-Dear CC:
How many drinks are advisable on a first date?--I Keep Screwing Up
Dear IKSU:
A lot. In the best of circumstances you will both get a bit tipsy. Why? Several reasons. First, alcohol is a great ice-breaker. A few drinks of wine turns a very awkward first dinner into a charming hoot. Secondly, as I am always quick to remind, you don't know a thing about anyone until you've gotten loaded with them. It is a mutual baring of sorts, drink strips away all the false fronts we tend to throw up before strangers, especially if we're attempting to impress them. As Mark Twain noted, "Deep down in his private heart, no man respects himself much," and due to this we often misrepresent who we truly are and try to keep our darker secrets hidden until a later time--the divorce proceedings, say.Of course, you don't want to be the only one doing the soul-baring, so, here are a few stratagems to get the fun-juice flowing in both directions.
The Health Nut Reversal
If you catch her eye-balling your second glass of dinner wine like it was a tarantula in her ice cream, tell her you were just talking to a doctor friend of yours who went into almost fanatical detail about the so-called "French Enigma." The reason the French rarely get heart disease is not because they are in liege with the devil, as was once widely suspected, but because they drink at least a couple glasses of wine with their meals. Finish up with the coup de grace, "I guess that makes me something of a health nut."The "I Remember Drinking With Hem" Ploy
If, after dinner, she balks at the idea going to a bar, take her to a cafe that serves espresso and alcohol. Order two coffees then, while still at the counter, say, "Mon Dieu, this cafe reminds me of Paris during my expatriate days! We'd sit in that crazy cafe drinking wine and writing those splendid poems and stories until the break of dawn!" Wiping a sentimental tear from your eye, whisper "L'eau de vie, l'eau de vie" then ask the bartender to put some Irish in the coffees, "for old times sake." Only an insensitive monster would deny you this noble pleasure. Order top shelf and toast in French, she'll think you're an aristocrat.The Carpe Diem Gambit
If you're still meeting resistance at this point, it's time to bring out the heavy guns. As you exit the cafe, cast a rather crazed eye to the stars then whirl on her as if you're overtaken by the moment. Grab her arms, stare her lustily in the eyes and insist, "Enough of this selling grey days to the Grim Reaper. Let's go crazy tonight. Let's live tonight like it's our last night on earth!"
If she starts mumbling about work tomorrow, start yelling "Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem! Seize the day!" until she crumbles. If she ever saw the movie or read On The Road or a Whitman poem, this tactic will almost certainly dash to insignificant pieces whatever will power she had left.The Jaunty Jig of the Juicer
Alas, if she fends off this expert triple attack like a wino sheds whispered remarks about his personal hygiene, it's time to drop the bomb. Turn on her savagely and howl, "Drinkers live up to a decade longer than abstainers! Why are you trying to send me to an early grave? I'm going to live forever! I'll dance on you grave with a bottle of whiskey!" And, yes, a little jig might be in order at that moment.Then, every time you run into her, say, "I could be mistaken, but I believe I once dated your daughter, ma'am." You lost the beachhead but you won the war!
-Dear CC:
A friend of mine from New Jersey claims he holds the record for buying rounds--he says he bought roughly two hundred people three rounds at a Newark's Lee's Lounge on St. Patty's Day. Does he have bragging rights or should he shut up and try again?--Mike W. In Denver
Dear Predicament:
Tell him to get out his wallet and yell loud. The biggest round ever recorded was for 1,222 people shouted by Jack Amos in Newcastle upon Tyne, England in October, 1974, at the conclusion of the Jack o'Clubs road show. If your chum decides to give it a shot, so to speak, let me know. I'll bring some friends.
