How To Look Good Naked

It's absolute bullshit when men claim that women go to clubs not wanting to find men but rather dance with their friends. As women, we don't spend hours upon hours doing our hair, artfully applying makeup, and crafting the perfect ensemble to impress our friends, nor are our friends the reason why we tolerate the painful heels/spanx powercombo. When we look cute to go out to lunch it's for our friends, when we look sexy to go to the club it's for the dick. Don't get it twisted. With that being said, the other weekend I had the pleasure of staying at my friends' apartment in New York City. While I absolutely love L.A., it lacks the excitement and enchantment of New York, and the hustle and bustle is exactly what I miss so dearly on the West Coast. I made the brief commute from my New Jersey suburb to the big city 90% excited reunite with high school friends, and 10% excited to see all the hot, scruffy men they promised were lingering in the club scene. Once I arrived at the apartment, all of our energy was collectively focused on encaging these men. In fact, as we primped and pregamed, every sentence uttered had the word "hotties" in it (ex. "Let's find hotties tonight," "The club better be packed with hotties," "Hotties for everyone!" "Let's take a shot in honor of finding hotties!", and so on).
One long friday night into an early saturday morning of hunting hotties on the club scene passed, until eventually each girl and their respective prowling experience arrived back at the apartment to pass out in inebriated bliss. The next afternoon we woke up, and so three girls (one still drunk, two painstakingly hungover) sat in the New York apartment rehashing what happened the night before. There were the outloud readings of texts sent last night, stories told that answered "where did you disappear to while we were at the bathroom/upstairs bar/DJ booth?" and most importantly the discussion of which hotties were present at the club and who hooked up with which hottie.
"Ughhh, too many hotties were there last night," my friend moaned as her hazel and hungover eyes rolled around in her throbbing head. "I wanted to talk to them all but I was too drunk."
We all inwardly reflected on the different variations of tall, brunette men with their different variations of plaid flannels, all rocking their different variations of I-just-don't-give-a-fuck, messy-yet-styled hairstyles. In silence we dwelled on the fine specimen of hotties until a disrupting visual broke our serenity.
"Uhh, umm, you guys, look!!" barely able to formulate words I frantically pointed out their window. In New York fashion, the living room window offered a straight view into a neighboring apartment, and centered proudly in that opposing window was a penis. It was something we'd sought after so fervidly last night, but in the cold light of morning was nothing shy of repulsive.
"Oh my god, what the fuck!!!" Our jaws were dropped (and not in the good way) as we stared at the window paralyzed with horror. We couldn't see the tendant's face, but we knew he was brown haired and jewish. The man wore nothing but a red tee shirt and had his binds pulled down partially so through the window only from his shoulders to his balls were visible. We watched the penis walk around the room, making the bed, folding clothes, destroying our libidos.
In retrospect, our disgust at the situation was groundless. We wanted dick the night before, so waking up to it should have been a blessing. After pondering the situation it occurred to me: the morning dick never bought us drinks, or used hackneyed "so, you must be a model" pick-up lines. The morning dick never even called us pretty. We want dick once the man it's attached to has wooed us with his charming personality. But once the man is not there and all we have access to is a dick just hanging out, we don't want it anymore. So men, how to look good naked? Have a good personality.