After two weeks, I’m finally back. And since it’s Monday, that means that the new issue of Night Life is out with a Big Words edition of ‘Gameday Blues’ (from Slapstick & Superego), a now-classic rant about the scourge of armchair quarterbacks we have in Buffalo. Grab a copy on stands if you haven’t seen it. Also, the latest issue of Acid Logic is up online with ‘Cherry Trees And White House Interns’, a meditation on, well, honesty being the best policy. You can check that one out by clicking over to:
As for the last two weeks, Night Life ran the conclusion to ‘Perpetual Money 3: Wingman Of The Year’ along with the unedited version of ‘Butch & Tom’. I’ll leave you with the full version of ‘Perpetual Money 3’ for you enjoyment. I’ll talk to you all next week,
Perpetual Money III: Wingman Of The Year
Wingman (noun): One who selflessly finds and
secures prospective single women for his available
friends, family and other single loved ones.
It’s hard to believe, but it’s been nine years since I wrote (or more accurately, channeled) ‘Perpetual Money‘, my original manifesto on the rules of singles club dating (published in my first book, Born Pissed from America House). I still consider it the closest thing to personal perfection that I’ve ever written, and in terms of length, flow, humor and style I continue to try and top that single essay with mixed results. A year and a half later (or thereabouts), I wrote ‘Perpetual Money II: The Accidental Gigolo’ which included ten more commandments regarding club going, singles dating, and other detritus (published in my third book, First Person, Last Straw from Authorhouse).
I never thought I’d write another follow up, as the phase of lounge dating has come and gone in my life. I still go out to bars, but it’s for different reasons, and when I was actively trying to date women in clubs, eighty percent of the time they wanted nothing to do with me, or I was too shy to approach one off the cuff, so to speak. Well now we’ve got ourselves an epic trilogy, because it hit me like a ton of bricks this week: I’ve turned into something of a jewish matchmaker on the club circuit. Now that I’m in a committed relationship and I’m no longer a threat to my male peers or a prospect to damaged women, I still play a valuable and needed role in the club stratosphere: The Wingman. A guy who will go the extra mile for his emotionally crippled or socially retarded compatriots. A man who will dive into a group of beautiful, heavily made-up and utterly unattainable girls and talk up his friends while making friends with them at the same time.
I have officially evolved and I’m glad that I haven’t been weaned out of the discotheque gene pool for my status or age. At 31, I can still get my groove on, but I do so with my girlfriend, a small posse of well wishers, hangers-on and close friends, and (alarmingly and refreshingly enough) I pass out and make a gigantic psychotic scenes with less frequency. I’ve even taken up eating while drinking at the same time, which used to be a trick in bars as difficult if not more than patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time. I am now considered something of a godfather to partying among my fellow drinkers, whether we’ve met or not, and writing bar and strip club reviews for the last five years hasn’t hurt. Every so often when we’re out slamming shots, buddying up to the staff, or just kicking back on a patio during the summer with Cosmopolitans and tall, foamy pints, I’ll see a girl or a group look over and whisper ’He writes bar reviews’. I’m touched by that. Getting back to the topic at hand, though…
To be a good wingman, you must be selfless, friendly, and very un-weird. The point is to get some ass for your friends on the front line, so you need to go in without fear and talk a line of bullshit better than Al Sharpton. You also have to know if your friends are capable of hooking up once they get past the protective bubble of hotness that scares them away from available women. So you’re dealing with a full year subscription of issues right there. In my experience, some people just can’t make things happen in bars, with or without assistance, so don’t put in the legwork if it’s being expended on a lost cause. Herein I’ll impart my final ten commandments on club dating in my role as a professional proxy for one night stands. Take copious notes and contact me in the quad office after three on Tuesdays and Thursdays during my office hours if you have any further questions.
