the return of Fooler Fridays part ii: my take+rob’s take+tre’s take+an experiment…



Your opinion on women approaching men?  Had a discussion about this with one of your sorors, and the idea was deemed ridiculous. A man should approach a woman and blah, blah, blah. That traditional bullshit makes no sense to me. It seems to me that a woman approaching a man would cut through a lot of bullshit on both ends…Anyway, hope you discuss.

This is such a fantastic question, I don’t even know where to begin.

Full disclosure.

I was totally going to answer this question with some quippy, snarky, retort, heavy on the progressive, modern woman sentiment, light on the substance.

But my point was going to be simple: It’s 2010. Of course women should hit on men. I was going to regale you with all of my thoughts on the matter, and then laughingly conclude with, “But I seldom hit on men.”

Fate intervened, however, and I will now commence presenting you with both my researched findings on the matter at hand, as well as—do try and contain your excitement—an experiment on the same.

First of all, let me give you my prevailing theory on why more women don’t hit on men.


Lemme see if I can draw you a diagram. This blog has never utilized a diagram. You will see why, shortly.

                        TYPES OF WOMEN WHO DON’T HIT ON MEN


                                                                   /      \

                                                              /                \

       Women who don’t hit on men b/c                     Scared Broads

      they think it goes against the  natural                                /\           

      order of things & men should be the                               /         \

       aggressors.                                                                           /                \

                                                                                                  /                         \

                                         Women who are embarrassed                      Women who believe

                                       about the nature of the potential                  that a man would

                                       rejection.                                                                  hit on you if he were

                                                                                                                             truly interested.

 First things first.

Forget about those broads in category 1. Lost cause.

Category 2, however, and its subsequent subsections—there’s hope, there.

I happen to generally fall into category 2, both subsections.

Now, when I got your question, I was with my friend, Rob, who gave me tremendous insight with his own male perspective.

However, to understand his perspective and appropriately qualify his rationale, you must first hear mine.

And it goes like this:

Granted, while many of us can agree that women should hit on men, there are external forces to consider; namely, rejection.

And, realistically, that’s all category 2 boils down to: rejection.

Here are our dominant thoughts on the matter:

The Object of My Affection (OMA) Might not Like me Physically-

-This is absolutely more significant in the realm of women hitting on men than the inverse. Why? Because women are infinitesimally more forgiving of what we perceive to be physical flaws/defects than men.  And I stand by this shit so firmly. (I know many of you will have examples of this not being true, but keep them. You cannot dissuade me of this notion. ) A broad will date a gremlin and talk up his dickmedown abilities so strong to her friends, and dare anyone to challenge the mythicalbeastiness of his grill. A man could love the shit out of a homely broad; I guarandamntee his friends won’t see hide nor tail of that ass until he’s engaged to be married to her, his betrothal ring solidifying her entrenchment in the youbetternotmakefunofthisbitchcauseshe’sabouttobethemotherofmychildren camp. Thus, the probability of not liking how the other looks and it affecting one’s willingness to engage  is greater for you than me.

Despite Allen Iverson’s Vehement Protestations to the Contrary, Practice DOES Affect the Outcome of (the)Game, and We Ain’t Practiced.  Like, Not Neva.

-No matter where you stand on the issue, you cannot refute (as you will be bested by history) that women have not been raised in the tradition of hitting on men. Throughout the ages, the exact opposite has been the case.  So, we have no definitive mating cry; no well-honed skill-set designed to suavely come-hither the menfolk with our words. And we have thrived within the confines of the existing schematic—men,  aggressively driving it down the middle in the hopes of a layup; women, off in the wings of the foreground, prepared like fuck to rebound that shit, and pass it back. And we’re GREAT at passing the ball back. I can assist like you wouldn’t believe. Take my panties off and wrap them around the ball and eva-ree-thang. Only now, the tables have turned. Life has fouled me. And suddenly I’m at the line with Shaq hands, and the ball I’m trying to get in might as well be a screaming baby. And everything that occurs to me to say to you sounds so lame when I play it back in my mind. Lame and creepy. Lame and creepy and desperate. Like, not smooth at all. Bumpy and acne’d as a bitch. And even if I pass your physical standards, you might be disinclined to forgive my lame ass wack ass delivery. Cause no matter how open-minded you are, you don’t particularly fancy broads with muscular dystrophy of the mouth.

Women are Sometimes Immobilized by Rejection.

