Chili Dog Girl

I’m in Austin raging my nuts off for Austin City Limits Music Festival. I don’t usually partake in events subjecting myself to be crammed in with a bunch of 18-year old kids getting high listening to bands like Rebelution, however this five-day trip is a well-paid excuse to go out every night on East Sixth Street, or as the locals refer to it, Dirty Sixth (I am here to tell you that name is every bit as fitting).

Entering Dirty Six, I look around with glee at the swaths of young, even collegiate level, inspired female faces ready to take on the world, or for the time being embrace Dirty Six and enjoy it’s rows of rooftop bars and welcoming gentlemen such as yours truly. One particular night, I lose my friends I am staying with and start heading back to the hotel (by lose I mean ditched them in pursuit of some other interests, failed, and was thereby reduced to return home as the bars close). I owe it to the Dirty Sixth to make a greater effort, so as I am walking back I approach a nice blonde girl, lured in by her wonderfully convex buttocks. I open with some generic yet non-threatening bullshit and she becomes mildly engaged. We start walking in a general direction together (coincidentally towards my hotel) and get to know one another on a deep, interpersonal level until she interrupts me to order a chili dog from a street vendor. The guy hands her the greasy-ass dripping chili dog, where she then looks at me with a face that says, “What, you thought I was going to pay for that?” I already hate this girl but I can’t crush my chances with her over a six dollar chili dog. I begrudgingly hand over my credit card so we can move on with MY life. We take two steps from the cart until she stops me again:

Her “Did you tip him?”

Me “Yes.”

Her “How much?”

Me “Umm.”

Her turning back to the chili dog man, “Did he tip you?”

Him calmly picking up my receipt and looking at it, “No.”

Her back to me, “Give him a tip.”

Me with as much contempt as I could possibly muster, “How much do I tip for a fucking hot dog?”

Her “Give him three bucks.”

I continue to quarrel with her but to no avail. A $8.50 chili dog later we resume ambling back towards my hotel. Promptly noticing my quiet frustration, she loudly retorts, “Oh I’m sorry. You thought you could buy a bitch a chili dog and then get laid. Sorry Honey, it’s not that easy with me.” As we are walking back, she rotates between making me hold her chili dog, her purse, and her phone to orient her belongings, but mostly to flex her high maintenance muscles. I actually despise her at this point, but with the end in sight I trust it can only get better. Wrong.

After a drink at the hotel bar, we finally arrive up to my floor where I kindly escort her to the the mini room that connects the hallway to the staircase (I didn’t want to take her to my room and impose upon the three other people I am sharing the room with – my best friend from college and two female friends.) I try to make a move on her but she quickly realizes that this is my ultimate destination for us:

Her “What is this? Let’s go to your room.”

Me “I told you we can’t go to my room, I don’t want to be rude to my friends.”

Her “So this is what you had in mind!?”

Me “Well…”

Her taking a moment to collect her emotions, “I feel so disrespected that you thought I would be okay with this.”

Me thinking to myself, “Well shit, the girl last night was cool with it, though in fairness that girl was a bit of a lower hanging fruit (in every possible way you could conceive that phrase to mean). How is ChiliDogGirl above the staircase bang; is this what they refer to as self-respect and dignity?”

She continues down this vein to the point of no return, so I walk back to my room and try to slide my key through the door before she can observe my swift retreat. Not swift enough, she comes out of the staircase room and starts to follow me, so I keep walking towards the elevator to bait her in away from my room. She stops at my door and announces, “Is this where you are staying?” I stand 10 feet away paralyzed as she proceeds to bang on my door. My buddy comes out and does his best to placate her, smiling at me as I hold my head down in despair. Despite his best efforts, she persists with her charged indignation. My girl friend pops out from the room to come rescue me and alleviate this shitstorm I have placed onto them by repeatedly proclaiming that I am a “good guy” and other such self-flattering falsities. Apparently hearing from the female perspective is enough for ChiliDogGirl.

Finally ChiliDogGirl abates and walks away. I rush into my room to end the torment, but my female friend who saved me turns to me:

Her “You can’t just leave her out there like that! Go apologize!.”

Me “You have no idea what I have been through (I had to buy her a chili dog, WITH tip!!). She is the devil, I am telling you.”

Her “I don’t care you have to go apologize.”

Defeated, I saunter back into the hall muttering out, “Devil come back to me.” I approach Devil as she’s waiting for the elevator:

Me unenthused, “I am supposed to apologize to you.”

Her “Fuck you.”

Me “That’s what I figured.”

