Picking Up

Last night, my three best friends since elementary school and I went out to the Viceroy to celebrate C's 25th birthday. It had been eight years since we were all together to ring in the occasion (we aren't terrible friends, I swear--between 9/11 happening the day before her 18th and C going to San Fran for college we didn't get the chance), and we went out with the intention of spending quality time with each other, as C was in only for this weekend. Typically we go to Starbucks in sweats when we hang out, so getting dressed up--hair tousled and lips glossed--was a pretty big deal.

Over our first round of Lemon Drops the four of us were huddled on the Viceroy's slick porcelain-colored chaise lounges, discussing our impending infertility, of all things, when this guy dropped down on his haunches, filling a tiny gap in our circle. He proclaimed himself a "professional conversation interrupter." We despised him instantly. He asked what we "ladies" were talking about. "Fertility and babies," I said, hoping to scare him off. The guy started talking about eggs and fertility drugs, divulged his mother is a twin. We glanced at each other, making a silent pact to humor him.

After a couple more minutes of yammering about test tube babies, he asked what we were doing out. I said we came to celebrate C's birthday. "Twenty-one?" he asked nodding at her. "Yup!" she replied, not bothering to emit the sarcasm from her voice. After asking what she wanted for her birthday, I told him that a round of drinks would be nice. (A girl's gotta try, right? Drinks were like $16 apiece!) When it was obvious we wouldn't be getting those, A jumped in, saying, quite nicely actually, that the best present would be for him to "let us get back to our conversation."

Something must have been in the vodka because odd advances from men continued. My favorite was later in the night, during another round of drinks, when some 40-something tried to pick us up with, "Hey, if I hang out with you, you ladies will attract more guys." Eesh. "Ladies" again. So creepy. When we said we weren't interested, politely at first, forcefully when he wouldn't leave, he stammered, saying something about how we shouldn't come out at all if we didn't want to meet guys. Then, he accused us of being lesbians, which we emphatically nodded at--yup! that's it!--practically begging him to leave us alone.

After both guys left, hiding dejection poorly with forced anger--we hadn't been nice enough to tell them we all had boyfriends--I couldn't help but think of Neil Strauss' book "The Game." For those not familiar, Strauss, a Rolling Stone reporter, went undercover to explore the pick-up artist world, introducing us to Mystery, who ran training camps on how to pick up women(he got his own show on VH1 after the book came out).

Most guys pick up girls the same way. They just kinda appear and stand there, awkwardly nodding along before asking a yes or no question. Mystery says that guys need to have a plan, lure us in with a memorable line, a magic trick even. But if the guys last night were any indication, those tactics just made them look like douchebags to a woman with half a brain. Sure, I'm remembering, but not for the right reasons.

I guess if I was single, drunker, and not celebrating C's birthday for the first time in nearly a decade, I would have been nicer to these guys. It is difficult to approach a stranger, let alone a whole group of hot girls (no apologies for honesty!). Men are burdened with having to be the ones to approach and then, in 30 seconds or less, show us they are interesting, funny, charming, and rich all at the same time.

If anything, those guys made me more thankful I have a boyfriend and don't need to subject myself to their kind, night after night, hoping some day one who isn't completely boring or douchey will approach. I learned firsthand that meeting halfway decent guys in bars really is a fruitless activity, as many of my single friends lament...