-Everybody simmer down. Not all women. Certainly not the types who eagerly hit on men.  And I don’t mean throughout life. I just mean in terms of male/female romantic interaction. And there’s a reason for this: we’re not used to it. And there’s a reason for that: we aren’t traditionally charged with the responsibility of hunting dudes. So when a woman puts herself out there, takes a risk, and babysteps into foreign territory, only to be told “No,” she is devastated. Know the last time I was rejected by a man when I put myself out there? 1992. Know when I recovered from it and tried again? 2009. Men, on the other hand, are rejected by women all of the time. This isn’t a matter of right or wrong, just simple statistics. Men hit on more women than women hit on men, therefore, more women will reject men than vice versa. And the likely result—men are more accustomed to rejection. Y’all have developed—through an evolution of rejection—a tougher skin when it comes to things like this; you know, romantic webbed feet, if you will. Y’all can just bounce back and move on to the next one. My friend, Justin, used to say, “If you hit on 100 of them in one night, 98 will probably say ‘No,’ but, who cares? 2 will say ‘Yes’!!!” You see that? You see the optimism that man exhibited? If 98 dudes told me “No” in one night, I’d kill myself. Tout de suite.

But, I digress.

On to Rob.

His answer to all of this? In a nutshell—Bullshit. Who cares. Get over it. Be me, ho! (He didn’t say the “ho” part, there, but I took some license as it’s my blog)

To my “What if he doesn’t like me physically?”—

-Relax. Nine times out of ten, any man that you hit on is going to be nice to you, and engage you. No matter what. This necessarily excludes jerkoffs, who will be rude and vile irrespective of how you look, and really, who gives a damn about them? The guy is going to be so impressed by the fact that you came over in the first place, and so flattered, he’s going to talk to you, and make you feel at ease. Women shouldn’t even give this any consideration. He’ll probably find your boldness, itself, attractive.

To my “I’m going to sound like a complete jackass when I approach him.”—

-The answer to this one is similar in kind to the first. The fact that you even bother to approach sets you apart from all of the women in the room. You are immediately in a better position than the legions of women occupying bar space, whose sense of entitlement inclines them to do little more than look pretty while awaiting the generous outpouring of drinks his wallet is expected to produce. He doesn’t expect you to be a comedian or a pimp (although both are appreciated); your sincerity and brazen attempt at forwardness are enough.

To my “But y’all are used to rejection. We’re not.”— Though I will paraphrase, note the quotes

-“Seriously? In your lifetime, how many men have hit on you? How many? I bet HUNDREDS. I bet HUNDREDS of men have probably hit on you. Do you know how many women have hit on me? NOT.ONE. NOT.ONE. For every man that rejects you, there are another ten, in your direct line of vision who won’t. So, let’s say you get up the nerve and hit on a guy and he’s not interested. So what? As soon as you climb down from your seat and turn around, you got ten other dicks there in the room pointed straight at you. Yeah, the first guy rejected you. So.the.fuck.what. Know what happens when a girl rejects me? I gotta start alllllll over again, from scratch, and build up the confidence again to hit on another girl, who will probably, also reject me. Why? Cause that’s just what girls do. And then they want to get mad when we build up these super arrogant alter egos to counter all of this rejection we get. Then we’re douchebags. I tell you what. Women create the traits they loathe in men.”

I was floored. Floored.  I’d never considered half of the knowledge Rob was dropping on me. I should state, for the record, that Rob is really good looking.  It was unfathomable to me that no one had ever blindly hit on him in a bar.

And while all of his wisdom was something of a roundhouse kick to the throat, I needed to be sure. He was vehement in his assertions, yes. But was he right?

I needed an experiment.


An experiment.

I hit Tabaq with a determined sense of purpose. I was clad in my special iridescent JudyJetson-style dress that I’d had delivered from the UK, and my gorgeous, exceedingly high, dominatrix-strappy, giveittomehardandfast pumps.

Your girl was going all out.

The trick would be to find a man who wouldn’t normally be attracted to me (in my estimation—I won’t fall into the trap that would entail telling you who this type of man is; damned if I’m gonna let y’all flay me over that shit) initiating a conversation with him, and making a pass at him.

The night, overall, was a resounding failure. When I’d start to give a man that knowing look, he’d give me that knowing look, back.  Or hit on me outright. No bueno. I needed the stakes to be high in order for my venture to be legit.

I had almost given up all hope (I had no idea so many men would be responsive to my completely ridiculous dress), when—

There he was.

Christopher Williams lookin’ dude, clad in a seer-sucker jacket, posted up by the bar, cold chillin’, not saying shit to anybody, encircled by a group of his friends, looking disinterested in the array of people before him.

The moment I spotted him, I knew he was perfect.

He wasn’t my type at all, either (and that’s saying something, believe me).

And I knew this was an experiment. Not real in the slightest. In real life, I didn’t give a fuck if this man found me to be a belching, putrescent troll, and yet—

I was scared as a motherfucker.

I could hear my heart banging in my ears. My palms got a little sweaty.  Ohmygod! What if he hates me?! What if he thinks I’m lame?! What if his friends laugh at me!?

