Aren't you tired of the dating scene? Where the good looking horde all the attention? Flashing their dimples and smothering everyone with their blasted Darwinian advantage?

Well, it was only a matter of time before technology and the human mating dance met face to face, went out for a few drinks and ended up in a Super 8! The result? A cyber-jungle of IM services plus a volley of single, dating and discrete encounters sites. A scene not much different than the de-humanizing meat-markets found in any half lit nightclub on a Friday night, it seemed like things are just going to be business as usual.

BUT WAIT!

With the invention of that great equalizer known as the Internet, it is finally irrelevant if you are shy or if your friends call you a Picasso come to life!

THERE IS MORE!

Now not only the ludicrously hot (not you) and extroverted (again, not you) can enjoy the sinful pleasures of straying into the fancy of multiple partners, whether you like it or not!

BUT WAIT!

‘How does this remarkable system, undoubtedly created by a sage in the arts of seduction works,’ you ask?

Simple, I made it a personal quest to travel the world, hopping from frisky Jamaica, to romantic Paris and to the ironically more laissez-faire city of Amsterdam to research and collect data. The rest of Europe, Asia, and Africa were also on the itinerary—somewhere— but unfortunately, I got as far as the mythical city of London, Ontario before running out of funds and forced to find a Money-Mart to buy the bus trip home. Either way, after ten minutes of Googling, I was able to extract the elixir to create this revolutionary system.

WOW, I AM GETTING A LITTLE EXCITED!

Yes, and you should be.

TELL ME MORE!

As part of your guide into history, you will receive my smouldering ‘How to be an Internet Player’ guide, smack full of essays, wisdom and ‘how-to’ nuggets. Such as:

Every so often while running my group, I feel it necessary to pair up with someone else in order to spice it up a bit. Our recent Christmas Party was a perfect example of that. I teamed up with David Shapiro, a promoter from the U.S. to host a party at Fluid Nightclub. With new injected energy, lots of dancing and hours of socializing happening, the party was very well received. As such, a point to do it again was made. So this year, I teamed up with Steven, one of the members of a mysterious group of individuals who run the copyrighted Saturday Nite Social Mixer's parties. Quite mysterious indeed as they have no base of operations and are not affiliated with any one group or website, like say, I am with meetup.com. They are like a swarm of happy-go lucky locust, swooping down bars and clubs, leaving only a trail of empty beer bottles and a lot of cash on the hands of the bartenders. It's a beautiful, if strange symbiotic relationship.

So after a few emails back and forth, the joint effort was a go: We were to pillage Philthy McNasty's on Saturday, February the 2nd. So I show up and there are tons of people. I one point early in the evening I guesstimated about seventy at least. Now the interesting thing was the sheer amount of people who I did not know. Generally, in my groups there are a number of people who have become 'regulars,' or more to the point, just friends. We do not need a social event to hang out at, go for drinks or go for dinner. This time it was very much not so, although it is always a pleasure to meet new people. But every so often, just like one would in any other forum, you meet some really, really weird people.

Take exhibit A: I had taken my camera to take some shots of the social. I am surfing in and out the crowds, introducing myself as I go. This girl is putting on her coat so I think she is leaving. So I extend my hand forward, in a firm and friendly, I-am-NOT-trying-to-pick-you-up way and ask her for her name. After which I was going add that I hoped she had a good time. Instead, her expressionless face, still glued to a TV said:

'It doesn't matter...' In a monotone voice.
'Uh?' Did I miss something? Did I have something stuck in my teeth? Well, she wouldn't know that since she hasn't even looked at me. Odd...
'Are you okay?" I asked, and as one of the organizers with a bit of concern.
Her head was still locked to the wall mounted TV, her eyes starring freakishly upwards, looking both distracted and drugged.
'It doesn't matter...' She repeated, slowly.

See, the interesting part when someone doesn't want to talk to you is that you can always catch hints by their tone of voice and body language. They are always the tell-tale sign. But it gets disturbing when faced with well below Forrest-Gump-like synaptic responses, I simply stall. Should I leave? Should I be worried? Do I still have something stuck in my teeth? Are they high?

She was putting her coat quite alright, so I ruled out drugged or drunk. I wagered she probably thought I was hitting on her. But she still had not even bothered to make eye contact to even determined that I was not. Since I doubt anyone would think a guy holding out his hand the way you do to heads of state while holding a camera in the other as the coolest, smoothest approach to hit on a woman. Bitch? Nah, perhaps just very rude.

