woman and I think that's wrong.
Takeaway lesson: If sharing a religion is high on your list of must-haves for a partner, this is the perfect place to go. Just don't go to church wearing a fishnet tank top. Or laugh at old people kneeling in prayer. Or snort derisively whenever people talk about feeling the intense joy of communing with the supreme deity. Ha, ha. That one still makes me laugh.
I learned that it's hard to meet women when you have a really bad personality. Thankfully, there's online dating where one can make up all sorts of shit about yourself and maybe fool some dummy into going out with you. So, Dad, if you're reading this, can you loan me* some money?
* Give me.