BroBible ran a short piece back on Jan. 1, 2014, that featured a selfie of this sad, disgusted bro, sad-facing in the middle of a bunch of happy couples making out on New Year’s Eve. That image stuck with me. It’s so true for so many single guys out there; for all of the dating and whoring we do collectively throughout our short lifespan, what really matters to society, in the end, is that we meet “the one.” Society puts a huge burden squarely on our shoulders — no matter what our sexual preference, race, or ethnicity. You’ve got to be with somebody, ultimately, so they say, or you’re somehow less of a person.
I’m here to say this once and for all: Society can go fuck itself. (You can quote me on that.)
Up until now, I’ve written for BroBible and left my significant other out of all of my stories — mostly because she’d probably be embarrassed to know that I write stuff where I say “fuck” and “shit” all the time and highlight pictures of Star Wars’ robot’s boners and shit like that. So full disclosure before I kick off this latest “Worst Places on Earth” column: I’m married, so I’m writing this from the perspective of my former, single bro self.
Throughout my loner years, I went to a whole lot of parties and business-related functions, where there were tons of single ladies, oil slicks of free booze, and after every single one, my head always felt like Andre the Giant was sitting on it the following morning, whether I was in my own bed or doing the hallowed “Walk of Shame.” As a younger editor, I even attended some bacchanalia sponsored by BroBible here in New York City. I remember standing on the rooftop of this 10-story building, gratis whiskey-and-Coke in hand, staring out at the ships coming in and out of Chelsea harbor, wondering why I felt so fucking alone. (Actually, my buddy Steve was with me, and we were having a great time drinking BroBible’s booze.)
That general state of mind had come from going to parties, for years, where I was the only single guy in attendance. Clear as day, I still remember this soiree in middle-school, where literally every hot girl from my class was there, her tongue down some douche-nozzle’s throat. I felt so fucking uncomfortable that I wanted to scream, “STOP THIS NONSENSE!” at the top of my lungs. From that point onward, it was the same, but in different phases of my life: I’d go to a high school party, and Little Miss Blowjob would be hanging out in the corner with her boyfriend; I’d be at a keg-party in college, and some sports team would have all their girlfriends and hangers-on on hand; and then when I first moved to New York City, I’d be in somebody’s apartment, and everybody would be fucking married or dating or some shit. It was like I was living in the porn-spoof version of the movie Groundhog Day. Not a single girl anywhere, over and over and over again.
Say what you will about the amount (or lack) of game I had back then, but nowadays, I hear stories like this from my single friends all the time. Sure, online dating sites like Tinder and Match.com and others have helped trim away some of the fat; but at the end of the day, the girls and guys on those sites are coming at dating from that same, society-poisoned angle: “I can fuck all I want, but in the end, I need to meet the person of my dreams here, or I’m a nothing.” And that’s just fucking wrong.
If you are a single bro at a party, I’d suggest talking to as many girls there as possible. So what if most of them are dating other guys? At least you’re practicing the art of talking to girls. And who knows? Maybe one of those girls has had it up to here with the bro she’s dating and is on the prowl just like you are. The only caveat in that scenario would be if her current boyfriend is some big, muscular, Italian Benito Bro-ssolini, and he catches you flirting with his woman, he pretty much has the right to kick your ass to next year. That never happened to me, but anything is possible. Just a friendly warning.
Then, of course, there are the dating sites. I went on quite a few online dates in the early stages of that game, and let me tell you, I never fully recovered from some of the apocalyptically shitty experiences. One date showed up 30 minutes late — I was waiting outside of a record store in 30-degree weather, mind you — with (I shit you not) a train of snot hanging out of one of her nostrils like something off of a Garbage Pail Kid. The rest of the date I spent trying to summon the courage to just end it (I was ultimately successful).
But this brings up a decent point: If you’re going to go out of your way to set up a bunch of dates online, make sure you thoroughly vet each person first, or it’s a tremendous waste of your single-person time. Obviously, there are ways to avoid being creepy about it like flat-out asking the potential date to connect on Facebook (so you can obviously look at a range of pictures); or finding out their address and staking them out. That’s called stalking; that’ll get you thrown in jail. I’m sure this is old-hat for most of you, but social media and other search functions exist today to make this process easier. If you are willing to spend at least two or three hours with someone on a date, you should be eager to figure out prior to the date whether they’re prone to showing up late to places with mucus dripping from their noses! Yuck, I know, but I didn’t do my homework, and my desperation shone through.
So getting back to the centerpiece of the column and summing things up, if you are the only single guy in the middle of a party full of couples, keep your chin up, talk to girls, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a number or two.
Or a number and a black eye, both of which you deserve.