I wait to make sure she safely steps into the elevator (I would never just leave her high and dry, what kind of monster do you think I am), and return to my room.

Life Lessons Learned

  • Despite my interest in efficiency and simplification, it is in fact true that purchasing a woman some variation of a hot dog does not necessitate her having sexual intercourse with you.
  • Not all women are comfortable hooking up in the same places. Some are morally bound to the confinement of the hotel room, whereas other more…freethinking…women are willing to accept the “adventure” as long as you inform them 20 minutes prior that you will be “going on an adventure” to rationalize your unconventional hookup venue.
  • Read the signs, connect the dots, pull your head out of your ass, and any other metaphor bearing similar meaning to not being a complete idiot. If a girl expects you to buy and hold her food within 10 minutes of meeting her, it’s a safe bet that she won’t subscribe to the staircase bang session. She wants to be treated like a lady, and for reasons inexplicable, hooking up the first night upon meeting in a derelict room of a 4-star hotel apparently does not constitute courtship.
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Why I Hate Roommates

*This is a bonus post that has nothing to do with women, but is still laced with my general themes of selfishness, impatience, and not getting my way, so I deem it to be a viable addition.

I’m headed off to San Diego for a weeklong company meeting which I could not be more excited about: aside from 9 hours a day of exceedingly boring PowerPoint presentations, the company is essentially paying for me to bask in the sun, take surf lessons, and chase women in the Gaslamp and Pacific Beach. Better yet, I got my first pick on roommate preferences; I’m to room with one of my coworkers who is exceptionally easygoing and good-natured (the diametrical opposite of me, which is why I chose him) . However, it turns out that if you stated a roommate preference as was requested of me, you got that roommate. If you didn’t state your preference, you got a room all to yourself, serving as yet another example of how my proactive and overeager nature screws me over. Fuck it, nothing can hold me back this week. (As a side note this is the same concept of how I got fucked into taking French instead of Spanish in school. I put my second preference as French, whereas everyone who got Spanish left their second preference blank. Apart from infrequently wooing some girls with the 9 french words that I still recall, as a California native French is utterly useless in comparison.)

My flight was delayed two hours, so it’s late at night by the time I check into the hotel and all I want to do is go straight to bed to hit the ground running tomorrow. I finally get to my room and my roommate, let’s innovatively call him Roomie, is hacking away at emails. I ask him why he is working 12 at night, but he just calmly replies that he has some last minute emails he needs to send. I try to fall asleep as I hear him pointlessly working on his computer. Six hours later he wakes me up as he is getting ready to leave with two hours to spare for our first meeting at 8 AM. What the hell is he doing? I’m seriously starting to question my roommate choice. I slump through the day tired as ever, and attempt to lay some ground rules the second night:

Me “Do I need to show you how to turn down the brightness on your computer if you are going to be working past 12 again? Do you not sleep man? What’s the deal?”

Roomie “No man I can’t. It’s bad but I don’t sleep more than 4 hours since the military.”

I ask him more about this out of curiosity how that is even functionally possible, but the bottomline is I get another night of shitty sleep while he rummages around the room. My first order of business the following morning is to ask one of the Executive Assistants who organized the entire week to put me in another room. I plead as if I am in a dire state of unsafety, and she quickly accommodates my request (which is fairly insensitive of me considering she has about 1000 more important things to do for this hectic week, but of course when has that stopped me before). I pack up my suitcase that night while Roomie is in the bathroom, and slip out the door off to meet my new roommate. With all my bags and suitcase in hand and a smile on my face, I knock on the door:

NewRoomie shouting from the room “I think you have the wrong room.”

Me “Hey, I’m your new roommate. Sorry did they not tell you?”

NewRoomie “Oh right, right. Hang on one second.”

I stand there for literally 7 minutes holding my bags in the hall staring at the door. What on God’s green earth is he doing? He finally opens the door to greet me with his shirt off, beer belly hanging out. I am cordial to eliminate any potential friction, asking him where he worked previously and soon engaging in the typical 3-minute stale-ass corporate conversation. As I am unpacking, he blurts out, “I hope you brought some earplugs, my wife tells me I snore…just kidding (said in a I’m-actually-dead-serious tone).” He places me in an immediate gridlock as I try to weigh my options. What is worse, trying to sleep next to someone who snores like the fat hippo he is, or next to someone pounding away at their keyboard all night? He then asks me what time the meeting starts tomorrow. Me, feebly trying to secure 20 minutes of extra sleep, “Well it starts at 8, just down the hall from here, so I’ve been getting up at 7:40 to get a little more sleep. You know what I mean?” Without responding, he picks up the phone on the bedside table: “Hi, can I get a wake up call for 6:20?” Click.