I looked at her one last time, her eyes still glued to the TV.
"You are weird." I said as I walked away. Some people are just odd.

At around 11:00pm most of the girls in the group approached me to inform me of their need to dance. So the party was arranged into three groups: Some went on to Fluid, others to Devil's Martini and the last to a place called RockWood. I for one, I chose neither, opting for a more quiet fourth option. Needless to say, for what I heard it was a really good night of dancing. That's what matters.

If you would like to check my groups, try The TO23-35 Social and The 25-40 Social Groups. Although they overlap, they tend to cater to a different crowd. Oh, one last thing, I only share the odd and strange stories to you but they are quite rare. So don't be shy, come out! Wait on for exhibit B coming soon!

In one of my adventures as an organizer of a social group I found myself at a trendy lounge in downtown Toronto next to someone who was wearing a shirt that read: ‘Remember my name, because you will be screaming it later.’
Never having heard before, I could not restrain myself from commenting: ‘Funny,’ I said with a hint of friendly sarcasm. Then asked if it ever worked, ‘It worked while I was in Vancouver’ he responded.

He was funny and he didn’t strike me as the shy type. Actually he seemed like the type who would benefit from a little shyness.

We quickly got into conversation. The usual things you would talk to a stranger at a bar. He had just moved to Toronto from aforementioned Vancouver –hated the weather, by the way—and had just gotten a job at a computer firm. My old job as a computer analyst gave us more few things in common but being a Friday, we non-verbally agreed not to speak about our jobs. ‘So what else do you do?’
Ah…here is where things got interesting.

‘A have a side business…’ he said hiding a smile. ‘I am just starting.’
I could tell he was hesitating. It was understandable; I was a complete stranger and had talked for less than five minutes. He reached in his jeans and pulled a business card and handed over to me. It was thinner than average, matte and with cheap looking ink. The main caption read ‘Enlightened Heart.’ Printed in calligraphy not much different than what you would find on a turn of the 1800’s cover of a Harlequin novel. His name was below this.

Wha? I said out loud, not fully understanding.
‘I teach shy people how to get women.’
‘Really?’ I said without disguising the doubt in my voice.
‘Yes.’
‘What are your credentials?’
‘My life.’
‘Huh?’
‘Yeah.’

Then read the back of the card, ‘Personal life and relationship mentor,’ and an uplifting quote regarding being able to get what you want out of life. I asked if he was any good with the ladies. No answer, just a sheepish smile.

‘If so, why come out to my social group?’ I asked.
‘Field research.’
Damn. At least he was honest.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘I give a lot of free advise; doing it for over a decade now… Heck, you could say that I am giving away the business for free.’
‘The world is not short of misguided people.’ He commented.
God, did I know that to be right. He made me think: What if I have gotten five dollars for every time I helped someone hook up with their crush? Ten for every time I set someone up? And, what if I charged by the hour for the long nights spent over the phone telling a friend who had just been dumped that he\she would be fine until four o’clock in the morning? Holy mother lode! This guy was onto something.

From then on we jumped head first into many theories regarding dating and the mating dance. I have to admit, he had some good points regarding how to approach a woman: avoid pickup lines at all costs. The importance of attitude over looks, paying attention to details most men overlook and other general things. Even though we saw it from different sides of the fence, which is understandable as a point of view based on experience. It was still interesting to see the similarities and not so similar takes on the opposite sex. The verdict: ‘the dating scene’ is biased towards the shy and the timid. No secret there.

By the way, did I mention there were four ladies sitting between ‘Dale’ and me? Listening to everything we had said and I have to admit they did not seem very impressed with either of us. Not that we were being lewd, but I think she did not appreciate two men sucking the romanticism out of romanticism by making it sound like some sort of hard science. By the way, Dale, if you ever read this, I am giving you free advertising, so don’t come complaining.

A few hours later, Dale said he had another party to attend to but he was glad that the dropped by. I knew he was in fact networking for his business but told him he was welcome to drop by anytime. After all, that’s my job as the organizer of a social group.

’So is this what he really does?’ A woman in my group asked at the end of the night while studying his business card.
‘So it seems,” I said.
‘Strange, overall, he seemed kinda quiet.’


** Would you like to find out more about my social groups? Then wait no longer, click here!**

Chicago – A new study spear-headed by the Sigma Xi Scientific Research Society released its results last week after two years of statistic and physiologic data collecting. Its results were of no surprise to the scientists involved, or anyone with an IQ higher than 138 points.

