Picking Up Women: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.
You’ve seen pick-ups go bad.
I can tell.
Seen, attempted, cried later.
You’ve tried to pick up someone and it went horribly wrong.
Don’t lie.
Today, I’ll guide you through the art of picking up women, sliced and diced in three different ways. As you may know, I’m definitely not a pick-up artist. I’m a quiet, shy and doughy-faced individual. I leave that skill to the experts. And, in my life, I’ve learned from these experts. Here’s three of them that I remember. The good, the bad, and the outrageously ugly.
The Good.
On a rainy Tuesday night in Florida, friend Les and I sit in a hurricane-battered bar named Fuglies and sip on the pee-water that is Bud Light.
This place sucks.
It did completely, as I nodded my head in agreement with, well, me.
It’ll get better.
Always the voice of reason, Les convinced me to stay. What we saw next was a mass influx of gorgeous blonds, brunettes, and a red-head or two. I asked the bartendress what the hell was going on. We were on Merritt Island, a geriatric metropolis with an average age of 160. She said tonight was ladies night. And shit, was she right.
The place began to fill with girls, and more girls, and even more girls until finally, it was wall-to-wall mayhem. And even in this thick glittery forest of gorgeousness, it was a man that caught our attention. Not just any man. But a man who looked like the biggest hillbilly I have ever seen in my life. He had:
1. A raunchy, unkempt moustache that joined itself with random patches of hair dispersed unevenly across his cheeks and chin; it was as if his face were a defective chia pet.
2. An aged and faded NASCAR jacket and beneath, a wife-beater peppered with cigarette burn holes, mustard stains and general yellowness.
3. Sunglasses. At night.
He made his way through a maze of hotness, this hickbilly did, and approached one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen in Florida. When he tapped her on the shoulder, she turned to look.
I told my friends up here by Cocoa a story I did. Y’all wanna hear it?
She said yes.
I thought, what the fuck does that even mean?
And then he told his story. This majestic story of a hot rod, lightnin’ quick and a crash by them barrier islands. Riding hogs up ta’ Daytona, something about fixin to holler at some unnamed individual, naked loud-talkin’ broads and a case a’ Bud a’ day. He finally stopped, and in the silence, they both looked at each other.
Les and I braced ourselves.
Now, what would general logic tell you happens next? If the world were balanced, would you not think this beautiful woman would say, listen, pee-stained, chia-pet faced man, get away from me before I alert the authorities. She would say that right?
Right?
Wrong.
He got her telephonic number. Somehow. He got her to dance with him. Someway. He even made out with her. All as Les and I witnessed. And like refracted light and my undergrad thesis, I could not explain it. I can only witness as it passed me by.
Thrillbilly genius.
The Bad.
In a quaint, tiny village in eastern Holland, so east that it kisses the German border, you find me drinking again. This time, it’s at the “harvest festival” of Deitenheim or Gutenberg or whatever this village is named. Deitengoo-gooberg, perhaps. The entire village is here, drinking, partying, and dancing with pure reckless abandon. I’m with my friend Frans, who lives here, and an assortment of his friends. One of them is a short blonde girl with big, blue eyes. Here’s me talking to her.
Yeah so honestly, I don’t think I even know that many Dutch people.
No? Too bad. Of course, the Dutch are generally nice people. We like to have party like these for good fun…
As I talk to her, a guy approaches. Stops. Notices her. Draws closer.
He takes his hand and grabs the top of her head like it was a jar of peanut butter. And then. And then. What happened next was almost surreal.
He licks her face.
From her chin up to her temple, just one big lick. Like a kid would do to ice cream dripping from a cone. Licked her face. My eyes nearly popped right out of my head, I’ve never seen this before. This guy just leapfrogged over every step of seduction in just one lick.
After the licking was over, he walked away and yelled yeaaaaaaaaaah! and pointed at her, smiling.
So when do you fly back? she asked, turning back to me.
Are you serious? What about the random face gross-ass lick I just saw?
Um, I’m touring Spain first, then uh going back in a couple of wee—hey, um, did you know that guy? Because he just licked your face.
Oh, she giggled. No, I don’t. But I told you, the Dutch are generally nice people.
The Ugly.
In a messy dorm room in college, on a lazy Sunday afternoon when I should have been doing homework, I installed Yahoo! Instant Messenger. If you have installed Yahoo! Instant Messenger, you’ll know that you are asked to create your online profile first. I must have rushed through it, because after the following events occurred, I went back and checked and realized that for SEX I accidentally clicked “Female”. It was accidental, you nerds. I swear on seven million of my gods.
I log on. The shit goes banonkers. New messages appear.
Kaju99. “DO YOU WANT SEXXY CHATT?”
Seconds later.
Kaju99: “YOU LIKE IT. I GIVE YOU HARD AND SWEET.”
Kaju99: “WHAT YOUR NAME? IM KAJU”
Kaju99: “WHY YOU NOT TALKING, YOU WANT SEE MY WEBCAM?”
Kaju99: “ACCEPT I SEND LINK”
Me: “Dude, I’m a dude.
Kaju99 has logged off.
In summary, I was sexually assaulted electronically by a random Indian guy named Kaju. And I now understand the plight of owning ovaries. Kaju99, you have taught me well.
There you have it. The pick-up explained in three different ways. Some better than others. Which brings me to my poignant question.
What was the best or worst pick-up line you’ve ever heard?
Or was it just a lick?
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