I took a deep breath, and, quite literally, manned up. Relax, Fooler. You’re clever as a bitch. And you’re naked. And you just got your hair cut. You’ve got the smoothest taper in three states right now. Don’t let this baby-haired man bitch you up.

So I sauntered over—this is the part where I like to fantasize that my mere presence parted the body-bumpin’ dancers like Moses and the Red Sea, however blasphemous that may appear on paper—and took a spot next to him at the bar. I observed him in my periphery as I requested a Chardonnay from the bartender.

This was my moment.

I took that bitch.

Me: “So, I came over here and ordered this drink just as a diversion.”

New Millennium Christopher Williams (NMCW): “Oh yeah? What’s the diversion for?”

Me: “I needed it as an excuse to come and talk to you.”

*imaginary fist pump to the sky* You-a pimp, bitch!!!

NMCW: *chuckle, smile, chuckle, laugh*

Me: “So, as a precautionary measure, as I care a great deal for my general safety, are you with any of the women here?”

NMCW: “Nope. I came with my boys, here.”

Me: “And you left your girlfriend/wife at home? (I should note, I HATE it when dudes don’t just come out and ask me if I have a boyfriend rather than dance around it like this—that shit is NOT cute at all—but, alas, I was new at this shit, and nervous.)”

NMCW: “No wife. No girlfriend.”

*imaginary double fist pump to the sky*

And on and on we went, in that fashion, for a solid 10 minutes. And after a while, he was asking me the questions. He was engaging me like hell, and I easily fell into the rhythm, that, honestly, was similar in kind to that which I’m generally accustomed.

 It ended with his boys getting ready to leave, and him saying his goodbyes.

And all I could think about was how right Rob had been. This man hadn’t been interested in me, no. But he’d engaged me—been a willing and active participant, as a matter of fact—in conversation. He wasn’t rude at all. Quite the contrary. And, true to form, when he and his friends left, 4 other men ended up hitting on me, and making sure that the man with whom I’d been talking hadn’t, in fact, been my man.

By the way, I hasten to note that I’d thought my experiment (conducted over a month ago) had yielded perfect results ——————–until 3 nights ago…

My friend, Tre, brought up—quite casually, really—that I hadn’t taken the experiment to its full finish. As a matter of fact, I’d taken it all the way to the edge, only to turn around at the last moment.

You see, I’d expected to do all of the work: the initiation, the flirting, whathaveyou; but in the back of my mind, I was still thinking that, at the end of the day, my boy counterpart would take the reins, and bring it home, with a request for my number.

Tre’s revelation almost made me crash my car.

I should have asked NMCW for his number!!!

Then, and only then, would my makeshift foray into the woes of man-kind have been complete.

I’ll have to try that next time…

And by “next time,” I mean, “in a couple months.”

Really fellas, that shit right there is HORRIFYING.

Well done, you.

I’m giving ALLA Y’ALL my number on GP, next time I’m out (now, it might be an office number, but y’all brave bastards will NOT walk away empty handed).

But, the takeaway is the same—

Outside of the initial buildup of anxiety, ladies—nothing to fear, here.  Holler at those sexy ass men.


8 Responses to “the return of Fooler Fridays part ii: my take+rob’s take+tre’s take+an experiment…”

  1. July 24, 2010 at 6:40 am

    Rejection can be a bitch, but unless a man is a total jerk-off, or hes afraid of getting beat-down by his wife/girlfriend, they’ll talk to you at least, so approaching them isnt a complete loss.

    Holler at the men!

  2. July 24, 2010 at 7:01 pm

    I endorse the entirety of this.

  3. 3 UV
    July 24, 2010 at 9:00 pm

    I absolutely love the pickup line you used on the guy… I have been saying that I should be brave enough to pick up a man at least once in my life. I think your technique may help me reach the goal.

    PS- Love the blog 🙂

  4. July 26, 2010 at 5:33 pm

    The diagram is impressive.

    A good friend of mine named Me used to say “How many bitches were you trying to fuck tonight? Unless you were trying for an orgy you only need one of these hoes to go.” I agree with Me on that. And I’ll be the nicest guy in the world with that thought in mind.

    But, I really think that highlights the difference in approaches in a way you didn’t mention. Intention. MOST guys approach MOST girls with sex in mind. If we get rejected, oh well. You didn’t really reject us, you rejected some penis. We’re still in tact, mentally. It’s not like we put our whole heart into the approach and you rejected it. We didn’t/don’t invest that much in it.

