-When talking amongst ourselves, all guys use the standard “one to ten” scale to rate how attractive a girl is.  That’s because merely describing a girl as “hot” is insufficient.  I mean, there’s a big difference between the hottest girl that went to my high school and the hottest girl from the last season of Entourage.  Sometimes, we further subdivide for greater accuracy, assigning separate ratings for a girl’s body and her face.  The entire exercise is, of course, superficial and borderline offensive.  But for us, it serves as a universal language between guys, helps mask our own insecurities, and, well, anything with rankings or stats kinda reminds us of sports, so that’s a bonus.  Thus my alcohol-fueled attempts at hitting on the hottest women possible are not just a test of my game, but evidence of a larger phenomenon: the numbers game.

-An accent always adds at least a point to a girl’s rating.  I was out to dinner with the boys recently and our waitress had a British accent.  We spent most of the meal giggling like schoolgirls whenever she spoke and then we left about a 40% tip.  Shortly thereafter, I was at a wedding and met a girl with a Southern accent, which is extremely rare to hear in New York or LA.  I think it was the first time in my life a girl offered to text me and I was like, “No, no, please.  Call me.”

-A few weeks ago, I found myself laying in bed on a Saturday, nursing a hangover, and texting with a girl (she had no accent) to try to get her to come out that night.  When the conversation was over, I looked at the clock, saw it was 11:49am, and realized I had set a new personal record: hitting on a chick before noon.    

-The International Bureau of Weights and Measures is a real organization, based in Paris, that maintains the official one kilogram brick and the one meter stick.  And I always imagine that in a little room, next to the brick and the stick, sits a ridiculously hot girl named Michelle, and she’s the official perfect ten – the international benchmark for hotness.  The thing is, living in LA has totally fucked with my head because there are more tens here than anywhere else I’ve ever been.  A few months ago, I was at a party in Hollywood – obliterated – and talking to this ten I had no shot with.  I stumbled to the bathroom, and when I returned, resumed the conversation.  After a few minutes, I realized that this was actually a different girl.  LA has got to be the only place on earth where you can be talking to a ten, and then turn around and start talking to another fucking ten!  (And have them both hate you equally.)