'We found that on average, an IQ of 138 was the cut off figure a High School aged youth could no longer masquerade his intellect or brainy interests convincingly enough away from his peers.' Said Dr. Carlton, Head Researcher of the “Virgin Project” as it became affectionately known. 'The idea of the initiative was to determine why high IQ students tend to sexually lag behind their less intellectual school mates. It has always seemed like a case of Darwinism in reverse.'

The experiment consisted of rounding up 12,500 subjects from twenty different High schools from around the country who had to fill a questionnaire probing into their career, social and sexual views and accomplishments. 'The results were quite astonishing at first,' Dr. Carlton commented, 'and very soon, the pattern basically hit us right on the head like a Klingon death dart.'

The studies showed most 'jocks, cheerleaders and the generally cool crowd' in High school are now stuck in dead end jobs and drinking their sorrows on Friday and/or Saturday nights. Have barely expanded their social circles and are constantly reminiscing about the ‘good old days.’ 'In some instances,' Dr. Carlton commented 'A few subjects were actually employed in companies ran by the same individual they used to pull wedgies on. It is a case of extreme poetic justice.'

The results even illustrated instances of sad irony as in the case of Jacob Williams. Back in high school he was the soccer team captain for three years running. 'Yeah, I got some sweet snatch back then, drank like a fish too, yeah, those were good years. (But) lately my career has been taking most of my time.' Unfortunately, our interview at his place of work was cut short by a phone call, which required his immediate attention. 'If you excuse me.' Said Williams as he placed the phone back onto the receiver. 'I gotta run. Some yuppie loser just puked his guts out in the men’s washroom on the 17th floor.'

The status quo of the study showed intellectual prowess and the willingness to apply it in scholarly interest proportionally reduced the chances of a student getting laid.

'I was chess captain in high school and it was not until university that I kissed my first woman.' Reported one Oscar Escobado, 'But after I got my medical practice going, women have been practically throwing themselves at me. Honestly, I lost count how many I have had in the sack. You could say that I came back with a vengeance.'

The data also showed ‘Nerds’ tended to be better lovers than their ‘cool’ counterparts regardless of their financial success as their self-esteem with the opposite sex is permanently damaged. As such, a desire to always try harder, more passionately and/or for longer is ingrained in their psyche early in their teenager years as they feel they are never quite good enough. 'We called it the Ugly-Duckling Syndrome.' Said Dr. Carlton. It was also noted that none of the spouses or significant other of those in the study ever complained or seemed to mind their partner’s obvious emotional unbalance.

'It was almost impossible to conceal my astuteness when you can remember what was taught three weeks before or the fact that I had to keep correcting the teacher on her calculus solving skills. Back then; being smart was like the kiss of death. Mind you, my ex-playmate wife things I am over exaggerating.' Said one George Kyperous from his private yacht. Now a multi-millionaire whose patent of a drug that nullifies nicotine addiction is being subsidized by cigarette companies who are paying him not to bring his invention to market.

The project even had a chance to reunite many subjects who had not heard or seen of each other in years. As was in the case of Stevenson “Stevie” McNicoll, a Hyundai mechanic, but a Football God in high school. He had the chance to attempt to amend the years of emotional abuse he inflicted to Josh Patterson -- now a powerful stockbroker, member of the board of the Bank of America and married to Miss Florida ‘98. Later that day Mr. Patterson smirked as he commented, 'When his house is repossessed, we’ll see who’ll be laughing then.'

At the end of the study, it was discovered that in extreme cases chess, debate, science team captains and most serious nerds in general produced an income that was on average twice to five times greater than their entire high school populous combined. 'Such flexibility, and liquidity in assets,' Observed Dr. Carlton, 'Is a humongous turn on for women, who instinctively gravitate toward such needs as companionship, security and diamond jewelry.'

Since the results have been released, The Bank of America and a number of Top 100 companies have generously subsidized the entire funding for the “Virgin Project.”

Friends always tell me I tend to meet strange people everywhere I go. My defence usually goes along the lines of “Hey, I am friendly; people tend to end opening up, that's not my fault! Sometimes they tell me stories they would not tell anyone else and... well, we all have quirks. So when I tell you about them, it sounds like an above average number of people who are like that. However, I am sure we all have them, both friends and stories although we just don’t tend to share the latter." Or something like that. Really.

