Dear Guy Hitting on Every Girl at the Bar,
I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. But seeing as one of the many girls you were relentlessly hitting on was my date, I took offense. It's not just that you were hitting on the girl I was with while I was in the bathroom; or that you went into such graphic detail about all the fun things you'd do to her. No, that's not what prompted me to get the manager to throw you out. It's that you wouldn't stop after she and I told you in no uncertain terms that you were behaving inappropriately.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a guy who casts a wide net. And your net could have supplied StarKist with tuna for a year. Any port in a storm, right? I also admire how polished your game was that night. My date admitted she was impressed when you offered to feed her grapes and massage her feet. Heck, I almost insisted she go home with you after you offered to "get rid of me."
You're one damn smooth operator.
I do give you full credit for moving on from my date to the girl sitting to our left, once we threatened to get the manager (the first time). Frankly, I wish I'd heard what she said to shut you down, because you didn't spend nearly as much time pestering her as you did my date. And seeing you hop from girl to girl, using each rejection and cold shoulder as grist for your debauchery mill, was inspiring.
But the problem is, you came back.
I'm sure when you were getting ready to go out for a night of great food and live music at Buttons on Hulen Street, one of your goals was to meet a lovely young lady. You donned your best orange pastel polo shirt, and sagged your jeans down to that come-hither level. You were looking sharp --like a cross between Kevin Federline and a clown. I personally don't understand how you're single at all. If there's one thing girls love, it's persistence, and you had buckets of that going for you.
I think your crucial mistake was that you forgot the golden rule: Women like to feel special. Maybe there was a girl there who would have gone home with you, but seeing you spread the love like that was probably a deal-breaker. Next time, try narrowing the field. (Also, try not being stoned out of your gourd. And not reeking of booze. And not bragging about how many fights you've been in. And not calling every girl who rejected you a stuck-up bitch.)
Or just stay home.
The manager sure did get you out of there quickly. Maybe he saw the mob of angry boyfriends and dates preparing to "get rid of you." He might have saved your life. You should send him flowers -- or maybe he'd like a foot rub.
I hope you eventually found what you were looking for. I'd like to think that at the next place you ran game, there was an equally trashy lady out there, and the two of you met in the parking lot after both getting kicked out. They say romance happens when you're not looking for it, but I hope the universe made an exception in your case.
We had a lovely time after you left. The food was fantastic and the band was on fire. The entire bar bonded over how awful you were. Was that your plan all along? If so, well done. Maybe the next time I see a drunken douchebag hitting on my date, I'll give him a knowing nod, instead of having him thrown out.
Until then, take care of yourself.