"Shockumentary": The Blog: Part Two. The Awful Truth

Well folks, it is done. And let me get the suspense right out of the way: my theory has definitely been proven. Or at least, part of it has. Sort of. Okay, let me let the numbers speak for themselves:

-2 Flirtatious Glances (made at me, not made by me...made by me I'd guess there would have been 127)

-2 Conversations

-2 Aborted Conversations

-3 Disapproving Looks (from women, who cares what the men think)

-4 Beers (hoo boy, I went hawg wild)

-1 Mass rejection

Success: Kinda. Personally, I was successful. Professionally, I got my ass handed to me. Allow me to explain what that means by recanting the night's events...

So, I changed my mind about the Corner Bistro (still want to go, though) and went for a nice steak at good ol' Outback Steakhouse. Leaving fully satiated, I saw The Ten, which is an excellent film and if you enjoy the brand of humor that David Wain and Co. manufacture, go see it immediately (At one point Paul Rudd is arguing with his wife Famke Janssen and he starts to insult her: "Go-" he says. Famke says "Don't you dare say something you regret." Paul continues: "Go...fly a kite!" and Famke acts like this is the most horrible thing that's ever been said to her. If this is funny to you, you will enjoy the movie).

So, as planned, the movie got out about 11:20 pm and I headed straight for B-Side. Upon entering the bar, it was love at first sight and my optimism increased tenfold. Echo and the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon" was playing on the jukebox and Hot Fuzz was playing on the tv. Throughout the night the bar jukebox continued to play nothing but top shelf music. The beer is quite cheap (5 bucks a bottle) and even though the selection is lax it's not bad. Overall I would go back to B-Side in a second.

It's a pity, then, that the place filled up quickly last night with a bunch of dead weight. At 11:30 the bar was barely populated, and I was wondering if I missed the crowd. I hadn't though, and this became evident around 1 am. Unfortunately, the crowd consisted of none other than members of the Safety In Numbers brigade! Yes folks, I am one hundred percent correct that nobody goes out to a bar or club (to have fun) alone. I added the "to have fun" because there was one other solitary man there at the bar, but he was clearly not there to meet people or have a good time. He was there to drink, as he barely moved the entire night and kept his eyes glued to the sweet sweet Hot Fuzz (and who can blame him for that). But all the other musician and hipster types (and they totally were hipster types...one dude even had the Beatles haircut...is that coming back or something?) came in either big ass packs of 15 or compact sets of 2. Yes, couples were there, complete with the so-annoying-to-single-people public make out and grope session. My prospects at this bar were incredibly dim, which is sad since the atmosphere was so ripe for me to reach out and take control of some young hipster girl (um, that doesn't sound right...oh well). I did strike up a conversation with the female bartender, whose name was Amy and who oddly enough looked a lot like Amy Lee, but that was eventually aborted.

So, there I am at 2 am and all I've got to show for it are 3 beers consumed, one aborted conversation and one disapproving look. I thought briefly of packing it in and going home, but I knew I could not leave you, my faithful readers, with such a dull tale of my travails. So, dragging myself out into the muggy NYC night, I went in search of another bar in the name of Blogdom.

After passing a very indimidating tatoo/goth bar and a lame looking kareoke bar, I stumbled (literally) upon a bar that didn't look half bad. I know where it is (a block down Avenue A off of 14th street) but I have no idea what it's called. That doesn't matter, however, because the reason I went was due to what I saw in the window: Single Women were there! Attractive Single Women! I got in there as quick as I could after sharing a few yuks with the bouncer. Buying a Stella Artois at the bar (sadly, neither bar this night had my preferred beverage of Newcastle) I sipped liberally as I scanned my surroundings. Turned out there weren't as many single women there as I had thought (indeed there were, but most had already been cornered by the fratty guys there). Sadly, this bar's clientele was very frat/sorority...and I don't mean they were people from actual frats or sororities, I'm just referring to their mindset and appearance (and most likely, IQ).

But then, after dismissing a few potential targets, I spotted what all men know as the Mt. Olympus of dating groups: The Table Of Girls. Yes, that large group of girls who have decided to go out to the bar with each other, no boys allowed! Many men have tried to breach this force field of estrogen before. They tried and failed? THEY TRIED AND DIED.

About this time I struck up a conversation with 2 not-so-fratty fellas at the bar. One was named Matt and is a teacher in Connecticut, the other was named Pete and is an accountant in the city. We laughed and joked around for a bit, trading barbs with the nearby bouncer (who, if you can't tell, was very cool). Three single guys coming together in understanding of the hardships of being single guys, I brought up the dreaded Table of Girls. Matt and I being properly intoxicated, we were game to go storm the wall (indeed, we had a good laugh about the Table being like the Great Wall of China and us being like the Mongolians...which is a very telling analogy). Pete, being a pussy, was having none of this. Not to be deterred, Matt and I hobbled like bobbleheads over towards The Table, and found ourselves there, forcefully entering the conversation and making introductions.

Matt was very keen on the brunette at the table, whose name I didn't catch, and I was very keen on one of the blondes at the table, whom I promptly sat next to. Her name turned out to be Laura, from West Virginia, who had just recently moved to the city and gotten a job working for Glamour magazine. Jokes were told, small talk was made, and drinks were...er...drunkened when finally Matt decided he was never going to get his brunette and he and Pete took off. This could also be because Pete was being a buzzkill and hovering over the table not saying anything and looking noticeably awkward.

Which of course meant that I was now there sat at the table of girls...ALONE. Me versus 4 women. I never had a chance.

But I still thought I did, which is what kept me there. Eventually I found out that these girls were waiting for a friend/co-worker of one of theirs. This fella, whose name I don't remember, had apparantly been promised to have Katelyn's (another blonde) breasts shown to him. For what concieveable reason, I don't know. But it gets better! Because he had never met Katelyn before this night, Laura had agreed (very recluctantly) to pretend to be Katelyn, thus causing all sorts of hilarious confusion. Are you laughing yet??!

So this douche finally gets to the bar, more jokes are made, and many knowing smiles, laughs, and winks are exchanged between the 4 girls and I as the scheme gets underway. A few of the girls head to the bathroom, and I take this opportunity to notice my incredibly full bladder. Laura mentions that she is hungry, and starts to get up to leave when the rest of the group hesitates for a moment. The pressures on my bladder no longer controllable, I get up and tell Douche Boy that I'll be right back. He says he'll save my seat for me. This, of course, is complete bullshit.

I go to the bathroom and do my business, which takes all of 2 full minutes. I walk out of the bathroom...and the bar is virtually EMPTY. A few stragglers here and there. Most importantly the Table of Girls is GONE, without a trace. I rush out to the street, desperately searching the adjacent few establishments, but no luck. No visual of their group trotting off in the distance, either. There are rejections, folks, and then there are flat out desertions!

Due to the fact that it was now 3:45 am, I kicked a few garbage cans in frustration and caught a cab back to my apartment.

So there you have it, folks. Definite proof that Safety In Numbers is the rule around here, and that single guys by themselves are generally treated like shit. However, starting up conversations and being successful is not entirely impossible...you just have to work hard at it. I have confidence that if I had taken on a smaller group of girls or ideally just one girl, I could have been very lucky. Instead, I was tempted by that which has tempted many a man before me...the forbidden delights of the Table. I, like Icarus, dared to spread my wings and fly off towards the sun...only to have the sun disappear while I was in the fucking bathroom.

Rest assured, this will not be the final chapter of the "Shockumentary"....as long as I am single, as God as my witness, I will keep you Big Nose Bloggers updated! The fight is over, but the war lives on...there'll be a rematch!