Table of Contents
To those who think its lame to wait for
the Hot Guy to come to you
this is for you.
Introduction
why you, the sassy girl, need to read this book
MOST of the dating population seems to be under the impression that girls have it easy in dating. Supposedly, all I have to do as a chick is flash some killer cleavage and flip my perfectly wavy hair, and the hot men will come a-runnin with drink offers, dinner invitations, showers of diamonds, and trips to Fiji.
But what happens if your boobs arent capable of anything close to killer cleavage, and the persistent cowlick in your hair, however adorable your mother finds it, negates any possibility of perfection?
Such feminine wiles may work if you happen to be one of those lucky bitches who have not only won the genetic lottery but have secured the funding to surgically enhance said winnings. I, unfortunately, am not one of them.
Dont get me wrongI dont think I fell off the ugly tree. Other than sometimes (OK, oftentimes) wishing my boobs were bigger (A cups unite!!), Im generally content and happy with my lottery loot. However, when I cant swing a rattlesnake and not smack five of these ridiculously beautiful freaks of nature, its difficult to get the hot men to notice me and my un-cleavage-a-rific A cups.
Not being the patient sort when it comes to boys and getting asked out on dates, I decided at the early age of thirteen that waiting around for a movie/ice-cream invitation from the Nirvana-obsessed boys I lusted after in high school just wasnt going to work for me.
At first, I sucked. I completely freaked out many of my male peers by bucking the apparent trend and asking them out (also known as picking them up) first. Im well aware Ive left a trail of confused and weirded-out guys in my bungled pickup wake.
However, after many years of failed attempts, mixed in with some pretty awesome success stories, and many, many hours spent testing my theories, I can say with much certainty that I know my way inside, outside, on top of, and all the way around the art of pickup.
This book details the cringe-worthy but hilarious failures on my personal quest to conquer the ego-trouncing mountain of pickup knowledge, as well as the golden moments of glowing success. It then segues into my best attempt at a definitive how-to guide for us girls, detailing exactly how to get from salivating after the Hot Guy you just spied across the room all the way to setting up the first date, no matter the situation or location (including figuring out if hes a good one who you potentially may want to keep around for awhile). Ive also included a section on what Hot Guys look for in girls (based on interviews with a sampling of real, live Hot Guys), and a section on what you, the hot, sassy chick, need to figure out about yourself and what you want before you have too many dates to know what to do with them all. (Hot Guy, by the way, refers to any guy you personally find ridiculously attractive. This and some other useful terms are defined in the glossary in the back of the book.) Basically, Ive tried to make this book the how-to guide I wish Id had when I figured out waiting for the dudes to make the first move wasnt my dating modus operandi.
Over the years, Ive actively tried to make as many mistakes as possibleto get them out of the way and learn as quickly as possible what works and what doesnt. If Ive met my goal with this book, by the last page you will have no doubt as to how to pick up any Hot Guy of your choosing in any situation. You will also have laughed out loud with me and at me, thought that I was a genius, thought that I was an idiot (in a What was she thinking? sort of way), and most of all, wholeheartedly agreed with me that waiting around for the Hot Guy across the bar to come and talk to you is the lamest thing EVER.
Crap Advice:Stand with a group of your girlfriends in the corner of the bar and wink at the hottie across the room. If hes worth going out with, hell come to you.
Why Is It crap? Any guy delusional enough to approach a large group of girls waiting for attention in the corner of a bar is either completely wasted or a cocky asshole with an overinflated ego.
first, how not to pick up your hot guy
My First Proposition...
FROM THE CAPTAIN OF THE CHESS CLUB
THE first boy I remember hitting on me was named Tommy Drew. He threw sand in my face during recess when we were in kindergarten. Later that night, while helping me attempt to remove the excruciatingly painful and persistently lingering sand particles from under my eyelids, Mom explained that little Tommy accosted me because he liked me. Although I was extremely skeptical, she continued to say that if he didnt like me, he wouldnt have bothered to temporarily blind me in the sandbox; he would have totally ignored me. Although this seemed completely counterintuitive, without any prior experiences that contradicted her statement, I was forced to accept that she had superior knowledge in the matter. I personally would not have chosen that particular method to express my affection, but I was with it enough at the tender age of six to realize that boys were a completely different species. So, if Mom said that when little Tommy threw sand in my face it was a token of his affection, I was willing to accept it as truth.
As I got older, it became slightly easier to determine whether or not boys liked mealthough their chosen methods of communicating their interest remained a mystery. Take sixth grade, for example: a certain Hot Guy named Matt Lawrence apparently liked me, and he let me know by writing a note explaining his intentions and giving it to his best friend, Joey. Joey, as Matts best friend, messenger, and liaison, passed it to my best friend, Katie (and thereafter messenger and liaison), who then gave it to me. The note read, Will you be my girlfriend? I, who had not actually had more than two-word exchanges with Matt up to that point (although I found him to be an excellent example of mid-nineties Hot), and this being my first experience in the girlfriend role, decided to live on the edge and take the plunge. I wrote Yes on the note and gave it to Katie, who gave it to Joey, who then gave it back to Matt, who then apparently accepted my response by telling Joey to tell Katie to tell me, Cool.
Days one and two of our relationship continued in a similar fashion; in other words, Katie and Joey relayed such messages as You look pretty today (to me, from Matt), and my response to him, So do you, which resulted in an agonizing ten minutes immediately thereafter while I waited for his response. I wasnt sure if calling a boy pretty was acceptable, even if he did indeed look especially pretty (in a manly, Hot Guy way) that day. Luckily, at my insistence, Katie was able to glean from Joey that Matt definitely smiled upon receiving my response. Whew!
On day three of our relationship, still not having spoken to Matt face-to-face, I received another message, this one in a verbal format. Katie relayed a question from Joey, who had forwarded the question from Matt: Would I like to go a movie with Matt and his dad? I, being grounded at the time for eating the entire crust off Moms apple pie, was unable to accept his invitation and was forced to relay this sad news back to him through the proper channels. I was then informed via Katie that Matt, upon hearing of my home detention, decided that he didnt want a girlfriend who couldnt go see movies, so he told Joey to tell Katie to tell me that he was not my boyfriend anymore, and that was that. There was no heart-break involved, at least on my end, as I had not actually spoken to Matt in person during our relationship.
