Two Bar Stories From My Past…With Animal Themes
Lions
Years back, I was barhopping in the Lower East Side of NYC. The night was young, and my boy Grip and I were at the last stop of our crawl when we came across this African guy. I don’t remember how the conversation started because we were all well on our way to getting trashed, but at some point this African starts giving us his philosophy on men and women.
“Men are naturally noble creatures,” he said. “Society has made men like women. It’s made men afraid of their own shadows and afraid of what they really want. We were born to be hunters, it is our instinct, it is who we are! We have a natural desire to both be predators and to be regal.” This was the greatest pro-man pep talk we ever heard. And his deep African voice and accent just made it sound that much more regal and inspiring.
“You are a lion!” he announced, his voice rising majestically. “A hunter, a protector, a king! Do not settle! If you want something, go for it! Fight for it! You deserve the best, if you see a beautiful woman tonight, remember you are a lion and go over to her! Don’t be afraid, you are a hunter, a proud lion, this is your birthright!”
Grip and I started getting pumped. “Fuck yeah!!! We’re getting laid tonight! Lions!” We kept shouting about lions back and forth, ordering shots, hollering at every girl we could see, and at this point our confidence level was peaking.
After the African guy left us, we were still on an outrageous high. The guy was inspirational, like the Tony Robbins of the drunk singles scene. At that point Angelina Jolie could have walked in, and I would have stepped to her like she was just some chick from around the way and demanded some action. It was still only midnight, the crowd was bustling, there were hot girls aplenty, our confidence was soaring…it had all the makings of a classic night.
Fast forward to 3:30 AM. The herd has thinned and the prize specimens have all escaped or been captured by others. Not many choices remain. Grip and I were sloppy drunk, well beyond coherent at this point, and were just trying to prop ourselves up and barely succeeding. We gave up on chicks at this point. We look over at the other end of the bar and see our African friend from earlier talking to this short, stocky pasty-complexioned overweight white girl. No debate on this one, the girl is pretty awful looking. Kind of like a fire hydrant made of marshmallow that someone dressed up and put a wig on.
Out of respect (and shame and embarrassment) for him, we didn’t plan on saying anything to him or blowing up his spot, but as he glanced over at us our expressions must have given away what we were thinking, because he immediately walked over. He leaned in close and said slowly, in a low voice, “Sometimes the lion must eat grass.” Then he walked away.
I’m sure there was a life lesson in there somewhere, but I’m not sure what it was.
Dogs
Another bar, another long bygone year. Being young and naive, I was still at the age when my primary strategy for dealing with really hot women was earnestness. A friend of mind gave me the advice that the hotter as girl is, the more I should treat her like I would treat an ugly woman. And if she’s really hot, I should be borderline rude and arrogant. This seemed counterintuitive, and I was skeptical, but I told myself I’d give it a shot sometime.
So on this night it was my friend Beethoven (short for The Beethoven of BitchesTM) and me drinking in a Brooklyn Bar. It was a decent crowd with some definite cuties.
Beethoven and I were sitting at the bar catching up. A hot hipster blonde and her friend nearby were getting hit on left and right by guys and playfully shooting them down. This was a giant ego boosting night for them; you could tell this was their normal Friday night routine: go out looking hot while teasing some eager, desperate guys they had no plans of hooking up with. There was a group of typical guys standing behind our chairs with their backs to us, and Hipster Blonde and her friend were on the other side of the guys getting their asses kissed making small talk. Hipster Blonde squeezed around the group of guys and interrupted Beethoven and me.
Hipster Blonde said to me “Do you mind if I put my jacket on the back of your chair?” My first instinct was to eagerly say “Sure!” and hit on her. Then I remembered the advice.
I looked at her expressionlessly. “Let me think about it.” I turned away as if visibly annoyed and in deep thought. She stood there holding her jacket in her outstretched hand, speechless and with an expression of utter disbelief. I turn back at just the exact moment before the silence would have gotten uncomfortable and say playfully with a smirk, “Yeah, I guess you can.”
She playfully replied “Oh really? Are you sure it’s okay? I’d hate to inconvenience you.” I knew she was intrigued She probably couldn’t remember the last time I guy wasn’t eager to give her whatever she wanted. Or acted totally unimpressed by her.
