Clubbing

A Guide to Getting a Girl’s Digits

Last night, our friends got together to celebrate Chris turning another year wiser.

We went to this bar/lounge/club in Orange County called The Commissary Lounge. I would like to rename this place The Meat Market. I have coined it The Meat market because my girlfriends and I could feel the eyeballs scanning us from head to toe as we walked into the empty room at 9:30. Picture a big warehouse, empty in the center of the room, and the perimeters lined with couches, a full bar, and a DJ. As the time passed on and the center started filling in, I did notice some women whenever I scanned the room for Chris. But it was definitely a sausage fest from where I was standing. So much of a sausage fest that there was an endless rotation of men who approached we three girls the entire night.

Credit: Yelp

As one of Chris’s friends puts it, “You know you’re a hot commodity when you’re drunk and you didn’t even pay for a single drink.”

Chris has written posts about how he thinks men should approach women. Given yesterday’s eventful night, I’d like to share a woman’s perspective of what works and what doesn’t work. Without further ado, I share with you a tactical guide to getting a girl’s number.

WHAT WORKS: Approaching a girl and asking her common questions like, A/S/L? I must have told at least 5 guys that we were from Arizona and I now live in Fullerton. *Yawn*.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: Small talk and basic get-to-know-you is okay, but what really stands out is when someone can spark a common interest or make an interesting observation off the bat. It is also refreshing when someone can show off their sense of humor or personality instead of interview you. Maybe I am annoyed by the interview questions because I’m a recruiter Monday-Friday. Leave me alone.

Example: A guy started asking a series of “Would you rather” questions. “Would you rather be fat with a beautiful face or have a model body with an ugly face?” … “Would you rather live life to the fullest and die at 35 or live a stable, ordinary life until 60?” … “Would you rather have hair all of your body and not be able to shave or be hairless everywhere?” The defensive shield lowered with every laugh.

WHAT WORKS: Early on in the night when the room was empty, us three girls sat on the couches. We were engaging in conversation until a pot head randomly sat down on one end and proceeded to have a conversation with Ms. Hot Commodity. This approach was okay, as he ended up conversing for around 15 minutes. Apparently he was pretty deep with the aid of Mary Jane.

WHAT WORKS BETTER: A really outgoing, confident dude came up to all three of us on the dance floor. What was really smooth about this approach was he didn’t single any one of us out. But what he was able to pick up from this conversation was that I was in a relationship, another was engaged, and only one was available. Even then, he continued to engage with the engaged girl, making jokes like, “How did I not notice that? Look at that ring. That must be a VS2.” Girls look to their girlfriends for approval and by being friendly with a girl’s girlfriends, you’ve just made allies. Plus, if you are able to learn multiple girls are single, you can then make your move instead of strike out with the, “Sorry. I have a boyfriend.” move. Often told by single girls as a shield.

WHAT DOESN’T WORK: A dude literally came up to me and introduced himself as we shook hands. The next question he asks is, “Where are you from?” As I internally sighed, I explain I’m from AZ but moved to Fullerton. He follows up with, “What made you move out here?” I replied, “For love.” What happened next? This fool literally walked away. Good luck getting close to my single friends!

WHAT REALLY WORKS: Be genuinely nice. There were a group of guys towards the end of the night who offered to buy us girls multiple drinks. But then one of them realized Miss Anonymous probably had reached her limit, and offered to get her water. Not just tap water but bottled water. This doesn’t really matter too much to me because when I’m dehydrated I could care less if it is filtered but bonus points to this super considerate nice guy.

By the way, this guy was the only one out of all the sausages who ended up leaving with a number. 🙂

#Winning

~Emily

A Personal Vignette II: The Orange Dress

The dance floor was a sea of bodies. People were dancing, yet no one had any space to move. My friends and I had been there many times, and on this particular night there were five of us. We were two hours into our night and by then the drinks were flowing. We felt good, and the vibe was whimsical. Everyone was having fun.

The club was dark inside, with the main sources of light being the blue beams that highlighted the dance floors and the bars. There were three bars at this club: one near the main entrance and one in the back of each of the two dance floors. There was a constant stream of patrons peddling through the dark walkways that connected the two dance floors; the restroom, which was located in between the dance floors; and the outside patio, where people went out to catch some fresh air and smoke cigarettes.

Inside, it was loud; the combination of the music blasting and the raucous of the crowd was a familiar noise. Every now and then a glass would break, but no one really cared. One dance floor played house and the other played hip-hop. The hip-hop floor was the more popular one.

At this particular moment, I was alone. I had either gone to the restroom or the bar, I can’t remember which. People were all around but I didn’t know any of them. I felt the weight of solitude in a place where people existed in groups. I went looking for my friends.

I knew some of them had to be on the hip-hop floor. I quickly spotted Tony and Alan. Tony had a huge grin on his face; he was probably on drink number eight. Alan was bobbing his head to the music with a relaxed smile, because, well, that’s what Alan does. I didn’t see Dave or Jeff anywhere. They were probably having a smoke outside.

