Haaaaaaaaave you met, me?

No really, have you?

My friends and I had an impromptu BBQ last night. I was sitting on my balcony with a couple of friends talking about what we were going to do for the night and we decided that we should get some food. Five phone calls, sixteen text messages and two hours later we were dining on some delicious hamburgers, hot dogs and coneys that one of my friends had grilled. Whilst dining on our very American food and throwing back a couple of Sam Adams Summer Ale, we got into a discussion of one of my friends from college.

It is funny because now I look at this guy as the kind of friend that most people would cringe about. At times he can be socially awkward, if you don’t know him he will be a complete asshole, and he really isn’t a man of his word. Now none of these things really have anything to do with the point of this story, but I felt like being a prick and sharing some of his character flaws.

So back to the point of this story, he called me a couple of weeks ago to catch up since we hadn’t talked in a good two months and wanted to see how things were going. I was sharing with him the tales of my recent exploits and he made a comment on how easy it is for me to pick up women. Now I certainly will not argue that fact. I’ve often been compared to a Pablo Picasso, Michaelangelo, or Leonardo di Vinci.

What he said was pretty bold, even for me. His thought was that I didn’t really need to put any effort in to picking up girls at the bar. Now while I would like to think that it really is that easy, I know that I can’t just walk into the bar and “let them smell me” like he thinks should be possible. So after explaining to him that it really doesn’t work like that, he asked me why I hadn’t had a more recent story for him. I apologized for not having an exploit from the previous weekend but made it known that it really wasn’t my fault.

You see, he wasn’t privy to the information that at present I lack a true wingman. And just in case he wasn’t following my line of thought, I had to explain to him how most of the guys that I know around here happen to be dead. They might still be breathing, but they are in some ridiculous sort of committed relationship, be it marriage, girlfriend, cougar, etc., that they really have no opportunity to come out for a night of hitting on and picking up any of the tasty treats that I happen to write about from time to time.

I can hear the cries now that a true artist shouldn’t need any help. And I certainly agree that to a certain extent, I shouldn’t need any assistance. I’ve never needed anyone to hold my hand in my conquests. The problem comes from being that guy at the bar. You all know that guy. You avoid him at the bars because he is there by himself. He is typically at least slightly inebriated and you aren’t really sure where he came from. So, to assure that I do not turn out to be that guy, I at least need to have one or two people at the bar with me.