Karl Klockars

So it’s been more than a few weeks since we last sat down and went over the game plan for getting you non-hitched types a leg up on the competition. And since this weekend is going to be EstrogenFest at movie theaters across the country, now might be a good time to remind you gentlemen lost in the wilderness of womanhood of my first blithering on this topic.

Let’s wander back, to the heady days of mid-March, where you will remember your Faithful Narrator was fresh from the non-heaving bosoms of That Other Boleyn Dame. You will recall that a quick ratio check of our mid-afternoon matinee was somewhere in the vicinty of 20:1 of women to seemingly straight men. Now, were the guys that were all in that particular screening (myself included) attached to one of the females that make up the rest of the room? Yes. And this, gentlemen, is where you strike like cobra.

It’s almost unfair – no other unthinking straight guy is going to willingly stick their hand into this barrel of piranhas that is the audience of Sex And The City. So will you, Faithful Reader, succeed where almost every other man will fail? Will you be the one to dare to dream, to soar into the theater where other men fear to tread?

As for the movie itself, does it really matter? I used to think of Sex And The City like this – it’s girls acting basically like guys. They go out, stay out late, drink heavily, and have sex with a bunch of people without much consideration of the consequences. It’s late-30′s women acting like teenage frat boys.

Then as I continued to do the footwork on the SATC ladies, I realized that despite all this, they’re still a neurotic bunch of lonely, insecure frootloops. I didn’t like Seinfeld for mostly the same reasons, so why would I enjoy SATC? Well, aside from the prevalence of rampant female nudity. That part’s cool. Doesn’t matter. You’re not there to see the movie anyways. It’s secondary. (Except for the nudity. Of course.) The title has always even peeved me – shouldn’t it be “Sex In The City?” To my mind, yes.

Think about it. Do some pre-planning. Get your best girl friend – purely platonic, of course – to be your estrogenic wingman wingperson. Show up to the theater about 20 minutes early or so. Before you find your seat, scope out the theater and do your research. Eyeball the rows and rows of seats and figure out what women are in which group – the women who want to be like Carrie and the crew, and the group of women that are planning on sleeping their way around the Chicagoland* area just like their heroines.

Situate yourself just in front of those catty lasses – bonus points if you can track down some actual SuperCougars this weekend, because you know they’ll be out in force. Plant yourself directly in front of your target of choice, and have your wingperson delve into a long diatribe about how nice it is of you to come with, and what a shame it is that _______** just broke up with you. Then, out of her duffel-bag sized purse, take out the jug of Cosmos that you pre-mixed for the screening.

Then, like the attack vessel that you are, turn yourself around and nonchalantly say, “Hey – we’ve got way more drinks here than we can finish – would you ladies like to join us? I just happen to have some extra glasses here…” From there, you’re on your own to seal the deal. If you’ve played things correctly, you can probably finagle the gaggle of ladies to the bar at the nearest TGIMcFunsters for more freakishly colored cocktails. And then, my friends, you know where to take it from there.

You know that after the film completes, your target(s) will be ready and primed to go out and engage in some morally casual activities. Two straight hours of brand new SATC have been pumped right into her brain – as well as your pitcher of booze, yes? It’s perfect – and I guarantee that not one other straight male in that theater complex will have considered it. They’re too busy running away scared, right into the pathetic arms of the new Indiana Jones debacle.

Be the one who’s wisely chosen to take advantage of the situation that HBO Films has presented to you. Go forth and prosper. As for me? I’ll be the one hunkered down dead center, wishing he hadn’t argued for the tradeoff where I’d see Indy if The Girl got to see SATC. She wins this round.

*A few years ago I was told that when writing copy for ads or for news or other verbally transmitted wordage, that you don’t use “Chicagoland.” It’s typically used by car dealerships and they’ve got dibs on the usage. I never really subscribed to this line of thinking…but it’s interesting. So if you want to channel Crazy Bob’s Used Car Emporium, pepper “Chicagoland” into your conversations. Now you know.

**Insert name at your own discretion. I’d use “Becky.” Women seem to instinctively hate girls named “Becky.” Barring that, I’d suggest “Heather.” Your mileage may vary.