Where I Got My Motivation to Hit on Babes
Every beautiful girl I’ve ever approached has reminded me of the shittiest place I’ve ever seen: All Star Sports Bars. It was the first bar I’d ever stepped foot into with intents to drink.
Though, no one just drank at All Star Sports Bar. You guzzled, pounded, shot-gunned, and chugged. Who were we to expect anything more? We were the only herd of people naïve and desperate enough to spend our weekends in All Star Sports Bars. We were freshmen. Even as I write this now, at 27-years-old, I’m still tickled by the butterflies I felt in my stomach as I waited in that line for the first time with my atrocious fake I.D.
It was an unusually chilly night for early September. The line of freshmen snaked around the side of the nondescript building, all of us clutching the same glossy placard whose bone-white graffiti lettering proclaimed, “THE REAL FRESHMEN ORIENTATION STARTS TONIGHT AT ALL STAR SPORTS BAR—LADIES DRINK FREE UNTIL 11”.
A proud fat man waited for us as we inched our way toward the entrance. This was a man you’d expect to see screaming his face off at a Jets game or demolishing an all-you-can-eat buffet. A man whose fatness, whose greasiness, whose overall ineptness positioned him as a bottom-feeder—yet, he stood in front of that entrance to perform his nightly duty with a degree of smugness, with pizzazz.
There was no discernable pattern to who he omitted or whose atrocious fake I.D. he flicked back in the face of its 18-year-owner and snarled, “Get lost.”
As I waited in nervous hysteria, I compared my I.D. to the guy’s in front of me. The only form of fake identification this guy had managed to scrounge up was a novelty Elvis I.D. “Got it in a Nashville gift shop when I was 15,” he explained. “Totally forgot this thing was in my wallet until tonight. Figure I might as well give it a try…”
When we finally reached the entrance, the fat man held his palm out. My new Elvis-impersonating friend handed over his ridiculous novelty I.D. The fat man studied it as if this were a completely legitimate piece of public identification.
“You’re a real joker,” he croaked said, “Aren’t you?”
Before the guy could answer, the fat man grabbed him by the shirt collar and thrust him through the front door. “Get in there!” he boomed, laughing. He shook his head for a private moment, chuckling to himself. Then his mouth realigned to a businesslike scowl.
“I.D.,” he commended me.
I placed my I.D. in his hand, terrified.
He didn’t even look at it. Just said, “Go enjoy yourself with Elvis. NEXT!”
And like that, I was granted access into the sordid underworld of bars and nightclubs for the first time. Still, to this day, whenever I hear the Biggie song “Juicey,” which was booming on the speakers, I’m transported back to that moment…
It was like being dropped into a war zone. The aftermath of binge drinking littered the place, and it wasn’t even 10:30 yet. Disco lights fluttered in a way that accented every movement with a sense of urgency, yet nothing seemed urgent. The girls I’d seen on campus—the same ones who’d looked so shy and studious—now strutted with faces caked in makeup, displaying flashes of skin, and dancing with a sexual carelessness no man could ever match, only appreciate.
The butterflies that had been fluttering in my stomach returned, but now with an alternative flight pattern. They beat their wings with more thrust, scattering up my spine and flapping their way into my brain, into my mind, into my thoughts.
For a long moment I just stood, staring.
Can you understand the feeling? That first time the rush of sexual possibility washes over you? Sure, we all become aesthetic connoisseurs of the female form at an early age, and many of us even clock-in some sexual experience hours before ever stepping foot into a bar or nightclub…yet, the first time you realized, I could go home with a complete stranger and be in bed with her within a few hours, how did you react?
What’s the place you associate with this memory, with this feeling, with this sexual sovereignty? Conjure up that place, that image, that feeling. Because that’s the spark of inspiration that will keep you excited and motivated to go out, night after night.
That rush of possibility while standing in the entranceway of your favorite nightclub or bar, as you survey the lascivious landscape laid out before you, and are tickled by that swarm of butterflies fanning out through your body is exhilarating to the point of addictive.
Relish in that feeling. It will lead you to a life of sexual fulfillment.
About Rob J. Rob J. is a writer and dating instructor in New York City. Themes that resonate in both his teaching and writing are masculinity, genuineness, rational self-interest, and general awesomeness.