I literally start repacking everything I have just unpacked, throw my bags over my shoulders, and walk out the door muttering back to him on my way out, “Sorry I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” I race back to my old room and upon my return Roomie inquires without looking up from his computer, “Where the fuck you have been?” I retort, “Come on, you know I’d never leave you.” It is enough to placate his mild interest.

The guy I bailed on last night sees me the next day and asks, “What happened? I thought you were coming back to the room.” I unintelligibly stutter out, “Oh yeah sorry I lost something, and then I couldn’t find it, so by the time I found it it was too late so I didn’t want to wake you up.” As he stares at me dumbfounded, I promptly escape and take a seat for 8 AM death by PowerPoint.

Life Lessons Learned

  • The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Sometimes it’s better to bite the bullet with what, or who, you have for a week.
  • When sharing a room with a new person, come stacked with earplugs, an eye mask, and a willingness to compromise. If not all three of these items are available to you, pick your best two.
  • We are all beautiful unique flowers who sleep and behave in our own special way. But sometimes it’s better to be the only flower in the pot than to have other flowers around who entirely fuck up your sleep and therefore day.
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The Sex Trust Game

I start the night with a good buddy from college. The bar is packed with beautiful women unlike anything I have previously seen in SF. As two years his senior I waste the first half hour giving him career advice without his request, which is hilarious considering I was fired from my first post-college job. Giving advice is always about benefiting the giver, me, as a socially appropriate way to implicitly boast of past accomplishments. After 30 minutes of delivering unsolicited and unqualified guidance, my self-confidence is charged up to ram into this brunette I had my eye on since entering the bar. She has been surrounded by guys the whole night, so instead of waiting for my “turn” I jump headfirst into introducing myself with her girlfriend and two guys around her. She is very sweet but at some point mishears one of my questions as, “Are you available?” to which she responds, “No I have boyfriend.” (I didn’t actually ask her that but she knew the question was coming in some form or another, so really she just short-circuited my list of trivial questions). Shell-shocked yet undeterred I ask, “Where is he?” “Right behind me,” she calmly replies. He is either the biggest pansy of a boyfriend to let me blatantly hit on his girlfriend, and/or he has a level of trust in her that is utterly foreign to me. I table the thought for future contemplation, and initiate with two nearby blondes.

The hotter of the two is with some guy she is dating (they haven’t hooked up yet apparently), so I flirt with the less but still fairly hot blonde, basically just a vertically smashed down, horizontally stretched out version of the hotter one. My college buddy politely waits next to us, so I call out some girl eye fucking him. The two of them start talking, and I write it off as mission accomplished: I still get to flirt with this blonde without feeling like a dick for ignoring my friend. I rarely have such qualms but I genuinely like this guy and intend to show him a good time in the city while he is visiting (I even bought him a drink, which speaks volumes both to how much I appreciate him and how shitty of a friend I am to consider this a noteworthy action). He comes back several minutes later to report that he had to flee from her biting him, and not the affectionate biting but rather the she’s-blacked-out-and-batshit-crazy biting. He heads out to another bar with some buddies, with me soon to follow.

As I am walking to the next bar with HotterBlonde, 2ndBest, and HotterBlonde’s boy fling, he asks me for literally the third time in the past twenty minutes, “Hey what’s your name again man? I’m really sorry I forgot again.” He is dopey as hell but means well. Bitter that he has the hotter girl and can’t remember my name to save his life, I curtly reply to all his inane questions, until he mentions he lives a few blocks up the street and offers to have us all stay over. I excitedly respond, “You just massively upgraded your damn self!” Without even realizing he went from zero to hero, he exclaims, “Yeah!” 30 minutes later we arrive at his place.

As soon as we enter his house, the two girls go the the bathroom for ten minutes to confer with each other about god knows what. When 2ndBest comes out I ask, “So did you decide after all that I’m a bad guy and you don’t like me?” “On the contrary,” she coyly retorts, “I re-applied my lipstick.” I don’t know if that means I am getting laid but I suppose it’s a step in the right direction. The four of us are hanging in the living room downing drinks and listening to overplayed music. Out of the blue 2ndBest starts divulging how she has been friends with HotterBlonde since time immemorial and how HotterBlonde has always received so much positive attention from guys growing up. She quickly adds, “Don’t get me wrong, I get hit on A LOT too, just not like her.” Perhaps she wants me to be impressed by her supposed emotional maturity, but all I hear is “I have always been ragingly jealous of my stunningly beautiful friend, but I’m TELLING you that I am hot too!” She continues in this vein as I sit quietly, casually interrupting only to affirm her opinions and theories. I want to make her feel special, hoping that she will specially want me to feel her.

