5 Reasons You Didn’t Get Laid Last Night (Female POV)

I know, it just doesn’t make sense. You gelled that hair up, all but drowned yourself in Axe, and even ironed your fancy sparkly Ed Hardy tee, and yet here you are, back at home, in your bed, alone, jerking it to Internet porn. You might be thinking that those bitches at the bar were prudes. And ugly. Yeah, and FAT! Fat, ugly prudes. so whatever.

But let’s be honest, Jerome. I was there, and I was drunk and horny, and oh yeah — I have seriously few standards. But you still somehow managed to repulse me. Let’s discuss.

You hit on me AND my friends

“What’s up, LAYDEEEZ?” No, no, no. No. You might think you’re increasing your bonage chances by hitting on a plethora of women, but you failed to notice that we’re friends, and I can see you. Pick a woman, and concentrate on her. Women want attention, the type of attention that says “You are way hotter than everyone around you”. The second I catch you movin’ your way over to my drunker friend, I will pull a crazy quick “Mama Bear” move and stick her in a cab home.

You were staring at the floor/my ass/somewhere over my shoulder the whole time.

I get it — flirting can be nerve wracking. But eye-contact is important on so many levels. It’s attractive and it shows your interested in me, not my tits. Which I know isn’t actually true, but at least pretend, goddamnit.

You asked me my name 6… maybe 7 times.

Don’t get so drunk that you’re spitting or stumbling over your words or forgetting my name over and over. The whole point is you’re supposed to get me drunk, while maintaining your cool and bravely whisking me back to your apartment for some super raunchy drunk sex. I know that goes against every date rape PSA, but I’m sorry ladies, it’s not rape if you’ve been giving him handies under the bar all night.

You talked about yourself all night

Pro tip: If this is in front of you, stop talking about your car/abs/job. Just nod and keep the shots coming.


You followed me around like a frightened puppy

There is a delicate balance between attention and annoying. I haven’t gotten that many flat-tires since 3rd grade. Take your drink, give me a seductive smile, and then walk away for a while. The phrase is “Leave them wanting more” not “Annoy the crap out of them until they’re forced to make a quick exit while you’re peeing.”

Conclusion: Through the hazy cloud brought on by my seventh rum and coke, I thought you were kinda cute, Jerome, and had you done things right you could have been on the train to Boot-Knockin’ County by midnight.  Now get the shower, wash off that shame and semen, and start over.  Just not on me cause you seriously ruined that shit.

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