Take a few nights ago for example. I was at a bar and a girl was trying to unbutton my shirt. Sure, it doesn’t happen often, and yes, it is a great boost to one’s ego but all this was happening right at the bar and for the amusement of all onlookers. I felt the need to say something. Like asking for her name but as a gentleman, I felt I would be intruding onto her dedication and defer fervent concentration from her craft, and trust me, it was taking her quite bit of concentration. 'Vodka shots unwieldy fingers make,' that is what I constantly warn my readers.

Anyway, so after she tried to kiss me a few times --by the way, the locale in question is a rip off, a glass of table wine for $12??-- Anyway, I asked to go for a cigarette to relax. Once outside, this woman turned into the perfect example why I would never date someone I meet at a club. Not only she almost got into fight with a random girl whose boyfriend was right there. Which meant that me, as the defacto guy in tow, almost got sucked into a fight I had no part of. But wait there is more! After I managed to talk everyone out of a lot of scratching, hair pulling and punching, she then decided to curl up into a corner and become an emotional wreck. We are not talking fender bender either, more like two monorails going 215 km\h and crashing into each other kinda of catastrophe. With wheels and metal shreds exploding and decapitating flying birds and small herbivores everywhere.

All of the sudden she hated her job, her age, her life and just for kicks, me. To be honest, I was just standing there lighting a cigarette a few feet way. I knew we were just outside the lounge but I felt bad leaving her like that sobbing her problems away. Eventually her guy friend came out and asked me what as wrong with her.


She then glimpsed at us, squinted and called us losers. Her friend then moved closer and asked her what has wrong? She replied by slapping his smoke off his hand. Then both stared at the lighted cigarette now on the ground. ‘That’s bad for you!’ she argued. He then came back to my side, rolled his eyes and said he was going back inside for another drink. The now obviously drunk girl (NoOdGi) left the safety of her corner and stumbled to a fountain about 75 feet away. I followed. After repeating her ‘I hate my job, age and life’ mantra she decided to throw her purse, along with all its neat contents into said fountain. Then sat on the floor and cried some more. Wow.

Out of human pity --as at this point it could not possibly be for any other reason-- I looked into the fountain but the purse which was glittery white, blended with the incandescent yellow lights of he fountain just perfectly. Adding to this, the the fact it was night time, made the purse and the make up and cell phone invisible.

A few minutes later, her friend came out and after catching on to what had happened, took off his shirt and began looking for the damn purse in the fountain. Looking and searching, working his way more by touch than by sight. Pictures of Pirates of the Caribbean came to mind. He couldn’t find it and Noodgi was getting pissed off. I could not help smirking at the sheer spectacle. At that moment Noodgi caught me and began insulting me. But can anyone take the insults of a drunken woman who threw her own purse, along with her car keys into a fountain seriously?

Her friend couldn’t find the purse and he was getting pissed off. Why? Because he was going to get a ride from her --something I DID learn is that both of them lived in Mississauga-- mostly thanks to his rantings of disbelief.

It dawned on me that maybe just maybe, she may have overshot the fountain even though from my point of view it seemed like it had gone in. I decided to take a look a few feet further away where some patio chairs were located. As I went behind one of the chairs, lo and behold, guess what I found. A small white albeit now very dirty purse. I took it back to Noodgi, hanging off my index finger.


She then gave me a hug, said she loved me and began fidgeting with its contents. I asked the guy if they were okay to make it home, as there was no way she could drive. He said yes, he would probably wait it out until she sobered up. Noodgi then asked if I wanted another vodka shot. I said I would light another cigarette first.

As they went inside, I remembered my tab was paid and all of my actual friends had gone home. As I finished my cigarette, I checked the time, found my bearings, found Yonge and King and walked for my life.

St. Patrick, the patron of drunks everywhere is coming to Toronto. Starting today, the festivities created to test the resilience of the human liver and kidneys began with a loud cheer followed by countless of gallons of green beer being poured throughout the city. You go liver! Break down that bitchin' alcohol!
Our dear Saint Patrick is one of the Catholic Church's most misunderstood Saints. Perhaps only second to Jesus and Saint Valentine. Don't you think that if he had known that because of him millions of people would push the limits of their kidneys year in and year out that he might, I don't know, promoted a healthy eating habit as well?

You know, to balance things out?

...Or whatever happened to Brigid of Kildare and Columba? The other TWO patrons or Ireland? Have you guys even heard of them? They are probably the ones that advocated healthy eating.
So, to celebrate I will be having a small get together as part of my social group at Hemingway's in Yorkville. What a better place to toast a drinking holiday than in a bar named after one the 20th century's most celebrated lushes? And a decent writer to boot.

Here is the link to the outing.