The two girls go back into the bathroom to discuss and decide my fate, leaving me stuck with this dweeb of a guy. As I am sitting in this kind of sex purgatory, I kindly tell him to grow a sack and take HotterBlonde to his room, rendering me alone with 2ndBest in the living room. Alas, the girls return, and the music, dancing, and false fun resumes. I finally get so fed up I pull 2ndBest aside in the hall and attempt to strike a deal. I explain that I want to be alone with her to “kiss and stuff” and in exchange I promise I won’t try to have sex with her (earlier she clearly verbalized it wasn’t going to happen). It’s a win-win: either I look like a great trustworthy guy for holding my promise, or my smooth lips and jiggly ass cause her to reconsider. She agrees to it, and I promptly escort her to the downstairs room. We start making out, I take off her shirt, but she halts my attempt to take off her bra. Fuck, I thought the negotiation would at least begin once most the clothes were off, but I can’t even get that far. I give it another solid 7 minutes of warm up with no progress as she remains resolute. My minimal patience is fully exhausted at this point, so I get up and leave, just like that. I go home at 3 AM empty handed with full nuts and boiling frustration – YOU’RE NOT EVEN THAT HOT.

Life Lessons Learned

  • Your time is better spent sticking with your good friends you haven’t seen in awhile than gambling your night away with some outstandingly average girl.
  • Verbal negotiation is not an effective hookup strategy, especially when she stated up front that it’s not going to happen. Just be in the moment with her, or make like a tree and get the fuck out earlier.
  • Even the dweebs can pull amazing women. You see, to attract quality women, it all comes down to….hell if I know.
Posted in Humor, Pursuit of Women | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

4 Things I Learned From a Night of Rejection

As I scan the lounge, I lay eyes on perhaps the best looking woman I have seen in SF. Typically I warm up my game with some less aesthetically pleasing girls with nice personalities to build up my confidence. Such women tend to make noticeably more of an effort and are tenfold more receptive to me. Not tonight though, as I am so drawn to her that I don’t want to risk her skirting off while I grease my wheels elsewhere. I make it through the initial rounds of conversation, evolving to playful banter. She seems to be digging me so upon my request she gives me her phone number, presumably even her real one. I use this small win to springboard even further by asserting “we should go to a bar where we can dance.” She objects “I don’t even know you. Like who are you? Are you a creep?” I remind her that I have already told her where I am from, what I do, where I went to college, and everything else short of my social security number at this point. What do you want from me, lord almighty.

It’s obvious that nothing is getting through to her so I throw out a social nuke, mostly out of frustration: “See, this is the problem with today’s society. You finally get a guy who is interested in you and approaches you in real life instead of Tinder, and you don’t even know what to do. Is your default mentality that every guy is a creep?” My chances with her come crashing down; I instantly metamorphose from a curious guy who needs to prove his worth into a babbling heretic. She leans back and looks me up and down in the bitchiest way possible and rudely answers with “It was really nice meeting you.” I walk away so repulsed and angered by her that I do something I have literally never done before to a girl of her physical caliber: I delete her phone number. Take that! Who’s winning now?

My discontent is quickly subsided as I “bump” into a beautiful half-portuguese half-mexican girl and her friend. Both of them are genuinely amicable which comes as a pleasant surprise since from my experience the less attractive friend usually gets unmistakably irritated that I am the thousandth guy to opt for her hotter friend. In fact, the uglier friend even helped me by gladly re-directing some of my l questions posed to both of them in my feigned attempt to include her. After 20 minutes of great conversation, I deem I have struck gold with this dark hair dark-eyed beauty: hot, sane, and single. I escalate matters only to find that she has a boyfriend, who she is living with. I also learn that her friend who was helping me is even engaged (not that I give a shit either way of her relationship status).

Seeing my disappointment, she says “But Michelle is single, you should talk to her.” I have played this game far too many times to not know the exact outcome of hot girl referrals to their single friends. In college I used to get setup with such friends for sorority formals with a variation of the repeatedly same selling point: “she’s really nice.” Scratching my head, I used to ponder to myself “why would a really nice girl need help getting a date?” So sure enough, Michelle was lamely sitting on stool next to us the whole time without my notice. If there is an award out for how to go the whole night without getting any guy to become aware of your existence, she is the clear winner. Before I get suckered into 20 more minutes of asking trivial questions I care not one iota for, I promptly escape.

