Tag Archives: playboy bunnies

Your “Game” is terrible. Try again.

I know many of you are clamoring to hear all about NASCAR adventures, all the hot rugby boys we hung out with, all the beer I drank, the number of hot dogs I ate, the ridiculously fat guy in a speedo that Queenie took a photo with, etc. I promise to get on that as soon as possible. But I must take a timeout and add some thoughts to Tuesday’s post. Thanks to one of my dear friends here in Raleigh, a book has come to my attention which I had never heard of. Correction: I had heard of this kind of  book/tv show/concept but it stayed in that back part of my mind that holds all the irrelevant information. In general I never really thought any of this was actually put in practice, but last Friday I was proven wrong apparently.

The book is called The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. Click the link and read, as I did, the synopsis/editorial review provided by Amazon.com, and you may find some familiar lines in just that one summary paragraph. I must admit I was shocked when I read this. While I do not find it remotely hard to believe that books like this exist, I do find it incredible that guys actually use this jank in public on real live women and think they will get results. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m too picky, or snobby, or just not as dumb and easy as other chicks are. I don’t know because I’m me. Ladies? Am I wrong? Is this not ridiculous? When I relayed this development to Momma Sassy, we had a good laugh which was followed by her expressing sympathy for these two epic failure pickup artist wannabes. “I actually feel bad for them,” she says, in that motherly-pity-voice that mothers do so well. I am shocked and do not see any room for sympathy or pity in this situation and ask her to explain. “Well, don’t you think it’s just pitiful that they felt the need to read a book to teach them how to just talk to women?” Um, not really. “I just think it’s extremely pitiful.” Ok fine, I agree, it’s pitiful but I feel zero sympathy for a guy who thinks “Do you believe in magic tricks” is a good way to start a conversation at a bar. Or anywhere. Just say no.

Let’s take a step back. I am not so insensitive to think that all men should just know they should just be themselves and be confident enough to talk to a pretty girl/gorgeous cougar at a bar/some other public venue. It’s like Hitch said, a guy wants a plan because he’s worried he might walk up to said lady and have a brain fart (as I referred to them in the past, so ladylike).  But seriously, being yourself and being normal…it works. Even if you are only trying to, as Momma Sassy so delicately put it, “get into someone’s pants” for one night, I’d say you have a better chance of succeeding if you aren’t a super sketch ball right from the start, especially with some kid magic trick my 10 year old cousin can do. How about, show me the magic of your personality and why I should pick you out of every other guy in here? If you start talking and I start wishing I had stayed home to watch Gilmore Girls reruns, it’s not good.

What is super great (and gratifying for gals like me) about this book is that, at the end, the author apparently comes to the same conclusion as I have stated here. The pickup lines and supposed “smoothness” don’t actually work. As the synopsis says: “…he comes to an important realization. His techniques were actually off-putting to the woman he ended up falling in love with. And they never prepared him for actually having a relationship. After a while, he ran out of one-liners and had to have a real conversation.” OMG ya’ll! A real conversation! Who would have guessed that in the end, none of those chicks he “scored” would want to end up with him? Who knew that women like a real guy who knows how to carry on a conversation. We do actually want a man with a brain, in addition to our desire for big biceps and 6-packs. Shocking news. Also I love the part about how it didn’t prepare him for a relationship. Um, ya think?

So I guess, if you would like to have an in general meaningless existence filled with meaningless hookups, dumb chicks, and herpes, read and heed the advice of this book and others like it. If, however, you are on the prowl for a cute chick with a brain, try using “hi” and “my name is …” as your pickup lines and she just might say hi back.


Are you judging me? That’s hot.

Happy Friday, fabulous friends and family! I love alliteration.

Anywho, today I saw something funny on the way to work.  I wanted plenty of time to get to work so I could be early for the Stat GAAP class I took this morning (What? I will perhaps cover this in a later post).  Ok so I’m in the car, vroom-vrooming and la-di-daing my way east on 64 (as stated previously, it’s like the karaoke half-hour for me), and I’m passing car after car, doing some good people watching while obviously keeping my eyes on the road at all times.  Suddenly out of nowhere there comes this red civic…the kind that came out in 1992 that run for 200,000,000 miles before you have to trade it in. As I’m coming up on this here quality vehicle, I notice a very large playboy bunny sticker on the rear passenger-side window.  And not just any size sticker, it’s like a person-size rendering of the bunny’s head, complete with bowtie.  It is HUGE.  I mean this thing took up the entire side window.  Then I notice…there’s one on BOTH sides of the car. Both. Sides.  Is this really necessary?  Ok so my judgementalism kicks in (you know you are straight up hatin on every person you pass on the highway every day), and I immediately think Kendra from that show about Hugh’s sexy young “girlfriends” (if it was a dude it would have been the silhouette of the naked chic…seen those? Real classy). Ok well this…”lady” was not even from the same planet as Kendra. [Major judgement time:] This lady is possibly the biggest woman I’ve ever seen.  In my life, even.  I mean HUGE.  And it wasn’t like oh well if she lost some weight in her face she’d be pretty.  I’m sorry, no. So I’m sort of like staring in shock (she’s 2 lanes away), and then she looked over at me! Dear Jesus deliver me from this section of highway to another section.  She has clearly just caught me in prime judgemental mode.  The look on her face was just deadly and had she not been exiting onto 295 at that moment, it would have been battle of the tiny vehicles.  I have 172 brand new turbo-charged horses on my side though (sexy), pretty sure I would have won.  Regardless, I got caught and learned something about myself: I have no control over my judgmental face. What does that mean, Miss Sassy? Well…

Apparently I can go from a smiling, pleasant face, to a grimace or scowl that portrays my judgmental thoughts.  Those of you that know me well know to which expressions I refer. But don’t worry, you have one too! If you enjoy people-watching, you know you have a judgmental face, or JF.  As I was discussing with my dear loving Twin last night, you could be in mid-convo with someone, happen to witness something trife behind said someone, and BAM. Your attention is diverted and your face morphs. You may say, “No Miss Sassy, I’m good at holding back and not letting my thoughts show on my face!”  All I have to say is: No you are not.  Sorry bout it. We all do it!  The funniest part from my convo with Twin was that in her group of friends when one of them gets the JF, the others call that girl out by calling her by her mother’s name.  Because especially for the ladies, where do you learn your JF from? Your mother!  No matter what you say, that’s where it comes from.  She’s been doing it your whole life! And it’s impossible that you haven’t witnessed at least 234,658 instances of it.  And mothers: you should not take offense to this!  We secretly aspire to be like you, and no matter what we say or how hard we try not to be, I think it’s genetic and really can’t be stopped.  My judgement face is just like Momma Sassy’s.  Twin’s is just like her Momma’s.  So on and so forth.  Dudes: you judge too, but you’re a different animal and I don’t want to get into it.  But you judge, rest assured.

Anywho, my thoughts on judging are this: while it is not classy or sassy to be outwardly judgmental or rude to people, it is sassy to NOT be hypocrite! You know you do it, so own it! And friends, let’s call each other out on this! It always gets a good laugh.  Plus, it’s like mean girls.  I was majorly judging the..um..large chick with the bunnies (God forbid she even…yucky thoughts, I won’t go there), but let’s be honest people! She was judging me too! I drive a funky looking tiny car, with racing stripes, my hair is huge and frizzy (specially today, thanks awesome Richmond weather), and I was singing to myself out loud, kind of intensely.  In the end, it’s almost flattering to be judged.  It means you noticed enough of something or someone to form an opinion.  And it’s sassy to be noticed…even for really large women.

…This is how I sleep at night.  Now, go forth this weekend and get yo sass on!