The Five Types Of Drunk Girls That I Inevitably Hit On At A Bar

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Last week, TSM writer Lucky Jo wrote an article covering the five types of drunk guys that hit on girls at bars. While the list definitely had some truth to it, there were holes in her logic. I know that even Greek Life is susceptible to tools and weirdos, and I’ve learned to accept this. However, these characters pale in comparison to how miserably irritating women can be. Accordingly, here are the five types of drunk girls that I will hit on at a bar.

1. The Happily-Single Feminist
How cool is she? Single. Tipsy. Out with her girls for a great night (#sisterhood). She’s the undergrad version of a woo-girl, and she’s annoying as fuck, but whatever, I’ll still hit on her. I’m not saying that she’s a man-hating, Florence Nightingale-quoting full-blown feminist. I’m just saying that she thinks she’s a feminist. On average, she will have a legitimate conversation with 3-5 guys in a given night, and she will instigate none of them.

The happily-single “feminist” isn’t actually that suspicious of guys, she was just awkward growing up, never had a real boy friend (let alone an actual boyfriend). Four Judy Blume novels and a handful of horribly acted Traveling Pants-esque chick flicks later, and she’s all about “girl power.” Now I enter the situation, and she doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Not that I’m particularly suave, but she is digging the attention, though she is having a tough time admitting it to herself. I’m being flirty enough without pressing too hard because I know her type. She’s in a very awkward state of limbo. She’s kind of too prude to make a move, but she’s unmistakably undressing me with her eyes. I am going to hate to disappoint her later with my painfully average dad-body, should this actually work out somehow. The happily-single feminist is a conundrum, because she is not happily-single, and she’s not even a real feminist. It’s probably best we just let her believe what she wants, fellas. I’d much rather be a short life lesson than a full-scale spoiler alert. She’ll figure it out when she’s older.

2. The Regretful GDI
It is immediately evident to most people that I am in a fraternity. I usually travel in a pack of 8-12 of my pledge brothers, I saunter with a pompous, unearned swagger, and I have the confidence to act as if I own places even though I’m not actually that cool. For this reason, GDIs (even the hot ones) are wary of me. This one in particular is good looking and could have joined a sorority, but she’s a self-proclaimed “independent” and decided against rush.

Upon striking up conversation, I’ll usually ask which sorority she’s in, because she’s hot, and I assumed she was Greek. We’ve all made the mistake. Sorority girls are hot, shit happens. She snootily proclaims that she’s not in a sorority, and now I have two options here: I can stand there uncomfortably and let awkwardness of this blunder consume the situation, uneasily waiting for a change in the conversation. Or, I can ask why she didn’t join sorority. She’s full of excuses. “I didn’t feel the need to pay for my friends” or “I didn’t want to deal with rush” or any number of arguments involving elitism, unoriginality, money, time commitments, or having to deal with douchey frat guys. This usually pisses me off, because I actually don’t believe that anyone is ever actually happy they didn’t join Greek Life. They’re just wrong. I toy with her and basically end up making her admit that being Greek is the shit and that she was mistaken because I’m awesome and clever and she’s a geed. There’s usually a bit of regret in her voice by the time this is established. I do recognize that in some cases there might be extenuating circumstances that prevented her from joining a house (the only excuse I’ll usually accept is money), but I still find myself walking away from the conversation feeling better about myself. Remember, friends: we Greeks don’t pay for our friends, we simply pay for a feeling of superiority.

3. The Sober Monitor
She’s overprotective. She’s uptight. Worst of all, she’s not really drinking tonight. The sober monitor used to know how to have a good time. Back during freshman year, she was well known for her habit of stealing handles from rival fraternity mixers, bringing them over to your house, and initiating spontaneous, unsolicited games of “pass the handle” until it was cashed. Never mind the fact that this would happen on random Tuesday nights when most people were studying or still working off their hangovers from the weekend. Unfortunately college has not been kind to the sober monitor, and whether it was a broken heart or a shattered GPA, something made her grow up a little too quickly. The problem is that she’s still got it, physically speaking, and I really want a shot at the title. Any passes at her will include my offering to buy her a drink, my insisting, “Yeah, I’m taking it easy tonight too, I always study on Saturday mornings,” and maybe a little bit of, “Eh, maybe we should reconsider and have a couple drinks, Fireball shots are a buck, and you know Hemingway wrote drunk, right?” But she declines, she’s too concerned about her friends, because some girl named Kate got way too fucked up at the pre-game. Kate is such a cockblock. Per usual, the sober monitor is too much of a mother for her own good, or maybe I’m just way too fucked up and she sees right through my shit. Luckily for me, not every girl is quite as observant.

4. The Emotional Drunk
The emotional drunk is usually really stupid, to start off. File this one under “optimistic single,” as she’s usually on the prowl for a long-term stable relationship. Expect to know when shit doesn’t go her way (Spoiler alert: shit usually doesn’t go her way). She can seem normal, and she might actually be way too into you sometimes, but at the most subtle sign of my giving her crap (playful banter, as I consider it), she’s offended and runs off crying, usually to the sober monitor. I’m sorry if I’m honest and inform her I don’t give a shit about how sad she is about Paul Walker’s death. I’m pretty sure that she just interrupted my verbal editorial on how much hotter Miley is than Taylor Swift. That shit’s just rude, if you ask me. And on a side note: To the trolls who will inevitably rip my Miley over TSwift claim apart, let it be affirmed that I would be honored to take either train wreck back to my room to show them my fish tank.

Long story short, the emotional drunk can’t take a joke, and then I’m the asshole who made her cry when all I did was tell her to wait for her turn to speak and that she wasn’t spanked enough as a child. Come to think of it, I think that most girls I hit on are emotional drunks. One could possibly make the argument that it’s less about their being sensitive and more about my being an aggressive, belligerent asshole. But to quote Eisenhower, “The search for a scapegoat is the easiest of all hunting expeditions.” It’s not my fault she sucks.

5. The Slut
This one is a tricky one, because the emotional drunk can creep into this territory on occasion if you accidentally fall into her trap and give her the attention she’s looking for, and that’s terrifying. But the slut typically falls into one of two categories. There’s the more common make-out slut, who is just looking to engage in some tongue punching and bail. This isn’t the worst thing, because we can all admit that making face with a rando can grab you some sweet street cred, especially when you bail at last call to go drink more with your pledge brothers. It’s a mutual relationship, and it’s perfect for what you’re looking for at the time. Munching talk-box in public is cool. Remember that half of being social is just about the face time. The second type of slut is the slut-slut. She’s just a slut, plain and simple. I usually avoid the slut-slut because she’s a slut. I don’t know how much more transparent I need to be. I’m what you call old-fashioned, in that I like to work a bit for my pussy, but maybe that’s just me. I won’t judge anyone for taking the slut-slut up on her offer for a great night (and hopefully morning) of sex or a quick beej in the alley behind the bar or even a subtle OTPHJ on the dance floor. The world is your oyster. Pretend you have sex in oysters. Sex is tight.

I’m sure this list oversimplifies reality, and most girls often fulfill more than one of these categories. Point being, I swear I’m not sexist, I just see through girls’ shit. I think my Miley/T Swift comment makes it apparent that I’m open to a variety of women. I’m hoping that means I’m open to diversity. I’m afraid it just means I have no standards.

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Nathaniel Light is a contributing writer for Total Frat Move. Nate spends his free time drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and covering his food in chili and cheese. This has led to slight weight gain, but he has been told that he resembles a "J. Crew model ten pounds overweight." It was either the nicest insult or the meanest compliment he has ever received. His picture is a metaphor, but it actually happened.

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