As I am walking to the next bar visibly frustrated, my friend tries to pacify me with “This isn’t college, you can’t just say 18 words and expect to get laid.”  Refusing to acknowledge his acuity, I emptily retort “That’s not it!” I arrive at the next bar, grab a few drinks with some friends, and spark a conversation with an attractive and faintly familiar person – we went to college together. I am optimistic that this precludes me from being another “creep.” I see no obvious signs of disinterest (although I usually miss such signs anyway) and suggest we stride over the the back room dance floor. She politely informs me she has a boyfriend. Undeterred, I grab my buddy and go to the depressingly small dance floor anyway. After barreling through everyone and reaching the back depths of the bar, my friend oversees the dance floor and concludes “So now we know where they cram all the ugly people.” Like a good investor, I recognize the trend, cut my losses, and walk home.

As I’m strolling to my place, I throw the Hail Mary pass and text a cute girl I was hitting on last weekend. The following text chain immediately ensues:

Me: Are you out tonight?

Her: Headed to Bullitt??

Me: I’m down. I’m walking back to Nob Hill. See you there!?

Her: Sounds good

Her: They aren’t letting anyone in, going home! (NO, please don’t leave me!)

Me: Oh jeez. Want to walk home together?

Me: I want to save you from the hobos

Her: Broadway and Polk

YES, this is finally the break I have been looking for all night, a kill shot straight to her front door. All that rejection I endured is to be swept away and become a distant laughable memory. I soon arrive at the cross streets, but she is nowhere to be found. I text and call her. No response. Oh my GOD, not again. Is every decent-looking girl a mirage in my life? Like my coworker stated when his commission was screwed up for the third consecutive month, leading him to forecast his sales performance at 10% of his quota in our monthly meeting: “Confidence is at an all time low” – you and me both brother.

Life Lessons Learned

  • Despite this discussion of how our dating and relationship culture has deteriorated to frequent cheating, one-night stands, and the obsolescence of actual dates and chivalry, there are still plenty of girls staying true to their significant others. Either that, or these girls and still lie, cheat, and steal, but my game sucks too much to entice them to partake.
  • Be patient when trying to win over a woman, especially when they don’t know you from Adam. If you try to cash in too early, your hard-fought time delivering premeditated jokes and questions will be all for naught.
  • Save your theoretics and diatribes, and embrace the fact that there is a place for small talk and meaningless banter on a night out. In such situations, women are not interested in hearing your mental mastrubation.
  • If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. And after try trying again doesn’t work, just say fuck it and go home.
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Juggling Two Women: Hefty and Hottie

I regrettably commence my night at a substandard club with two close friends, my buddy’s girlfriend, and a couple of her space-filler females. Upon arrival, I immediately start estimating how much time will elapse before I venture off to bigger and better things. I see a swarm of go-go dancers with a flame-throwing bottle of champagne parading towards three middle-aged men standing alone at a table, sans any women. That is my cue to leave; call me judgemental but if that is what my 48-year-old birthday looks like, my kindergarten dreams of becoming either an astronaut or scientist cleary went awry. I text a cute girl I have casually been “seeing” on and off for the past few months, ascertain her location, and head off to meet her at the bar.

I get there to find out they charge a 5 dollar cover, cash only. I did not prepare for this since I rely on the 21st century to solve all my inconveniences. In this instance it failed, so I spend 10 minutes walking to the nearest ATM. At this point I am equidistant from her and a different girl I have been trying to get with (though to a MUCH lesser degree – bless her heart, she is more of a plus-size model). Inspired to embrace the “beauty is on the inside” motto, I text Plus-Sizer but she doesn’t respond in time (instantaneously) so I resort to the original plan of meeting up with the other girl. I get to bar, but can’t find her. Text her, no response. She is either wasted, ignoring me, and/or she found a new guy to give her the marginal attention I was so eager to deliver. Well, nobody puts baby in a corner, so I say good riddance and promptly exit destined to slap Plus-Sizer from flab to fab.

As soon as I arrive, and she introduces me to all her ‘best guy friends’ from college. When I am competing for a woman, I classify guys as either threats or non-threats. These guys most definitely are the latter. So I am more cordial than usual (shake their hand and half-smile). I urge her to consider walking up the block to see my place.

Me “Let’s go up the street to my place. I have a rooftop view I want to show you, how cool is that?”