We bantered and traded barbs for a bit, and then just when it was getting good I said “All right, well you should get back to your friends,” and pointed at the crew of eager cornballs she was just speaking to. Her friend was still with them, alone. Before she could respond, I turned back to Beethoven and went back to our conversation.
10 minutes later she came back, this time with her friend. It was obvious the friend was being brought over to get a look at me and give a second opinion. Women love getting the friend’s second opinion and approval.
She interrupts us again. “Hey, I came back to get my jacket.”
Exasperatedly, I say “You again? You’re just full of annoying requests, aren’t you?” I turned to her friend. “Is she always this annoying? How do you put up with it?”
She and her friend gave each other an expression that’s a mix of mock shock and laughter, mouths agape. She smiled and teased, “You’re just mad because I’m prettier than you.”
I gave her a slightly bemused look, scanned her from top to bottom like I was evaluating her, then rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, made them laugh, then turned back to Beethoven and my drink. In my head though I was thinking, I can’t believe the more I act like a dick, the more it works. How much farther am I supposed to go with this?
Hipster Blonde took her jacket, and she and her friend walked to the back of the bar where the couches were, occasionally turning back to look and giggle. I didn’t keep the conversation going because I knew it was a given she’d make an excuse to come back.
I walked to the back of the bar 15 minutes later to go to the bathroom. From my peripheral vision I saw Hipster Blonde and her girlfriend in the corner, tapping each other, whispering and pointing at me. Now I knew I really had her.
Sure enough after I returned to my seat at the bar, she came up behind me the moment I sat down. She asked if I had a light because she wanted to go out and smoke. I said no, but she still didn’t budge. I kept alternating between cockiness and aloofness, and she just seemed to be loving it.
No one was more shocked than me. I still couldn’t believe that this approach was actually working. It just seemed wrong and counterintuitive and the opposite of every piece of dating advice I was ever given in my life. I’m pushing my luck, I told myself. I better switch gears before I blow it. Even though my new approach was working, I told myself it couldn’t keep working and reverted to the typical approach. I decided it was a good time to give her a compliment.
“Hey, remember when you said I was mad because you were prettier than me? Well, I didn’t want to admit it, but you are quite pretty I’ve got to admit.” I gave the compliment with a nice, earnest grin. I figured after all the arrogant cockiness and insults, she deserved and would appreciate some heartfelt sweetness.
Her expression changed abruptly. Smile left, jaw dropped, silence. She suddenly looked disappointed.
She leaned in close and said slowly, in a low voice, “If you’re going to be a dog, be a rottweiller. If you’re going to be a bitch, wear a skirt.” Then she walked away.
Unlike with the night with the African, I understood Hipster Blonde’s life lesson immediately.
Best advice I ever received.
(8 votes, average: 4.50 out of 5)
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holy crap, you’re johnny triangles! i had no idea. i stopped reading that a while ago after you stopped updating, but i remember the lion story. awesome.
grrr…. as a follower of human instinctual psychology and not prone to common jealousies over sexual matters, I was raring for you to get the girl. No, it does not give me any satisfaction that you missed her and I don’t feel any of the ‘hurray’ pangs instilled in men by society.
You should have got her.
Oh my goodness… thank you for finally posting the story. I still think women who play like that aren’t worth the effort it takes to ‘get,’ but I’m hardly the target audience for those kind of games.
T,
Good story! By now you’ve probably seen it over at Roissy’s site, but I posed the question as to whether Game works with Sistas. Haven’t checked back, but I’d like to get your take. Just for the record. Thanks.
And yea, I agree, you shoulda nailed Hipster Blonde. Bummer.
Salaam
Mu
OH NO SHE DIDN’t.
