Your Pick-Up Lines are Worse Than Mine
I’m not exactly the best at picking up a dude. I’m a sober-shy (yes, I just made myself a new noun) , which is someone who cannot approach an attractive person without absorbent amounts of alcoholic beverages in their system.
When I have reached that point, I tend to stumble up to said hottie and blurt out something along the lines of “Hey, you’re cute, where’d you get your mustache?”
And they typically just stare at me.
And then I ask, “Can I touch it?”
And then they walk away.
I thought this was bad. I really thought I took the cake for worst pick-up lines, worst encounters….. the chick who just couldn’t get it together. But lately, I’ve been paying more attention to what the hell is actually happening in my life, and so, my sweet Gypsea Catters, (or just readers if you really detest the idea of being referred to as such), here are the top three most bizzare pick-up lines and/or encounters I’ve been subject to:
1. The Australian Sass-Attack
So this one time, I’m at a bar, and what looked like a stick figure with a long-sleeved flannel shirt and board shorts, was in reality an actual person. Despite his frightening frame, he had long blonde hair, a mustache and an Australian accent, so naturally, I was game. AT FIRST. Eventually I was over it, and found a reason to walk away to the other end of the bar. After an extended amount of time sans Australian, I look up to find him slamming down a couple of napkins in front my spot at the bar and storming off never to be seen again.
THIS is what I received:
Can you read that? If not, don’t worry, it’s hard to decipher a crazy-fuck’s drunken scribble. Basically, it’s like, “Oi! You suck. I thought we could have a good night together. Bitch ass.”
Uh-huh. You REALLY win a chick over by assuming you’re going to take her home, then writing it on napkins at a bar and calling her a bitch ass. Well done sir.
2. The Indian Giver
Last weekend my girlfriend and I walk into the diviest of dive bars for a brew, when this mediocre mid-40’s dude tells us he’d like to win our hearts over with a couple shots of Fireball (if you don’t know what that is, find it, drink it, and then thank me later). So we’re like, “Ugh okay, fine” (because being an independent woman and getting your own drinks is way too modern an ideal to comprehend). So we get the shots, which are actually double shots, and we take half and set the rest down to chill for a minute.
But the mediocre mid- 40’s dude starts getting all snappy with us, saying shit like “You guys need to finish your shots. It’s disrespectful not to.”
And we’re like “We will. But we’re ladies (no we’re not) and we like to take our time (we were just too drunk).”
And he’s like, “I’m not okay with that,” and takes both of our shots, pours them into one glass and swallows the cinnamon whiskey down
like he bought them or something.
So we’re like, “See ya later dick,” and he has the nerve to ask us for our phone numbers.
3. The Eyebrow Observer
Now this guy I never met. But one night, I’m working and on Facebook (because naturally thats the most productive way to spend my time) and find a very strange message from a very strange man. It reads:
“So, a buddy and I were about to go out, but we decided to goof around online a bit first, and came across your page. Don’t ask how the topic came up, but we got into the strangest argument as to whether or not your eyebrows are plucked or waxed (they are nice by the way). Now we have a bet going on. He thinks you only wax them and he has to pay $20 if he loses. I think (though you may wax/thread) you pluck for upkeep, and I have to wash his car if I lose.”
And I’m reading this message thinking:
Because I mean honestly, what would motivate you to find a complete stranger on Facebook and make a bet with your buddy regarding the grooming process of my eyebrows? Is that supposed to turn me on? Do you think I’m going to respond with something like, “Ohhhh, why don’t you guys come over and see for yourselves.”
No. Just no.
What about me sends these excruciatingly foolish men my way? Is it that I seem like a cheap date with my unbrushed mane and excessive amounts of fringe? Maybe. Was I staring at their mustache too long? Perhaps. Is it my extremely well-shaped eyebrows? Absolutely.
Whatever it really is, it makes me tired and nauseated and further pushes me to long for a solitary life with just Me-My-Cat-and I.