Plus-Sizer apologetically “I really shouldn’t leave my friends. These guys are my BEST friends and have always been there for me so I feel like I should stay with them since they are visiting.”

I slowly dissuade her from clinging to her guy friends via logic. From my tainted experiences, employing logic on women rarely yields the desired results, but in this case I am pleasantly surprised.

Me  “I’m here for an hour. These guys are here for the rest of your life because they are such good friends. Recognize and seize the opportunity at hand.”

Plus-Sizer “Okay fine but we have to be back in 40 minutes when the bar closes.”

Excited to have my cake and eat it too (bone and sleep alone, untouched, and uncuddled, aka WELL), I swiftly escort her to my humble abode. I save the rooftop view for a rainy day, and get straight to it with no minute to spare. As promised, I accompany her as she scuttles back to her lame friends. One of her guy friends waiting at the bar frantically calls her phone as we are returning. During the entire walk back I gleefully listen to her attempt to placate JealousCockBlock:

Plus-Sizer “No I’m fine, I’m walking back RIGHT now…Just wait for me!…I AM taking care of myself…WAIT for me I am 2 blocks away!”

Me beaming with happiness “One block actually.”

Plus-Sizer “Seriously I will be there soon…YES I am okay.”

We arrive and I kiss her goodbye. As I am departing, I look up and am shocked to see a familiar figure. It’s the girl who stood me up earlier, strolling to the bar with a guy! She stops dead in her tracks, debates whether she should address me, decides she doesn’t care enough, and keeps walking without proper acknowledgement of my presence. I stand there as she keeps walking by and the guy looks back and waves at me with the most smug, “I win, you lose” smirk I have seen in about 5-10 years.

This fucking guy. No, you don’t win pal. You are hitting (if you are lucky) my seconds, after I just hooked up with someone (yeah that someone may have the physique definition of a blob of Play-Doh, but who’s counting?). I will be balls deep in REM sleep while you are still buying this broad drinks with the CHANCE you get laid (trust me, it’s not that easy with this girl). You may have won the battle, but I won the war.

The following day I inform my good friend that I hooked up with Plus-Sizer since he knows her from college. A smile immediately lights up his face: “No way!” I become overjoyed myself expecting kudos for hooking up with her (a girl), but instead am greeted with “How do you think she is hot!? Oh my god I never would have guessed that one!”

Not the applause I was seeking, but in a world where honesty is increasingly obsolete, I respect his unbridled transparency.

Life Lessons Learned

  • Stack your night with multiple venue options and female pursuits for a better close rate. People first complained that technology has enabled us to disassemble group plans with a whimsical half-baked text. Now, it has evolved to where plans to meet someone are tacitly dismantled with NO texts at all. Rejection stings, but technology is my scapegoat.
  • Dan Bilzerian notwithstanding, not all of us can hit “10’s” every night out. It’s okay to get a few wins in the minors, as it makes the majors all that much sweeter.
  • Understand many guys will perpetually be dicks and cockblocks as you innocently purloin their women. Remember, just because there is a goalie, doesn’t mean you can’t score.
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The Mindfuck of Los Angeles Women

As fate would have it given the inherent variety of my life, I am out in San Francisco yet again painting the town red until I find some poor girl desperate enough to accept my unapologetic persistence. I meet up with two quasi-buddies and we briefly wait in line for the bar. These are the type of friends where we see each other out at night or at the gym and we exchange over-excited greetings as if we have some rich shared history and actually like each other. The two minute conversation invariably ends with “We HAVE to hang out, hit me up.” And the world keeps spinning. So I am having a similar conversation with them until QuasiFriend1 tells me “Bro, I have three bombs in the bar waiting for us.” I assume this to mean he has three halfway decent looking girls in there that he is friends with, has never hooked up with, and is excited that he can use them to look cool in front of me. It turns out I am far too presumptuous and optimistic.

We get in the bar, ass-packed full as usual, and I take a couple minutes to orient myself. Next thing I know QuasiFriend1 turns around with three Jager Bombs. Borderline my last drink choice, but life could be worse. We down the bombs, and sit at a table with a some male and female acquaintances. QuasiFriend1 is talking to some guy at the table the entire time, with no intention of exploring the bar or talking to women. I nudge QuasiFriend2 sitting next to me to inquire “What is QuasiFriend1 doing with this guy?” He quips “Looks like rounding second base.” I quickly get tired of watching friendship blossom between two guys at a bar, so I head out down the street, with no end in sight.

