NEWSPAPERS

Let me tell you a story about how not to pick up women.

I was recently approached in the middle of a mall in the middle of the day. Romeo invaded my personal space, dropped alternately flattering and suggestive comments and generally made me feel uncomfortable.

Before slinking away, he gave me his phone number. (It has since been circular filed.) Without a doubt, this was the work of a pick-up artist.

Pick-up artists are a subculture of men who liken dating to a sporting event. The objective? Score as many touchdowns as humanly possible.

While I take issue with many of these real-life Leisure Suit Larrys, I do have to give them a little credit. There is one thing these men are doing right.

They are talking to women.

But how can decent, relationship-seeking dudes meet women without being lumped in with methodical sleazebags?

Here are some pointers from me and my babe friends:

• Talk to women in bars, cafes, restaurants, book stores and at social events. Try not to corner us on the street, on public transit (where there is no easy means of escape) or when we’re clearly busy

• Say Hi. If we respond curtly and our body language makes it obvious that we would prefer to be alone, leave

• Referring to women as “fine females” won’t earn you any brownie points, lady-killer

• Neither will hitting on the friend of a woman who just rejected your advances

• Ask open and thoughtful questions. “How are you doing this evening?” will absolutely fail. “Nice button, I like that band, too. Have you ever seen them live?” is a conversation-starter

• Sexual innuendo within the first few minutes of meeting = ick

• Manners are sexy (eyes up here, gents!)

• Don’t ask for our number right off the bat — this is something you earn

• We like sincere compliments

• We like it when you listen

• Do not touch us (unless we touch you first)

• Flirting with a stranger you find attractive and intriguing is cool. Pouncing, serial-style, on a multitude of ladies? Not so super cool.

There you have it, fellas. Free advice! And all the money you’ve just saved on how-to books and classes can be spent on buying dinner for a smart and pretty girl.

I am fortunate enough to have many friends and an impossibly huge extended family. As a result, I have been to a LOT of weddings.

Every wedding I’ve attended has been special in its own way. But some stand out more than others.
If there were Olympics-style scoring in place for weddings, they would be ranked using the following criteria:

1. Company
2. Emotion
3. Quality of food
4. Overall memorability
5. A distinct lack of “The Chicken Dance”

I went to a wedding that scored off the charts this past weekend. The best part was that I didn’t even know it was happening.

My dear friend, Lindsay, invited family and close friends to celebrate her boyfriend Lee’s birthday at a French bistro. The couple are expecting a baby next month and were making a big deal out of this particular birthday because, in Lee’s words, it would be the last time they’d ever be seen in public.

Before the main course, Lee stood up to make a speech. He thanked everyone for coming and casually announced that he and Lindsay had gotten married earlier that day.

The birthday celebration suddenly became something else.

It’s a wedding that I will remember much more vividly than all of the evenings featuring taffeta, extravagant floral arrangements, smoke machines and cheesy DJs playing Kool and the Gang.

There was no cake. No dance floor. No ice sculptures. No bridesmaids. But none of these trappings were missed.

Because this low-key affair had everything that makes a wedding great: The wine flowed. The food was gorgeous. The bride looked beautiful in a black maternity dress that she scored for 50 per cent off and a string of pearls with sentimental value. The speeches were tearful and sincere. And most importantly, the couple were surrounded by 25 people who love them.

Days later, I still well up whenever I think about it. It was perfectly imperfect. It was the best wedding I have ever attended and I will remember it for as long as I live.

Those of you planning weddings might fall into the trap of mistaking frills for needs. It’s not a competition. It’s about doing it in a way that makes you happy and reflects your personalities. Get married the way you want (if you choose to get married at all) and it can’t be anything but wonderful.

I need to quit Facebook before it gives me the brain of a child star.

Let me explain.

I recently posted a flattering profile photo that a friend took of me at his birthday party. Within a few minutes, the comments came flooding in. “Luminous!” one friend wrote. “Stunning!” insisted another. “Behold the ADORABLE,” offered an old school chum. Real-time Sofi beamed, basking in this onslaught of cyber compliments.

Now, I am not “stunning.” Not by any stretch of the imagination. That said, I am more than OK with my looks, but would place them in the “average to mildly foxy” range. What my lovely Facebook friends and acquaintances were doing, whether they meant to or not, was acting as a chorus of Yes Men.

Yes Men are the managers, the proteges and the hangers-on of celebrities (not that I am a celebrity —hear me out). Yes Men never say “No!” or “Wrong!” or “Bad!” The celebrity’s every whim is satisfied. Every opinion (no matter how ignorant or flat-out crazy) is validated.

Even the most idiotic actions are rewarded with a pat on the head. This is why former child stars are, for the most part, certifiable messes; their versions of reality are tragically skewed.

