-You know who I think the ultimate wingman is?  Grandma.  Seriously, the next time you go to the bar, I think you should take your grandma.  Think about it.  Your grandma will go up to anyone and just start talking.  No one will make an excuse and walk away from your grandma because that’d be rude.  And who better to hype you up to a chick than your grandma – who literally believes you are the greatest person in the world?  Plus, your grandma will give you money for drinks and you won’t even have to pay her back.  But best of all, grandma is the best wingman because chances are she won’t try to make a booty call and bail on you in the middle of the night.  I mean, all the guys she knows are asleep…or dead.

-When I’m taking the elevator down to the lobby with a bunch of buddies after pre-gaming and getting ready to go out for the night, I’m always amazed how chivalrous my friends are.  We’re holding the door for girls, we’re making sure they all get out first, we’re being generally polite and friendly.  Then we get to the bar and immediately forget all sense of tact and discretion as we get as drunk as possible and offend every woman within a twenty-foot radius while vainly attempting to take them home against their better judgment.  I really believe that guys would be much better off if we never left the elevator.

-When it comes to getting inside an exclusive bar, guys suddenly lose all their abilities to estimate.  You know when you call inside the club and the dude who is going to help get you in asks how many guys and girls you’re with?  You quickly survey the eleven guys and one girl that is your crew and then say, “Um…it’s like two or three dudes and, uh, like six girls, six or seven girls.”  Then you frantically try to start recruiting groups of stray chicks to join you.  Of course when your friend comes outside to get you in, he’s not too happy with the total sausagefest you’ve produced.  So your one girl friend gets in and totally leaves you all pathetically standing behind the velvet rope.  Who’d have thought grandma would be such a dick?

-I’ll never forget that just before the final stage of the old school video game Marble Madness, the words “Everything You Know is Wrong” flashed on the screen.  I remember those words every time someone asks me if I want to buy a bottle in a club.  Because in the world of bottle-purchasing, everything you know is indeed very, very wrong.  Let me explain: at some so-called hotspots in the city, the only way you can get in or, once you’re inside, actually sit down, is by buying a bottle of alcohol.  The prices are, I’d say, a little out of whack.  For instance, a bottle of Absolut (retail value: $35) costs $250 inside the club.  Then you get to sit in a cramped booth while people you barely know stop by to make small talk and slyly make themselves a hearty drink then take off before the bill comes and you’re shamed into giving a 30% tip to the waitress who did nothing more than bring you a few straws and a carafe of lukewarm tonic.  Again, much better off staying in the elevator.