The Wrestler

Ladies, this next entry is dedicated to the devoted wing women we have in our lives...and for all the sh*thead friends they have to suffer through so that we may get to know their “friend” – for that night at least.


Below is a recap I had with said sh*thead friend a few saturdays back:


W: So can I ask you something?

Me: Whatsup?

W: So like, do you wrestle??

Me: WHAT?? Haha (hmm attempted humor?? Not sure yet…)

W: Seriously, like do you wrestle?? Because you look like you could really throw down and just be like so focused and...yea, throw down!

Me: (Ok, I think he may be trying to banter…I’ll play along) Umm...no I don't wrestle, but I’ve been known to kick box and I could kick YOUR ass in a heartbeat.

W: Oh yea!!! I know you could….I mean, so seriously do wrestle? (Beginning to jump up in down in seat and visibly get excited)

Me: Do you?? (W T F*CK!?! This must be his witty way of telling me he wants to get it on…no thank you. No thank you if you were the last man standing, no thank you.)

W: Yes I do. I mean, I haven't YET because I've been waiting for a worthy opponent…and I think I just found one…

Me: (Visuals of him jumping on the table and ripping his shit Hulk style flood my mind and my looks of horror must have precipitated his next response…)

W: Ohh my god...did I just make it awkward!??!! (Begins to punch himself in the face) Oh my god, I didn't mean to make it awkward...I really meant it as a compliment...like you just look strong…and like if you wrestled you could really throw down.

Me: (Poking bar companions and jets the bar – 2 minutes FLAT).


The next morning I heard a bit of feedback from my friend from the sh*thead:
"I think your friend might think I’m weird…”

The takeaway ladies is this: as wing women, sometimes we just have to throw down.

The Proposal

Day One: Made out at the club.
Day Two: Blamed it on the alcohol.
1 month later: We're friends, hanging out, having fun.

One night, we're at Vertigo celebrating a friends passing of a different kind of Bar. After a particularly strenuous dance session, I go to have a cig outdoors. He pursues and the following conversation ensues:

Dude: So I think you're a great girl and I want to know how you feel about me.
Me: Yeah you're a cool dude. I'm glad we're friends.
Dude: I think there's something more than that between us.
Me: Um, you're a great guy, but I don't want a relationship right now, blahblahblah... "It's not you, it's me."
Dude: So are you really trying to say that when we made out at the club that one time, you didn't feel anything? I could have been any random stranger?
Me: Sorry, but yeah it really could have been anyone.

That's not all folks.

Two days later, I'm checking my email and I have one from the dude titled "Proposal." Oh I wish I had saved that gem of an email. Basically it went like this:

Dear You,
I think we have a lot in common and I really enjoy hanging out with you. I would really like us to be friends, but think there's a lot of sexual tension between us. I really want to be friends though and think it'd be best to just address it. That's why I propose that you and I hook up, just once. Don't worry, no one has to know. Don't think about it, just say yes.
-Dude

I deleted and never spoke to him again.

Lesson: There's always a price to be paid for drunken makeout sessions.

The Vegetarian

While stern lust lessons can be gleaned from after a romp or two, I think homage needs to be paid to the brief encounters between the sexes: screamed dialogue on the barstool, whispered rhymes in a dark corner and my personal favorite, the getting-to-know-you talk on the dancefloor. Its Saturday night and I'm in the mood for a little bit spice...hip hop style. Met a vegetarian/documentarian/rapper/hip hop promoter stemming from no other town but Bizerkeley. He was rockin a fedora, bright blue hula shirt and v neck cardigan..yes you can blame it on the Goose but I thought he was a cutie. This is us on the dancefloor:

K: So you're a vegetarian huh?

Biz: Yea, do you eat pork?

K: I'm chinese, obviously I do...

Biz: is that where you got THESE pork buns?

The takeaway here lovelies is this: never trust a man who doesn't eat meat and definitely never trust a man who compares your best assets to dim sum.

The Perv

Angie met "Hip Hop" at a Brooklyn Circus party at Yoshi's. After an initial failed attempt at making out with her on the spot, fuxting, flirting and phone calls culminated in a late night birthday booty session. After the booty, Hip Hop ignored A for a week then popped up one evening with a "Come over and fuck?" text.

Shocked and a little irritated, Angie ignored it until a bottle of sake emboldened her to text back: "You're officially in my perv category." A drunken phone call ensued where A sounded off about not being a hoar, how the sex wasn't even that great and how Hip Hop shoulda brought his A game. After realizing that A wasn't going to come over, HH was "super embarrassed," said A was a dope girl and he had come at it like whatev's. Parting words: "Guess I blew it... Peace."

Obviously, boy needed some schooling on how to treat a lady if he wanted to get that booty again.

Lessons learned: You can never go wrong by calling them on their bullshit.

The Pimp

My friend "Tiffanie" likes to number the guys she's met thus far after being in two consecutive long term relationships. This is an excerpt from a recent conversation with # 5:
T: What do you do?
5: I make investments in escort services.
T: Oh, you mean you're a pimp.
5: No... (10 minutes of trying to explain away his occupation)
T: Wait, can I ask you something?
5: Is it if I sleep with the girls?
T: No, I was just wondering if you started talking to me cause you wanted to pimp me out. Cause I'm not like that...

Sex in the Other City

Decided to switch up the format of my blog. My friends and I are all single at the moment and the stories we've amassed are a bit too hilarious not to share. Girls, please read and know that you are not alone in this crazy game called dating. Guys, read on and perhaps learn a thing or two.