I Suck At Approaching Women

After becoming single, I started hanging out with friends from back in the day. It turns out that they were single, too, and I started going to clubs with them.

Here’s the biggest problem: I don’t like going to clubs. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and here’s the kicker: I don’t know how to pick up women.

Approaching A Girl In A Club

The other day, I actually approached a girl in a club. I looked at her, she looked back, I looked away. We did that a couple of times. Then, as smooth as a peanut butter, I said,

Hi, How are you? [long pause] I apologize, I have no game whatsoever.

I guess I thought that’d be endearing or something. I should note that she was one of the biggest girls in the club. I figured I’d start with the easy ones…

Now, it’s not that I don’t like big women…I just don’t want to be seen with them in public. There are inside girls (girls that you don’t want to be seen with) and there are outside girls (girls that you’d like your friends to see you with). Inside girls get texted at 2am. Inside girls are talked to when you’re in line at Wal-Mart. The interesting dynamic is that inside girls often want to go outside with you, because more often than not, you are the outside guy. It’s a game of cat and elephant.

Why Am I So Afraid?

Seriously, what the hell should I say? I look at a hot girl, and my mind says, ‘You have nothing to say to her.’

You know why I think that? Because in my experience, seven times out of ten, hot girls are horrible conversationalists. They just sit there like mute geisha’s, expecting you to do all of the heavy lifting. Now, that might also be because they didn’t want to talk to me in the first place…but…oh ok…that makes sense…crap.

How Does That Guy Do It?

And this is the thing that pisses me off…even the guy with the horrible facial hair talks to girls at the club! You know the guy with the chinstrip that looks like it was handcrafted by a Jamaican barber afflicted with Parkinsons? Fuck you, bad chinstrap guy…tell me your secrets.

What Was That?!

One of the hardest parts is actually hearing the other person. I suck at talking in clubs. There’s an art to it that I haven’t figured out yet. How do you seem attractive when you’re yelling at a girl in her ear?

And I can’t hear them, either. Have you ever pretended to hear what someone said by smiling and nodding, only to realize that they were asking you a question? That’s me…all of the time.

Should I buy them a drink?

I don’t want to buy them a drink, though. Because if the conversation goes nowhere, then she has to stay with me at least until she’s finished the drink. Then she’ll walk away and I’ll be there like, ‘I could have gotten a large mango-pineapple smoothie with two dollars left over for a double hamburger with what I just spent to stand beside you awkwardly.’ And now she becomes the girl that you half-lock eyes with throughout the night, a constant reminder of the frayed love connection that you just couldn’t troubleshoot.

Nerdy Conversations

Here’s the thing: I’m a nerd, so all of my conversation start off bland. I asked this girl if she was in school. She said no. I asked her where she was working. She said she worked at a store in the mall.

Should I keep asking her questions about that? I mean, should I congratulate her on managing to graduate to Mall Store Girl from Mall Kiosk Girl? I asked her if she was going to school, and she said no. Every fibre in my body was yelling, ‘How do you expect to graduate from Mall Store Girl if you don’t…!?!?’

And I mean no offense to mall store girls. It takes a lot of…patience to stand on your feet for 8 hours a day, folding $5 tank tops while the Assistant Manager chirps at you because you forgot to say hi to the large woman who walked in who won’t be able to fit into anything the store carries. Big women oggle clothing like poor men oggle cars; both groups know it’s not meant to be, but the fantasy feels nice all the same.

Interesting, not Arousing

Now, when it comes to hanging out in a casual setting, I’m an excellent conversationalist…but I’m the type of guy that has engrossing conversations with girls regarding topics that will never lead to sex. The last exchange I had with a girl was about what investments she’d suggest given a five-year timeline. She was impressed with my interest and insight, then went to dance with the taller guy. That’s my life. Conversation good enough to keep a girl captivated but not enough to get her aroused.

Transitioning From Talking To Grinding/Bubbling/Wining

And how does one transition from witty banter to rhythmically rubbing my front parts on her hind parts to soca and/or reggae? Do I have to hope that a song she absolutely loves comes on and she can’t help but dance? Do I have to have sufficiently arousing conversation such that she feels compelled to dance in public like she should be dancing in private? Both?

Nightmare on Approach Street

And approaching girls on the street? Get outta here. That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever heard of. There is absolutely no reason for us to talk. And am I supposed to pretend that I’m interested in something other than your body? Approaching someone on the street seems like the socially acceptable way to sexually proposition a woman. But isn’t it possible to admire someone for their looks while approaching them with the intention to get to know them? I guess. But you can’t deny that the sexual spectre is hanging over the conversation.

Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places

But maybe I’m going to the wrong places to meet girls. I shouldn’t expect to meet girls with an education when I’m going out to the local clubs in Scarborough. If I want to meet a girl that is going somewhere, perhaps I should tip the probability scales in my favour by attending bars and clubs downtown? But that introduces a whole new problem….downtown girls want downtown guys with downtown jobs and downtown condo’s…and I’m not that. I’m a suburbs guy that grew weary of the downtown life and now lives in the suburbs on the third floor of a townhouse with his mom and sister.

Even more than that, I’m a suburbs guy that is crafting a life that doesn’t include a wife. When I picture my life as a touring comedian, I don’t see a woman by my side.

Ok, so things kinda ended on a dark note. But all is not lost! Dennis Brown, named by Bob Marley as the Crown Prince of Reggae, takes us home…