Rule #22: Hot Women Are Not Difficult To Talk To: Once you can wrap your head around this one, you’re set. Hot girls are people, just like you and me. They put their crotchless panties and red leather hooker skirts on one leg at time just like anybody else before they go out, so once you truly accept that in your heart and your head, get past it. As a professional Wingman, I enjoy just waltzing up to a group or finding a central location along the bar and letting them lean over next to me to order shots (since I look harmless) and breaking the ice by asking what sort of fruity/difficult/flaming/sexual innuendo shot that they’re drinking for the evening. Sometimes I’ll take my friend’s money and buy them a round of drinks while playing said single guy up. It’s what I do. It’s a personal thrill to capture the attention of four drunken horny girls at the same time, but it goes no further than that. I could be a soulless and sociopathic degenerate by collecting phone numbers on the sly or making cheap hits for my own personal gain, but I don’t. I’m above that. I know when I’ve got a good thing going, so why compromise it? Most guys this late in a relationship are on terminal lockdown at home with their significant others clipping coupons and talking about what housewares they’re going to tandem shop for the next day at Target, so I don’t want to jeoprodize the amount and illusion of personal freedom I’m given. Which leads me to my next rule,
Rule #23: Know Your Limits: Pissing yourself, falling off the stool, drooling, lighting cocktail napkins on fire or punching out the cover band on stage while you’re enjoying a ’night out’ with the ball in chain are all frowned upon. While your primary goal as an amateur partier may or may not be hooking your bros up during the Brodeo TM,
you certainly shouldn’t mess up a good time and end up spending your weeknights at home with a security bracelet attached to your ankle looking at carpet swathes and talking about baby showers. Behave yourself, find out what you can get away with, and don’t go one inch past that crucial boundary. I get away with murder, so again, I am lucky. I’ve hiccupped through entire mix tapes sitting in the passenger seat on the ride home while shoveling burritos into my mouth and dumping them all over my jacket, but this is a once in a while sort of thing. I’ve passed out in the passenger seat and I have a bad habit of cleaning out my car on the ride home tossing my entire back seat out the side window at three in the morning on main highways, but this is also after far too many free shots and the incumbent excitement that accompanies being out with a large group of good friends and hangers on. When you start knocking over barstools ‘by accident’ or projectile vomiting onto your plate of appetizers, it’s time to scale back a bit and become a quick study in impulse control. If you’re not allowed out, you won’t be able to fulfill your civic duty as a Wingman.
Rule #24: Lie Frequently And Spectacularly About Your Friends: ‘He’s 29, he still lives at home and he works part time at a grocery store’ will not get a girl hot and bothered. ‘He’s 33, he hasn’t been in a relationship for over a decade, and he hates non-gun carrying liberals’ won’t work, either. You are responsible for aiding and abetting in getting your buddies laid. You’re off the market, they’re on, and they don’t have a clue, so this is where you come in. Odds are that things won’t turn into a long lasting and healthy union if they hook up so much as they will end up pressing ham against the rear windshield to the rock ballads of Poison at four in the morning with the motor running, so make some shit up! ‘My friend just got back from Iraq and he’s going back into bodybuilding after he donates his tour of duty money to the local orphanage.’ works, or for another example, ‘Drew is hung like a tire iron. He’s packing some heat down there and he sits that way because he doesn’t want to break any cartilage or muscle tissue in his massive and abnormally large member.’ will also garnish a certain degree of success.
Rule #25: Free Drinks Make The World Go Round: I’m no saint, and odds are that you aren’t either, so charge a going rate per lead. You need free drinks, the girls need free drinks, everyone needs free drinks. The worst thing that happens at the end of the night is a case of whiskey dick, and if you’re a Wingman, you’re in a committed relationship so the embarrassment phase of that is long gone and sometimes, even expected and appreciated after long bouts of sweaty, week long monkey sex. There’s a reason why they call it social lubricant: it greases the gears of getting to know new people and strengthens the bonds between old friends looking to wax nostalgic, so pour it on! Help yourself to three free pitchers from down the bar or slam three shots of buttery nipples if that’s what it takes. Women go through their whole goddamned lives drinking free shots so if you don’t convince your fellow drinkers to sport a round they will be instantly disqualified. I know this goes against what I said in the second installment of this series but I’ve learned better since then. Girls NEVER pay for drinks. It sucks, but it’s a fact of life so pry open that wallet and let the money fly. Open up the tab and there’s a good chance that someone else will be opening up your pants for you by the end of the night.
Rule #26: Make Friends With Your Bartender Or Waitress: Tip well and tip often. Tip over the top, off the cuff, make some bank shots and drop some fives on the bar at the first round so they remember you. I’ve got a home base for a bar now, but I still go out to other places and my time tested universal rule for tipping has never failed me. Be patient, introduce yourself, remember the bartenders name and ALWAYS tip five dollars on the first drink order and one to two on each additional. It’s a bartenders job (as well as a good Wingman’s) to facilitate tawdry and short lived relationships but if they don’t like you and you’re not taking care of them, you’ll get jack squat in return. If you buy the bartender shots, get to know them, and point out girls and ask about their eligibility for swinging from a portable wall mounted sex harness for your friend’s benefit, they will clue you in. Bartenders have a god-like power inside of a club: they pour the drinks. They dispense liquefied magic at their own time and pace in direct proportion to how much they do or do not like you. Don’t mess that up. In addition, they talk to everyone along the bar and away from the bar at some point in the evening, so they hold the key to a million sad stories, single proclamations and tawdry trysts. Invest a small amount of capital and the return in punani dollars will be above any publicly traded price on the stock market. That will be the first time I use the word punani in an essay. That was the last. I don’t even know if I spelled it right, but moving on…
Rule #27: It Doesn’t Hurt To Outsource: Time and again I’ve attempted to set friends up in the comfort and luxury of my own home and it always comes off as a matchmaking session. You don’t want to scare off either party, so invite them and twenty other people out for no reason whatsoever and watch the sparks fly. I enjoy the company and conversation of the opposite sex, and it’s no secret that I’m friends with a lot of young and eligible women. I’m also friends with a lot of single guys who make a decent living and retain a great sense of humor. Bring these worlds together and blammo!: coitus. Don’t bother orchestrating a hook-up at the house or apartment level unless it’s during a party and even then it’s risky. Take it on the road, find a bar and the rest is natural. If you know a place that doesn’t have a lot of single girls, invite some that you do know and see if things click. Besides, single girls are more comfortable if they have a friend guy in the vicinity as a security blanket. I never thought I’d be a heterosexual male with female friends in a club setting, but there you go, girlfriend. It’s your birthday. And we’re going to party like…it’s your birthday.
