Queerie Bradshaw
Queerie Bradshaw

All three girls I’ve been talking to lately (none of which I’ve kissed yet, but thanks for asking), I met online.

I posted a profile or an ad and waited for them to come to me.

I like to think that I am more proactive in picking up people in person, but I’m really not. It’s so hard to go up to a girl and ask for her phone number. I’ve gotten better at it for sure, but I am still batting zero for taking home a girl from a bar.

The cheesy pickup lines never work on me, so I assume they don’t work on others either. Sure, my dad may have stolen the stars and put them in my eyes, I may have lost that loving feeling and I’m sorry you’ve lost your number, but you are going to have to come up with a line less canned and more honest pickup line if you want to take me home.

Last weekend, I was at Club Pynk, the once a month gay night in Eugene, when a blonde Shane-like gal with a leather jacket and dark makeup walked in. Immediately, I was smitten and had to talk to her.

Mustering up all the courage I had in my body, I asked her out in the most nonchalant manner I could manage.

Me: “You’re gorgeous. What’s your name?”

Her:“____________” (This isn’t coded for anonymity. Being horrible with names, I have actually blanked on what hers was.)

Me: “Hello, __________, I’m Queerie Bradshaw. Are you single?”

Her: “Yes, I’m single.”

Me: “Would you like to go out on a date sometime?”

Her: “It’s new.” (Meaning she’s newly single).

Me: “That’s cool. Want to hang out as friends sometime instead?”

Her: “Sure. I guess that would be fine.”

Me: “Would it be pretentious if I gave you my card?”

Her: “No.”

Me: “Here’s my card. I’m Queerie.”

Her: “I got that the first time. I gotta go see my friends. Bye.”

That is literally the whole interaction we had at the bar. I, not too shockingly, never heard back from her.

Analyzing the above, I say I have a long way to go before I’m Rico Suave with the ladies. I was short and nervous and should have asked for her number instead of giving her mine. Rookie mistakes a dating blogger shouldn’t be making.

At least I tried with her, though. Yesterday, I went to a Mexican food restaurant and spent the whole time drooling over the tatted-up butch behind the counter. I talked to her, flirted a bit, and then left without saying a word about my desire to have her take tequila shots off of my naked body.

I’ve always been told it’s impolite to hit on people while they’re working, especially if they’re serving you, but I regretted my manners as soon as I left.

I’m beginning to think it takes a bit of some pushy brusqueness to pick up a stranger. Maybe that’s just what years of watching romantic comedies has taught me, but maybe there actually is something to the bold, outlandish pick-ups I’ve heard about.

My new theory is that blatantly hitting on people is more successful than subtle seduction. I’m starting to believe that Joey Tribbiani on Friends had it right when he’d sit down uninvited next to a girl at a bar, give her a smirk and say, “How you doin’?”

Forward, blunt, sassy and honest maybe the best way to go.

I’m heading out to a queer event in Portland tonight to test my hypothesis. I’ll let you know how it goes.