11/22/08

Wanted: Coors Light Wingman

I Give Up: Shallow Hal Coors Light Wingman Needed. m4w(NYC)
OK, this is mildly pathetic, but bear with me:

I’m a single 34-year-old straight white male living in Manhattan. I have an advanced degree, I’m clean cut and in shape, I’m responsible, and like every other yuppie tool in this city, I work in finance.

My “fake” problem:

I’m stuck in an extended dance remix of adolescence. There is simply nothing about this city to remind me to grow up and ditch self-centered, hedonistic retarded behavior. Noting as much, the following holds true: I go to bed at 6:00 A.M. on the weekends. I play Grand Theft Auto on my Play Station 2. I watch “The Best of Back Yard Wrestling” and “Bum Fights” on DVD before I go out at night. I program my Match.com account to troll for women between the ages of 18 – 30. I own, and sadly terrorize my co-workers with, a remote control fart machine that emits 7 different fart noises (I stuck it in the ceiling above the copier). If I thought I could get away with it, I’d run around in Yoda themed pajamas and set small animals on fire.

Other than paying bills on time and returning work e-mails promptly, I don’t do anything even remotely adult-like. I’m worried, because all of my friends back home (Texas) are now married and working on kids. My brother is 32 and his life is moving in a “substantive” direction, insofar as he has a J. Crew model bride and a little kid that my parents go gaga over. He’s normal. I feel that I’m not. In fact, my dad thinks I’m a fruit and suggests as much whenever I come home for the holidays.

“If you’re gay, it’s OK,” he says after his second scotch and water.

So, noting that I’m a piece of crap, and noting that my best bud just moved to NJ to settle down and get married, I just have to ask - does any other late 20-something or 30-something guy in Manhattan act like this? Am I alone in this Pee-Wee Herman submarine? Yes or no? If you exhibit any of the aforementioned characteristics, then let me ask you the following:

Would you like to hang out, chase tail, and be my wingman?

I’m well versed in wingman-ish behaviors – peeing on myself, cock-blocking sober fat girls, screaming “Shock ‘n Awe!” whenever I sink a ball on the pool table, etc. - and I’m being totally serious.

E-mail me if you like the following:

-Girls with long stringy hair who favor expensive handbags, tight low-rise jeans, and stiletto heels.

-Girls who congregate near the bars inside Tao, Spice Market, or Pastis.

-Girls who work in advertising, publishing or PR.

-Girls who routinely drop cell phones and I-Pods into poo and tampon filled toilets.

-Girls who have a knack for giggling and falling down.

-Girls who have a knack for giggling, falling down and vomiting.

-Girls who breeze up to the velvet rope, cheek kiss the doorman, and then waltz past 20 person deep lines at Marquee, Cain, PM, etc.

-Girls who receive death stares from their invisible chunky monkey female co-workers.

-Girls who can’t function without a copy of In Style or Us magazine.

-Girls who are shown overwhelming workplace favoritism despite a tendency to show up at the office at noon wearing dirty Ugg boots and sweatpants.*

-Girls who live in Jersey, Long Island, or Manhattan.

-Girls who do not live on the Lower East Side, in Park Slope, or Williamsburg.

-Girls who attempt to pay for things on maxed out credit cards.

-Girls who unthinkingly say “Oops!” after their credit cards are denied.

-Girls who walk out of department stores with initially denied items in tow after said items were spontaneously purchased by an unhappily married attorney named David.

-Girls who wear lace thongs or “boy short” panties.

-Girls who think nothing of grinding on similarly built girlfriends whenever Usher’s “Yeah” comes on.

-Girls with tribal themed tattoos.

-Girls with hoop earrings.

-Girls with boob jobs courtesy of surgeons who advertise in the NY Post.

-Girls with endless stories about getting propositioned for weekend getaways in St. Tropez.

-Girls who do not have aspirations to adopt deformed babies or build outdoor latrines in Guatemala.

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I get shot down a lot by the above, but I don’t really care. After living in NYC for 4 years, my ego is more or less made out of Kevlar and coated in Teflon. Besides, successful interaction with women is just a numbers game – it’s about volume – the more girls you interact with the better your odds.

So if you like hot girls, and you’re a cool, marketable, albeit immature, Manhattan guy between 27 and 38, and you’re unopposed to pre-partying on Saturday nights with Madden NFL 2005, a 32 oz. Taco Bell cup filled with Stoli and whatever, and a Judas Priest / 50 Cent mash remix pumping in the background, let me know.

I think you could be my Coors Light Wingman.

Editor's Note: Coors Light ran a commercial featuring the song "Ode to the Wingman" (or "Here's to Wingman") by Chris Lee.

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