I aimlessly walk down the street until one of my cousins’ buddies hollers at me standing in line to a quality bar (quality= at least not completely skewed guy-girl ratio with at least a few female lookers). I get in the front of the line with him, revitalizing my night. We go straight for some drinks, and my cousin’s buddy, hospitable and generous as he is, asks one the guys in the group “Hey man, do you fuck with shots?” Eager to prove his manhood via his ostensible drinking capabilities, the guy shouts “DO I FUCK WITH SHOTS!? HAHA THIS GUY! LET’S GET SOME SHOTS.” The only things I fuck with are rejection and loss of dignity, so I wander around the bar embracing both. I wander into a blonde smoke show from Los Angeles, part-time model and flight attendant, a true rarity in L.A. I persuade her and her group of friends to come with me to another bar with louder music and more dancing. I’ve found those distractions, a je ne sais quoi ambiance if you will, to dramatically help my game as it is socially acceptable take 13 seconds to respond when you can’t hear a word they say thanks to blasting in the foreground. And with this girl, I want every second I can get.

LASmokeShow is by no means in the bag for me at this point, so I am forced to appease her two lame female friends (and yes, by lame I mean lacking both personality and aesthetic beauty, but I’m only certain of the latter). Much like the gay guy I had to win over for the 3 Norwegians, I have found cajoling your target girl’s friends into thinking you are a “good guy” to be an effective strategy when done properly. So I ask them questions about themselves, act interested, and agree with and reinforce all their opinions, but they wouldn’t budge. I whisper in LASmokeShow’s ear “I think your friends hate me.” She retorts “No, they just hate life.” As the three of them are trying to buy drinks, I notice this small scrappy-looking guy, from the last bar were at, hovering around LASmokeShow and talking to her briefly. He has been trying to nonchalantly win her over the whole night. He buys her a drink, and I take her to go dance. Thanks bro, I owe you one.

She is somewhat standoffish while we are dancing, and eventually goes to the bathroom. One of her male friends in the group comes over to me. Again, I recognize this as an opportunity to increase my odds with my girl of interest.

GuyFriend “Hey, so you like LASmokeShow, huh?”

Me “Yeah she is a cool girl, I really like her.”

GuyFriend “Yeah well, if you play your cards right, you are in for a treat.”

Me looking at him quizzically “Is that so?”

GuyFriend “Oh well, I mean, I know she is a good girl. I have known her forever, and have never hooked up with her.”

Me reassured “Yeah man I really like her and I am a good guy, you know what I mean?”

He goes over to talk to her as she returns from the bathroom. I don’t know if he is talking me up, or was able to see though my bullshit and warning her to run from me at all costs. I err on the side of the negative assumption, and walk over to bomb their conversation. He walks off, and just as I am trying to discern her perception of me, another guy approaches and makes a move on her. She grabs my hand as a I’m-with-this-guy warning sign to him. Fuck…yes. The bar closes, and we cab back to my place.

I really want to impress this girl, so when we get to my room and I ask her not once, but TWICE if I can get her anything…water perhaps? She declines and I make haste to intellectually, spiritually, and most importantly, physically engage her. This girl’s physique, sweet lord! As we are warming up (she is at least, I am on the home stretch), and she toggles between blowing me and jacking me off. I try to romantically tell her that she is going to soon jerk me off into oblivion.

Me “It feels too good, you have to stop.”

LASmokeShow confused “Isn’t that the point?”

Me “Yes…but…” (game over).

We wake up the next morning and I start asking her questions about her life in L.A. and how she became a model. She tells me how after high school she attended FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising). I held back laughing in her face as best I could; three girls from my high school briefly attended FIDM thinking that it would be similar to The Hills TV show: glamorous, shallow, and not real work. I don’t know what FIDM puts these poor girls through, but all three of them dropped out within literally a month. She goes on to tell me how she sees celebrities all the time at the bar she frequents.

LASmokeShow “I saw [B-list Actor] the other day at my go-to bar.”

Me “Jeez that’s awesome. It must be unreal seeing these actors all the time.”

LASmokeShow “It’s, like, not a big deal at all. I’ve seen so many all the time that it’s nothing special. You just get used to it. I mean, [C-list Actor] is on my flag football team.”

The conversation continues with her name-dropping some more celebrities that I nearly had to go to the second page of Google to find. I am slowly reminded why I can’t dabble with L.A. women. One second you think you’ve found the one exception who is hot, cool, and “gets it” only to soon find she is every bit immersed in the superficiality. I start hinting that she should leave, which is more of a testament of my selfishness than it is of her annoying me hearing about her celebrity friends. She gets a cab and I bid her adieu. The following weekend she returns to my life, somewhat.

