—Woodwork
You bet I’m the right person to talk to! A couple years back, after a rough run of exclusively dating marginally employed, occasionally incontinent, inevitably alcoholic men, the Girl of Date turned to the finest dating institution this city (or any other city, really) has to offer: The Rooms. For those of you not hip to the lingo, I’m talking NA, AA or any other group of teetotalers that has "anonymous" tacked onto the end of its name. Not only do these peeps smoke up a serious storm, they’re so jonesing for the endorphin high they’re missing out on by denying themselves drugs and alcohol that they’re practically insane with lust!
An ex-junkie/turned AA-advocate pal of mine used to taunt me with tales of how much ass I could be pulling if only I’d managed a slight heroin or coke problem at some point in my life. She assured me the meetings were Booty Central—despite the fact that newbies are advised to stay chaste for their first year. Now, because I do enjoy a nice cocktail and wasn’t about to give up my thrice-yearly bong hit, I never actually attended any meetings. (Though for scamming—I mean research—purposes I had seriously considered it until another AA-cquaintance shamed me out of it. She was appalled that I’d even come up with the idea of faking an addiction just to bag cute boys—I’m guessing because there’d be fewer for her to pick from if I had.) Chastened, I instead scanned personal ads, looking for earnest believers in a "higher power" and those who ticked off "never" when it came to drug and alcohol consumption.
You don’t say why you’re sober, but I’m guessing it wasn’t because of an addiction problem because otherwise you’d be wise to this rich source of abstemious ass. But even if you weren’t ever an old-lady-robbing, solvent-sniffing, gutter-dwelling junkie, I still think you could attend meetings with a clear(ish) conscience. Maybe you don’t drink because your parents were alkies. Or because your closest friend was killed in a drunk driving accident. Or you decided to go through life uninebriated because you were afraid of the addictive demons lurking inside you: You knew that once you had one sip of devil gin, you wouldn’t be able to stop. Even if none of these reasons fit, feel free to borrow any of them (or make up your own) and get thee to a meeting—the important thing is your sobriety, whatever the reason behind it.
The sober guys I dated were all real goers, so I’d assume the same holds true for the ladies. These dudes were uniformly technically awesome in the sack, never had a problem getting it up and were generally ready again at a moment’s notice. Whiskey dick and beer farts became distant memories. It was heaven. For a while. Until I noted that many people who get themselves hopelessly addicted to drugs and alcohol in the first place come with their own set of problems that don’t necessarily disappear once the substances have been banished. One guy replaced crack with ass—pursuing women with the same obsessive vigor he used to suck pipe with. And he’s far from the only one I know who falls into that camp. Then there are the types who are so sanctimonious in their sobriety it’s all you can do not to slap them. Sorry pal, they don’t give out awards for not being a drunken jackass. That’s like the idiot boyfriend I had who pointed out that he’d never hit me! Kudos to you, moron.
If you don’t wanna go the "-A" route, go to a bar. Drunk girls put out. One of the aforementioned sober types I dated used to regularly hang out at Mars Bar. Because you’re new to town, you’re probably unfamiliar with this place. It has a certain decrepit charm (mainly Zack, the handsome and charming barback, and a couple nice lady bartenders), but it’s so skanky and dank that I’d need to have consumed at least two bundles of heroin, a fifth of Jamesons, four Vicodins and been the recent recipient of a hard knock upside the head in order to drink there. Otherwise I’d be too preoccupied by concentrating on not using the bathroom and wondering what that thick sludgy substance I just stepped in was.
But despite Mars Bar’s extreme stankitude, Teetotaler Tom hung out there constantly. I have to assume it was for easy access to easy broads, because I can’t think of any other reason one would go there with all senses intact. You might want to try a slightly more upscale establishment to trawl for babes. Once there, order yourself a mocktail—maybe a cranberry and seltzer with a wedge of lime—or a make-believe beer. Thinking you’re also imbibing will put the drinking ladies at ease. Then buy beverages for any and all girls who catch your eye (you must’ve saved some money living like a monk) and be your charming self. Be polite and ignore it if they repeat themselves and burp loudly. I’m not suggesting you take advantage of someone so wasted she doesn’t know what she’s doing, I’m just saying that a chick wearing beer goggles can only help a guy’s chances.
Write dategirl@nypress.com or Dategirl, c/o New York Press, 333 7th Ave., 14th fl., New York, NY 10001.