When you leave a flattering comment on a friend’s Facebook profile, you are stroking their ego, celebrity-style. This can be a good thing. It strengthens the bonds of your friendship and makes the recipient feel loved, appreciated and/or validated. But after months and years of Facebook compliments, of gold stars, of LIKES THIS … we may start to lose touch with reality ourselves.

The reality is this: Not everything you do is awesome.

Sorry to be the one to break it to you. I mean, I’m sure you’re really great and everything, but we’ve already seen that YouTube video a million times and no one cares to know which stupid crops you harvested on FarmVille.

Presumably, everyone on Facebook is a friend or fond acquaintance. Meaning that most of your interactions will be positive. So here’s a wacky thought: We should start adding enemies and acrimonious exes to Facebook! That way they can drop the odd, “My new boyfriend/girlfriend is way hotter and smarter than you. Also, why do you update your status every five minutes? Shut your virtual pie-hole already!”

Sometimes a heavy dose of perspective can be good.

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

If you’re like me, the answer is: “Nothing. Ever again.”

After a decade of disappointing December 31sts, I’m tempted to hole up with some DVDs, order a pizza and hit the sack at 12:01AM.

It pains me to admit this, but my parents have been right all along.

I have paid ridiculous sums of money to be wedged into packed bars that felt more like saunas. I have parted with $15 for a watered-down martini. I have seen flimsy high-heeled shoes fall victim to ice and sleet. I have suffered as bone-chilling winds whipped my bare legs during failed attempts at hailing taxis.

I have been a fool.

I have had enough.

I am over New Year’s Eve.

I’ve come to the realization that my fondest NYE memories are those low-key evenings I spent with people I care about.

1991: Watching Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with my folks after going out to Red Lobster (fanciest!), sipping “bubbly” (Canada Dry … the champagne of ginger ales, I’ll have you know), giddy to be staying up past my bedtime.

2000: Hanging out in a dear friend’s basement. Mixing Mountain Dew and tequila (with predictably unfortunate results). Mortal Kombat. Junk food. Laughing until we cried.

2004: A sedate cocktail party in Kingston, Ont. Hors d’oeuvres. Quiet laming out. A chaste kiss shared with my university boyfriend at midnight.

Other December 31sts blend together. Nights when midnight came too swiftly and too soberly. Unholy stress fests. And sh*t shows I’d sooner forget.

Tonight, droves of people will descend upon the hotspots of downtown Toronto to indulge in bottle service, lose their friends in crowds, pick fights, shriek in the streets and vomit on Blue Night buses.

I will not be among them.

I may head to an intimate potluck with some lovelies. I may embrace my inner hermit and head to bed at a reasonable hour. I may end up doing both.

So what if my plans aren’t epic, expensive, or even exciting? It’s just another night.

I hope that wherever you’re off to tonight, you’ll be with your favourite people. Because if you’re going to have a brutal night (and, let’s face it, this is highly likely), it’s probably a good idea to divide the brutality among people you love.”

One of my superpowers is that I am an excellent judge of character. It doesn’t take long for me to decipher whether someone is a good-hearted and decent soul or if they should be avoided at all costs. This is as true for potential friends as it is potential dates.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares this superpower. And sometimes, wonderful people get romantically involved with the deeply unworthy. Over the years, I have regrettably had several pals pair up with arrogant, ignorant, ambition-free jerk festivals.

It’s a tricky position to be in, hating the partner of a friend. Faking enthusiasm and friendliness when you’re forced to share the same airspace gets old. It’s not easy, biting your tongue until it bleeds.

Several years ago, I met a close friend’s boyfriend for the first time. He picked us up in his car and promptly sparked a joint behind the wheel. He later yelled at an elderly relative, accusing her of stealing his liquor.

It was a banner Friday night.

My friend is no longer with this boy. This was a decision she made on her own. It was not influenced by the fact that her family/friends were clearly not fans.

When people fall in love, the flaws of their partners tend to be muted because they are thoroughly wrapped up in a magical world of puppies and kittens and butterflies and red velvet cupcakes and baby birds made out of marzipan.

It’s a huge risk to let a friend know that you don’t approve of their significant other. For some, anyone who does not love their lover becomes The Enemy. Logic and emotion are like oil and water. Speaking up about your reservations is a quick and easy way to make a friendship super awkward. Or end it.

For some, dating someone sub-par is preferable to being single. It’s like a sad game of musical chairs; people scrambling to grab the nearest available chair, utterly terrified of being the one left standing.

But those with strong senses of self are fine to stand for a few rounds. Why rush to sit in a crappy chair that will give you splinters and quite possibly collapse?

If your particular “chair” is the product of shoddy craftsmanship, chuck it to the curb. Because somewhere, there is a kick-ass heated orthopedic chair with a built-in massage mechanism and a lifetime guarantee that’s got your name on it.