    Rarely do we see a girl and say “Hey. I would like to get to know her for a few weeks, take her out on a few dates, maybe meet her nephew, do pottery then hopefully, after a while, we can have a relationship that includes sex. Yea…no. Now if that happens while we’re trying to have sex with her (because that WAS the plan) then cool (sometimes). We’ll rock out like that. It could even happen after the sex…sike, naw. Relationships happen while I’m going through the rigmarole of trying to have sex in the covert way that guys do. You know how we look for our openings like boxers and shit and sometimes the defense is just so good that it takes a while and you have to chip away at it with “jabs” (dates and phone conversations). Other times she’s just standing there with her chin out and then she’s kneeling there with her chin out. And everybody’s happy…or just us. Whatever.

    Women tend to seek…Hell, I don’t know what y’all are thinking about when you walk up to guys. Relationships or some dumb shit like that? It can’t be about sex though because that could happen within the half hour if that’s what you were on.

    And guys don’t really reject girls who approach because you have to be pretty wack for us to say “Hey, no way would I have sex with her.”

    (I haven’t approached a girl in years though. I’ve been in love for quite some time and don’t even remember what it feels like anymore. That was the disclaimer because my ex-girlfriend reads your blog and she’s still “the one” and shit lol.)

    • July 26, 2010 at 10:34 pm

      1. i want to tell you what really upsets me about your comment: the fact that you mentioned doing “pottery.” your mentioning it just lets me know that this is some common place shit that couples routinely do when they’re in date-y mode, yet NO ONE will paint their own pottery with me. and i *knew* it. i *knew* i lacked the capacity to bring that demi moore/patrick swayze out of dudes, but i try, and try, and try again, and still come up short. i will carry a righteous brothers cd around in my purse for the rest of eternity on the off chance that i’ll happen upon a man in the midst of my wanderings, and maybe—juuuuuuuust maybe, he’ll want to go make/paint pottery with me.

      2. to think that women want something different from men when they approach them is a generous concession to the myth of feminine virtue. i don’t necessarily subscribe to any belief, scientific or otherwise (you like how i so willingly refute science), that says men are wired any differently than women, and all women want to do is nest and build relationships and homes. i think we’ve just been socialized to call our wants something different. i’m fairly certain that if the notion takes me to approach a man, it won’t be because his sinewy forearms and burly chest call to mind visions of us running together, barefoot through wheat-strewn fields, stanzas of garcia lorca poems falling happily from our bilingual lips (impossibility of this scenario happening due to my non-bilingual status notwithstanding).

      3. excellent disclaimer. nicely done.

  5. August 22, 2010 at 3:58 pm

    I love it- I really do. All you need is a solid opening and yours was perfect. I agree with Rob most any man will engage you in convo so have no fear. Also I don’t know of any man, married, single, engaged or anything who will deny you his phone number. Just don’t be the crazy sounding space invading all up under me broad. I hate thirsty broads who mistake us for 6 foot tall glasses of Gatorade.

  6. 7 Donn
    November 5, 2010 at 7:20 pm

    Fool, I don’t know whether you or Rob are the best dating-advice service out there.

    I’m a guy, so I’m saying Rob. I love girls, so I say I love you for giving Rob (and men) their props. But Rob is so on here, it hurts.

    Girls: YOU WILL NEVER BE REJECTED BY A MAN YOU GO UP TO. NEVER HAPPEN. OK, fine. Bring me with you. If the first one does: I guarantee you that I will jump on the bar, pull my dick out of my pants, YELL AT THE TOP OF MY HETERO LUNGS “This is for all you brawny bigdick mans out there that I WANT,” and sing a Broadway show tune if the second one does. If the third one does, you have to fuck me. BAM! No more than three rejections, EVER. This takes, what, two minutes, if that? Not counting the show tune. (“Maria,” from West Side Story. I go both ways, you big brawny mans you.) See, we all know guys are much better in math than girls; this proves it. I just showed you – through the adroit use of mathematics – that YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO FEAR NO SEX A NIGHT IN YOUR LIFE, IF YOU ONLY ASK.

    Girls are such cowards. Grow some stones, ladies. Be men. This is not practice, fool. THIS IS 100% FROM THE LINE. And you have gone in ignorance of this for how many fucking thousands of years, now?

  7. 8 Donn
    November 5, 2010 at 7:26 pm

    Oh. And.

    “The night, overall, was a resounding failure. When I’d start to give a man that knowing look, he’d give me that knowing look, back. Or hit on me outright. No bueno. I needed the stakes to be high in order for my venture to be legit.”

    If this isn’t the clearest signal of how stupid all the fem-no-hit rationalizations are…sheesh, I rest my case. YOU GIRLS CAN’T EVEN MAKE A HIT WITHOUT A PREEMPTIVE STRIKE.

    I’m glad I’m a…MAN. The Ones Who Have Fun. Poor girls. Wow.

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a history of my meanderings….


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