Damn Hipster blonde basically dick slapped you! I never give a full compliment like that if I had said that statement I would have ended with “but I don’t know about your shoes” something anything except the full nice nice…
But in the long run she helped you out… I bet you’ll never make that mistake again
There is no doubt that I’d rather repeatedly punch myself in the balls than be in the same room with oxygen thieves like Hipster Blonde. Also, while I know that the Arrogant Douchebag routine works perfectly when meeting women, I really have to wonder why anyone would willingly be with a woman who falls for that shit.
paully, so you used to read the old blog? had no idea! small world.
if it pissed you off, imagine how I felt.
depends on what you want them for
Well yes, I get that. I still have always preferred to fuck people I find attractive and that I like, even NSA.
i swear, not just saying this because i didn’t get her, but it never really bummed me out that much because hot girls are a dime a dozen, and she really was kind of annoying after a while with her sassiness. i think the value of the lesson learned outweighs not getting learned.
dude, since that day, you’d need the jaws of life to extract an earnest compliment to a 9 or a 10 from me again.
Nora – yeah, but you’re a woman, you’ll always have that option of being more demanding. when you’re a horny young rookie guy, you have to compromise a lot.
also, if you’re a guy who wants to deal with young, hot women, you can expect to deal with a certain amount of bitchiness and entitlement, especially among american women, because SO many guys bend over and kiss your ass and let your shit slide just because you’re young and hot. not excusing it, it’s just the reality of what you can expect to find out there.
lol @ “oxygen thieves”
You mean compliments about physical beauty? Because compliments about things outside their appearance can be very effective if you have a sense of their particular psychology.
I’ve been thinking about your post a bunch.
Maybe, but only if you choose to participate in this false economy.
From a meta-level in this interaction, ALL the men (including you) are kissing Hipster Blonde’s ass, just in different ways. You mock the crowd of hangers-on, but you were just as obsessed with her as they were. Your whole evening was about playing with her. Your energy was completely on her. Yeah, the losers were less effective at catching her attention, but that doesn’t make you the winner, it makes you the most successful among the losers.
Admittedly, for men, sex is a significantly more known quantity than for women. If you get a woman in the sack you’re 99% guaranteed to get your rocks off. But that’s true whether the woman is Hipster Blonde or someone else. There is no hard and fast connection between beauty and sexual ability, so really it’s about winning against the other sexual competitors, more than about the sex itself. The real victory is everybody witnessing your success; the physical pleasure is basically rendered secondary.
(Actually, I understand there’s a stereotype where the hotter she is, the more a starfish she is, because a 10 has never had to develop any skills. I know that it certainly seems to be the case with some hot guys! I’d love your review of that stereotype, actually.)
Now, you can take everything I write with a grain of salt this big: I have never been a big participant in club culture, and I clean up real nice, but I’d call myself more a max 8, 8.5 than a 10. If that’s enough points docked that this is all sour grapes, fine by me.
I just find the idea of landing the 10 to be a highly Pyrrhic victory — unless your primary goal is to impress the other men who were trying for her!
That irony that I ended up only the most successful among the losers is the point of the story, it’s not there unintentionally and I’m totally aware of it.
But a major difference you have to understand is this: until I fucked up, we were playing with each other, a two-way street. She was eating out of my hand and coming back for more. With the other guys it was a total one-way street. Remember, I’m a guy, and at the end of the day on average I’ve got to do a bulk of the work and put most of the effort in order to get laid. There’s no way the average guy scores hot women without putting energy into it. It’s only when I openly kissed her ass that I lost.
Yes, I mean looks specifically.
Did she actually say that “be a bitch wear a skirt” thing? Or was that poetic license?
100% true quote, no exaggeration, no poetic license.
The line became a regular saying among the crew since.
life lessons no doubt. and respect to her for making sure you got the lesson.
Wow. That was quite a line she gave you. Dang! LOL!
I think, from my perspective, you guys’ initial “back and forth” thing was probably interesting to her. Like, something different from the “oh, you’re so hot” spiel she’d apparently been getting from EVERY other guy that night. If it were me, I’d probably think you were funny. I like sarcasm. It’s my humor. I wouldn’t take it as you being a jerk unless it got out of line to an outright insult.
But, maybe I’m just like hipster blonde and don’t know it.
Point taken.
Thanks for the laugh T. Great stories.
Great yarns. And both sound like mega learning experiences.
Chicks Dig Jerks…
I’ve heard this bit of conventional wisdom and it never made much sense to me; it only seemed like a lousy excuse used by wimpy guys who can’t compete for the affections of desirable women to dull the pain of their failure – “oh, she doesn’t like h…
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