Saturday, May 14, 2011

Another One Bites the Dust: White Dudes' Failed Pickup Lines.

I can't decide if bar-hopping-white-guys are creepy disgusting pigs or just insecure losers.


Well, last night at the bar I made a Natural Geographics observation.

It was early enough, like 11 or so and all the white guys were on the perimeter of the dance floor, watching.

Watching and waiting.

In the inner circle, women and Jamaican men, Mexican men, African men etc. were all dancing, jumping, grinding. The men were hitting on the women hard and early.

Which I wonder, was it too early? Was it too hard?

Is that why the white guys stand around, watching, waiting.

They know that the women aren't quite ready? Or they want others to get rejected first to be able to handle it if it happens to them.

Or is it because they're not drunk enough.

And why the need to be so drunk just to talk to someone you're attracted to?

It took these white guys until almost the club closes to go up and hit on a girl--and then they expected that girl to offer her bed.

They expect it.

(smells of white male privilege to me)

Is this strange to any one else?

It's not like the pickup lines were good--not the ones I heard anyway.

I mean the whole structure of the dance club has a strange dynamic. Women come in packs; they do this for multiple reasons but basically I see it as protecting pleasure. The pleasure of being able to let go and dance...but knowing one can't let go all the way because there are horny drooling men out there waiting to take a bite.

Which is a bit extreme of course, there is a bigger dance going on then the one on the floor. Our sexual passive we all are and yet when someone is too assertive it's not attractive. So many subtle rules to follow for it all to work out for everyone involved. It rarely seems to. At least from my observations.

Oh Discovery Channel. Animal Planet. Bar the Documentary (coming out June 2014). It's all so fascinating to me.

And probably needs to be developed a bit more.

IDK. Maybe I still have beer in my blood.

(But I don't have a dude in my bed.)

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