ADAM: All right, so here's the deal. My friend Nicky and I are - in our estimation - Tacoma's foremost eligible bachelor and bachelorette (respectively). There are few people in the South Sound who so consistently succeed at remaining single and awkward in bars. So, it was determined that we'd start a little column where we'd tour the meat markets of our fine city and wingman each other. This column will end when we get laid, or when the summer ends. In other words, it'll end when the summer ends. I think it's no secret that we were trepidatious about hitting up Jazzbones for this inaugural edition. Nicky, what was our game plan?
NICKY: I figured first we'd have to get a drink in us to calm the jitters. Then, make a list of things and situations to avoid when the attempted swooning begins. I thought at some point we should try and properly buy someone a drink, although in a different fashion than movies have taught us. After we ordered some vodka and Red Bull, we perused the karaoke book and started scoping out the room. Another aspect to our plan was karaoke choice. We tried to stay away from self-deprecating tunes, and I tried to personally pick something modern, or at least well known. What song did you go with?
ADAM: First off, "a drink" is being kind. I was on my way to "three sheets to the wind" territory by the time we showed up. As far as songs go, I decidedly did not go with something modern: The Pixies' "Here Comes Your Man," which garnered blank stares last time I tore it up at Jazzbones. Meanwhile, you did pretty well with "Seven Nation Army," although now's as good a time to mention this as any: the pickings were pretty sparse at Jazzbones this Monday night; everyone was coupled up, except for the table of bros feverishly texting in the table next to us. I'm going to chalk our failure up to everybody recuperating from the holiday weekend, and not to our lack of macking skills. Personally, I was a little relieved to not jump into the deep end right off the bat, because we have some pretty nasty clubs we're heading to in the next few weeks. Despite encouragement to the contrary, I will not be sporting an Ed Hardy shirt in the near future. Where did we go after Jazzbones?
NICKY: We were off to O'Malley's, after I doused my liver in one more Vodka and Red Bull. That, in turn, gave me a little boost in my morale. I refused to let us accept defeat so quickly (even though it was after midnight, on a Monday night/Tuesday morning), so we shared a PBR and racked up a game of pool. After about fifteen minutes of making "slop" shots, it became clear that the only thing worse than our social skills, were our billiards skills. Still, I ended the night hanging out with the only woman that really matters: Dr. Beverly Crusher, of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
ADAM: Well, good for you. I can't remember who I ended the night with, but I'm willing to bet myself $5,000 that it was just me and a burrito from Memo's. So, all in all, not the most successful night on the town. Although, it could have been worse; that burrito could've rejected me. But, as you know, Nicky, I'm never one to let misfortune with the ladies make me do anything drastic like, say, start going to intensive therapy and whining about my penis size. All that matters, now, is that we don't let a bro-y hiccup like Jazzbones on a Monday night stand in the way of us meeting some ladies with low standards. I have my eye on the Encore Boutique Nightclub. Bottle service! Think we'll pass their dress code?
NICKY: Adam, we are some dapper motherfuckers. Let's get our club face on.
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