How to (not) woo a man.

Over the years, it's been trial & error in terms of picking up gentleman. Here I will share some of my failures.
#1: Leaving your number with a cute waiter: If I were Samantha on Sex & the City, this would fucking work. But I'm not. And it didn't. First time was my senior year in high school. I was at a restaurant in Redondo Beach called Green Temple, and my buddy Christine and I had a waiter with an Australian accent. DTF alert. Anyway, I tipped him like 50% and left my number on the receipt. He didn't call. Second time was a couple nights ago at Cheesecake Factory. I had a couple of drinks, but I wasn't drunk by any stretch of the imagination. I guess the liquid courage allowed me to forget about my past failure with Australian man. So my friends and I had this waiter, Cameron. His smile could melt your soul. So I wrote "Thanks for the drinks! Maybe I can return the favor! (I'm not a creeper!) - Erin (310) ***-****. [I wrote my real number, because I could see how just leaving astericks would not be ideal]
Where did it go wrong? I mean theoretically I COULD come off as a creeper [although in the second attempt I did specifically write "I'm not a creeper!"] Also, there is the possibility that they have a girlfriend. You get fooled into thinking they like you, but actually its all a guise to get tips. It's the same reason you don't leave your number with a stripper... they didn't give you a lap dance because of your sparkling personality. They did it to get your money.
Moral of the story: Don't tip your waiter 50% and leave your number. Tip 15-20, keep the extra to buy yourself a little something special to make yourself more appealing to potential suitors that you don't have to pay for attention. Also, you get to keep a little of your dignity.

#2: Hitting on someone aggressively in front of your and/or their family: Unfortunately, this has also happened twice. I guess I'm not the quickest learner. First time, also senior year in high school. I had gone out to Cheesecake Factory (which apparently has some force over me which fucks with my game) with my family and my brother Stephen's fiance Amy's family. We've known eachother for many years and it was a comfortable environment, so when we returned to their home I had a few drinks. And by a few, I mean I polished off a bottle of wine all by my lonesome. Now, I did this mostly out of boredom...I've found chugging wine adds a lovely sense of occasion to any event. So, naturally, I begin intensely hitting on Amy's older brother. Like, graphically. Needless to say, I made a complete and total ass out of myself. Incident numero dos was this past year on my birthday...I went to my other brother Eric's friend Matt's house. I had already had a bit of wine, I was feeling good. But I wasn't a scene or anything (yet). So Matt brews me a truly ridiculous drink: it was just 3 different types of hard liquor mixed into a fucking beast of a cup. I didn't realize at the time it was 100% alcohol, and my memory from that night is mostly gone. But my brother filled me in on some of my debauchery. I proclaimed myself the "blowjob Queen of New York" and took my pants off.
Where did it go wrong? First of all, cavorting with someone who is close to a family member of yours is always tricky and must be approached carefully. And by carefully I mean not in a state of complete and total shmammeredness, and not in front of the aforementioned family member.
Moral of the story: When hitting on a friend of a family member, keep your fucking pants on.

#3 Attempting to obtain a pity hook-up: We all have that friend, the drier[drunken crier]. You know, the one who breaks down into sobs upon encountering one ounce of alcohol. That annoying, annoying girl who everyone else has to take care of. Nice to meet you! I'm the drier. Well, not so much anymore. In fact, nowadays I am almost never the drier...but in high school, I was often a blubbering mess who smelt of tequila and shame. But I did have *one* such incident in recent history, I was at my lovely friend Sandy's friend's BBQ in Brooklyn. I was really hungover, so I wasn't going to drink. But then again, I was really hungover, and nothing cures hangovers like being in a constant state of inebriation. A few [million] shots/gulps/bottles of whisky and whatever else I had later, I was hitting on this awkwardly skinny gentleman who looked like he was about 15 [but don't worry he wasn't, he was legal.] I set my sights upon this prepubescent stud and began some of my best drunken moves ( including the subtle yet effective"what's this t shirt mean?" whilst stroking it clumsily) but he wouldn't have any of it. What the fuck? How dare you reject me you douchey little man? The tears began. Sandy, Kirsten, and everyone else there attempted to console my sorrowful self, but to no avail. In the end I got over it (if by "got over it" you mean passed out cold).
What went wrong? If some man, who is clearly either gay or out of his damn mind, rejects you...you act as if it doesn't bother you in the least. Because men love confidence, and an in-control attitude. The only man who will hook up with a sobbing/drunken girl is the same variety of man who will hook up with ...well fucking anything they can get their hands on. No one worth it wants to hook up with a messy drier. And that is a fact.
Moral of the story: Continue drowning your sorrows with alcohol. Perhaps hook up with someone less appealing than your original target. If you must cry, wait until you are alone in some sort of soundproof isolated area.

Wow, it seems like most of these involve high levels of inebriation. I wonder if there's any significance there.

Nah.

I have many many more failed man pickup attempts, which I will chronicle at a later date. But for now, I feel I wrote a shitload. So that's that.