I was with Tony and Alan when I saw her. In a crowd full of moving body parts she seemed to stand still. She was a good ten feet away from me. We caught eyes, and for some reason neither of us looked away. She had curly hair, dyed brown, that went down to the shoulders, and she was wearing an orange dress. She might have been Chinese or Vietnamese; I was never good at telling. We locked eyes for a good ten seconds. She was pretty, and she was smiling. Then she called me over with her index finger.

I didn’t refuse the invitation. I might have thought her advances were strange and been put off by them had I not been as intoxicated as I was from the drinking. But I didn’t care; she seemed harmless, and a woman’s smile can disarm even the most guarded men. I came up to her and she placed her arms on top of my shoulders, wrapping them around my neck. She was about five inches shorter than me. We began to dance. She had the same look on her face throughout-that easy smile which looked painted on her face by a smooth brush. She kept her eyes on me as we moved closer together, and then we kissed.

There was no hello. I didn’t even know the sound of her voice, let alone her name, and yet here we were, sucking face on the hip-hop floor. I was buzzed but fully aware of how odd this was, and I just went with it. We continued for about five minutes. Afterwards, I lifted my head and felt the alcohol rushing through my brain. It was as if I had sucked some booze out of the girl’s mouth and into my system. I looked at her and she gave me one last smile, and then she walked away without saying a single word. I was a bit shocked.

Then the music stopped and the lights turned on. The once boisterous crowd composed themselves, turning off their wild, uninhibited alter egos that were present just a while before. I was still in a daze, the combination of the drinks and the girl in the orange dress leaving me a bit disheveled. Our group walked out of the club together. I didn’t tell any of them what happened.

We were walking back to our car when I saw her again. She was walking barefoot, heels in hand. Our exchange a half hour ago was so bizarre that I felt compelled to go over to her to try to make some sense of it all. I sneaked away from my friends and began walking towards her. I was heading her way when I stopped in my tracks: the girl in the orange dress rushed to a nearby trash can, bent over it, and started vomiting. A girlfriend held her hair back as she heaved with her entire upper body. I quickly turned back and caught up with my friends as if I never changed direction at all.

I learned something valuable that night: Making out with a random girl in a club is a risk-she might throw up in your face.

– Chris.

Chris’s Personal Stories Part 1 – Thomas Crowned

I am such a douche.

That was the prevailing thought, over and over in my head. Here I was, at an LA club, sipping on a Jack and Coke, wondering what the hell just happened. She did seem like she was having fun. We were getting along, laughing and chit-chatting. I had thought that – actually, I have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I had thought that we would at least have fun together that night.

So then why is she nowhere to be seen?

Rewind 20 minutes. “Hey, that’s a cool bracelet!” Wait; did I just say Hey, that’s a cool bracelet? Stay composed. In retrospect, I should’ve picked up my bat and ball, and slowly walked away. If only the Game could just kick your ass like a first round Mike Tyson knockout, guys would have a better time dealing with it. But, as it is, it’ll usually torture you for fifteen rounds like Floyd Mayweather, jabbing and shoulder-rolling you to death. But anyways, I’ve opened. I can’t abort now. Be strong. Stand up straight. Alpha Male. Grow a sack of balls and talk.

She says “Thanks!” with a smile, which of course I took to mean Come flirt with me now. I strike up small talk. I ask uber-interesting questions like, Do you come here often? and Are you from around here? because, you know, I’m so clever and original and no way has she been asked these questions a million times in her life. I think to myself, “Hmm. The conversation is stalling. Quick, alcohol, save me.” How can she reject me if I buy her a drink, right? It’s a full-proof guarantee.

I am such a genius.

I’m leaning over the bar. Damn this place is packed. I yell, “Two Jack and Cokes!” to the bartender. He pours what looks like two Cokes with a splash of Jack, turns to me and says “24 dollars.” Alright, don’t be distracted by the price, you’re in the middle of something. I turn around, hand her a drink, and then turn back to the bar to sign off on the tab. I put the pen down, pick up my drink, turn around, and what do you know, she’s gone. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared like Thomas Crown in a museum.

I am such a jackass.

Fortunately, this was many years ago. I was quite the spring chicken back then. It’s experiences like these that can ruin men or make them. Instead of thoughts like Fuck her or What a bitch, I’ve come to realize that this is just the way it is. People set up unrealistic expectations. Awareness of your surroundings is a good quality, but an even greater one is self-awareness. I can see now that I was less concerned about talking and getting to know someone and more concerned with winning someone over.

And to the fellas – quit buying random girls drinks. You want to curry favor with someone – be interesting. Have fun. Listen. A drink won’t (well, it shouldn’t) make her forget that you’re still a stranger, an unknown. You’re a newde – a new dude. Yes, guys are still out there getting Thomas Crowned all over the place. Let’s not get too upset. It’s nothing personal.

As we’ve learned from The Wire: The game is the game. Always.