Rule #28 : Don’t Set Someone Up When They Don’t Want To Get Set Up: Some people prefer the crippling pain of blue testicles or they’d rather nurse their pain quietly out of a tall pint glass and wonder what it’s like to enjoy the company of the opposite sex. Odds are that if you have a friend who hasn’t gotten laid in nigh over a decade, they just might like the company of the same sex but they’re too repressed to realize it. If they’re not trying and they’re wrapped in a sea of neuroses so tightly that they’d rather you didn’t introduce them to a Czechoslovakian gymnast with an opposable pelvic bone, let it go. Some people can’t make it work in bars, others need the guidance and skilled craft of a Wingman, and some are nestled so deep into the closet that when they finally come out the ensuing force propelling them outward will be not unlike that of a NASA launch. Don’t make them any more uncomfortable by forcing them into confronting someone from the opposite sex or making friends with new, sexy and interesting people. Plus there are some men with mommy issues so ingrained into their upbringing that they should be strapping a nipple onto their drinks and meeting up with their own mother’s for late night trysts in seedy hotels. Enough said on that subject.
Rule #29: Separate The Herd And Find The Weak Link In The Chain: I used to think that every group had an ‘ugly friend’ and this is true but it’s not always easy to find in a lineup of say, college co-eds, a nurse’s after work party, or a small gathering of The Suicide Girls (meow). While they may all appear blindingly smokingly, I-need-to-unstuck-my-shirt-and-think-about-baseball-before-I-approach-the-chalkboard hot, one of them is the ugly girl of the pack on the inside. She’s the one with the inferiority complex who will work that much harder in bed for your buddy, so as a Wingman, you have to muster up the courage and the personal sacrifice and listen to determine which girl is getting ignored, cut off in conversation, and picked on. She’s the ugly duckling, whether she’s six feet tall with 36 D’s or not. Listen, Locate and Cross Pollinate. Take her aside and guide her towards the target. Don’t make sudden movements, or you’ll scare off the subject.
Rule #30: When Things Are Going Well, Get The Hell Out: If your intentions are true as a bona fide Wingman, get the hell out of there! When the two strike up a meaningful conversation and start trading information about their favorite music, comment interests and all that other miserable shit we all go through during the courting phase of a one night stand or long term death sentence, by all means, leave the premises! Don’t be a cock-block and evacuate immediately. Talk the guy up when he’s not on the scene, scale back once they foster their own conversation, and then go. I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here. It’s his intrinsic duty to call you with steamy details and meticulous notations the next day, so opt out and allow the magic to happen. You’ve just made a friend for life.
And lastly, Rule #31: The Object Is To Indoctrinate Your Single Friends So That They Can Be As Miserable As You Are 30% Of The Time: Single people are annoying with their unlimited personal freedom, financial who-gives-a-damn attitude and the spring in their step. What gives them the right? Dangle the cherry over their noses, let them frolic blissfully into the bear trap and POW!, it’s over. Now they too can enjoy the guilt trips, weight gain, neuroses, sleep instead of sex, theme nights, couples activities, housewares shopping trips to Target for shit that nobody needs anyways, sexual withholding, fights for the sake of breaking a silent pause or personal sense of peace and happiness, and so on. In the process of evolution, they are a threat and an anomaly. Single people should not be. So hook them up with somebody and take them off the market before they remind you what it’s like to be single and miserable instead of attached and miserable.
I am, of course, kidding. A little bit. I’m relieved that I don’t have to hit up the meat market five to seven times a week anymore. The pressure is off and now I can simply go out, enjoy some great food, the company of an eclectic mix of friends, and strong drink. If getting my friend’s laid in the process occurs at some point in the evening, then I have truly accomplished something wonderful in my lifetime. There is no greater gift than the gift of ass. I believe Charles Dickens said that. When I am awarded the Honorary Lifetime Achievement Award For Outstanding Excellence In The Field Of Wingmanship, I will accept it with a Brodeo TM handshake and the three fingered bowling ball high sign. This is what monogamous men in serious relationships do. It is your duty to god and country. Now get to it!
So ends our illustrious trilogy,
Tom ’lounge godfather’ Waters