-Dear CC:
Here goes. I am by nature a shy person. The only way I can get the nerve up to even talk to a girl is to get very, very drunk. The mean irony is, when I'm that drunk I lose what few social skills I own. Only you can help me!--Shy Sober, Dumb Drunk
Dear Shy:
Yours is a common dilemma, actually. Your condition is why so many people go to bars in the first place--they need a little social lubricant to loosen up the jaws. Instead of attacking your excellent use of alcohol (never, sir!) I shall address the true source of your problem--lack of self-confidence. How do you get confidence? By being competent. And the first step toward competence is knowing the tricks of the trade. See, you don't lack the looks, you just lack the look. Before you blindly storm up to the lass, you must first establish an eye-contact beachhead, and instead of ogling her like a lust-crazed lumberjack, why not try one of my patented Leers Of Love? Here's two winners:The Joe Camel
This is the unspoken equivalent of shouting, "Let's make love!" Named, possibly modeled, after the cartoon cigarette mascot, it consists of looking your target d'amour directly in the eye, bugging your eyes a little and turning on a supremely confident, almost diabolic smirk, all the while repeating this silent mantra: "I am an internationally famous playboy." This look tells her, "I've got it all, baby, and I'm willing to share." Get a picture of Joe and practice in front of mirror. Study the camel, my friend, suppressed medical studies aren't the only secrets he possesses.The Jimmy Dean Up-From-Under
This subtle sneak attack makes up with finesse what it lacks in force, but can be very difficult to pull off after your eighth shot. Here it is in a nutshell--tilt your head slightly toward the floor and look up at her, smile mysteriously, then back down at the floor, then back up and smolder! This maneuver, if properly executed, will simultaneously arouse her maternal and femme-fatale instincts--at this point you're so on the beach you're starting to get a heck of tan!The beachhead firmly established, you must now actually walk over and talk to her. Instead of limping over to jabber some nonsense about what a cool place the bar is, arm yourself with a couple sure-fire torpedoes. The two best ice-breakers I know are the tried and true, "May I buy you a drink?" and the more original (and the generally more effective) "I'm robbing a bank tomorrow and I need a wheelperson I can trust. You game?" You'd be surprised.¸
-Dear CC:
My problem is my boyfriend's bizarre attachment to his mother. He believes as long he lives with her he will never grow old. If there's any known cure for apron-string immortality complexes, I'd sure like to know. Sign me,--Impatient in Plano
P.S.
And he never washes his hair.
Dear Impatient:
I know just the libation for that situation:
Devil's Milk
3 ounces Everclear
4 ounces tomato paste
2 egg whites, lightly beaten
Gently layer the tomato paste and egg whites in a heavy glass mug. Top with Everclear, ignite (carefully!), then, letting the cruel weight of the mug do the work, crack this delicious cocktail across your boyfriend's skull. The tomato paste (easily confused for blood) running into his eyes will shatter his immortality complex, the Everclear will disinfect the inevitable scalp wound, and super-heated egg whites make for an excellent hair tonic. You're welcome!
-CC Old Chap:
Afraid I'm in a bit of jam. Seems my wife left me. Again. Not such a bad thing, except she cleaned out the wet bar and bank account this time. I've nothing left save a half empty bottle of mescal kept hidden under the sink in the fear some fool might mistake it for tequila and actually try to drink it. The cruelest turn of all is she left behind a photo album haunted by the ghosts of happier days. If you've any comforting advice, I'm dying to hear it.--Distraught Doesn't Begin To Cover It
Dear Distraught:
Your problem, my good man, is you see the mescal bottle as half empty when you should be seeing it as an excellent start to an evening of alarming behavior. Here's how:
Heaven Lost (Is Hell Gained)
1/2 bottle mescal
Her best picture
One book of matches
Place the snapshot in a medium punch bowl and ignite. Let it curl and die. Grind the ash into the fine black dust every relationship eventually becomes. Energetically splash in the mescal while chanting, "The whore! The goddamn whore!" Then, disdaining all possible glassware, show the bottom of the punch bowl what the ceiling really looks like. Drink it down, let it spill down your neck, understand why mescal's south-of-the-border nickname is the Devil's Venereal Urine, then, when you've had your fill, vomit liberally on your chest. You are now ready for the evening.Drop by every bar you and your lost love ever visited. Demand drinks then gulp them down before they realize you have no money. Collar every mutual friend and insist on telling them how you're much, much better off without "the lizard-eyed harlot." After being being vigorously ejected and barred from every lounge you've ever loved, your previous rejection will seem a mild cuffing in comparison. And you can look forward to your wife's "best friends" coming around the next morning to exercise their thoroughly aroused Nightingale complexes. Enjoy!
Sad and sober and need some good advice? Tell the Concerned Cad all about it right here.
I'm staggering home.