The following is the chain of texts VERBATIM, commenced by her at 1:27 AM Sunday:

Her: Hey cutie

Me: you did remember me in the morning! (my overused line from the movie Click)

Me: how are things

Her: Things are for let’s have fun now

Her: We need you

Me: we!? who’s we and why do we need me and where are you

Her: We need you baby

Me: tell me more. you have my interest

Her: come over baby

Her: Need u

Her: Immediately

Me: where are you

Me: help me help you

Her: help us help pizza (at this point it is fair to say she is a tad drunk)

Me: then tell me where you are!?

Her: Japan town in SF

Me: can you cab to my place?

Her: Get real (Whoa, maybe she isn’t drunk)

Me: okay shit I’ll come walk out and find you. no idea where you are

Me: are you okay?

Her: Ok?

Me: endangered lol

Me: nevermind

Me: okay I’m coming to japan town, walk towards me though. [district, cross streets]

Me: deal?

Her: Get a grip

Her: I’m not walking Anywhere

I know deep down this is a fool’s game and I should just turn my phone off and go to bed. BUT, I am also forever at the mercy of beautiful women. I put on some clothes and start walking towards her in the freezing cold with no exact destination but all the hope in the world. I repeatedly call and text her, but for the life of me she would not give me the address or cross streets. 40 minutes, 20 texts, and 4 missed calls later, I return to my place, alone. I should have known better and just cut my losses with her, but in my defense I shall quote Robin Williams: “The problem is, God gave man a brain and a penis and only enough blood to run one at a time.”

Life Lessons Learned:

  • Always try to befriend your girl of interest’s friends, but understand her friends may have issues far beyond being solved by your half-hearted questions and smile. Don’t take it personally.
  • Don’t work against other guys, work with them. Be it them buying her a drink, putting in a good word for you, or hitting on her consequently forcing her hand and exposing her interest in you, guys can help you move the needle in direction you want.
  • Be skeptical of someone’s unjustified interest in you. If she (your last weekend’s hookup) texts you out of nowhere at 2AM, you are not that cool, she is just excessively inebriated. Read the obvious signs, rather than only seeing that which is most self-flattering or preferential.
Posted in Humor, Pursuit of Women | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

My Spanish Acquisition

I’m out another night in San Francisco, headed to a bar for one of my lady friends’ birthday party (I normally don’t believe pure friendships between men and women exist, but she also happens to be my coworker so for now we are at a stalemate for now). Because it’s her birthday she predictably chooses to celebrate at the most crowded/popular bar. What good is your birthday if you aren’t jammed in a steaming room with people you don’t know or like getting drinks spilled on you every hour on the hour? So sure enough, as I arrive unfashionably late, the line is out the door wrapped around the block. I slyly walk behind the bouncer and through the entrance until I get stopped by the takes-my-cover-charge-and-gives-me-a-stamp girl.

StamperGirl “Do you have a stamp?”

Me “No I don’t but I’m here for a friend’s birthday party and she has a table.”

StamperGirl “Well we stopped letting people in on the list at 12.”

It is 12:03 AM, so I just stare at at her with quiet indignation.

StamperGirl “Okay fine but only you.”

Truly my favorite words to hear. I get my hard-fought stamp and head into the masses avoiding both the 20 dollar cover and 30 minute line. With such an auspicious beginning to my night, victory must be around the corner.

I find the birthday girl to deliver my feigned excitement and felicitations. She’s manically happy and finds it in her good graces to introduce me to all her friends, dragging me to all corners of the bar to locate them all. None of them are particularly attractive, so after 20 minutes of being insincerely cordial to all these vanilla females, I can finally engage my two best inclinations: douchery and debauchery. I circulate around a few times to no avail. As I am walking out to try my luck at another bar, a beautiful Spanish girl comes up and gives me a hug, a very bold and non-American thing to do for a girl who knows nothing of me. I am already in stride leaving the bar so I keep walking until a guy with a big dopey smile on his face stops me. He gleefully asks me “Did that girl come up and kiss you.” I know exactly where this is headed. He isn’t actually happy for me, he just sees this as an opportunity to brag to me that he had a similar encounter with her.

Me flatly “No she didn’t. She did for you though, huh?”

SmilelyTool with overeager enthusiasm  “YEAH MAN…she randomly came up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was awesome.”

SpanishGirl sees us talking and walks over with her tall blonde girlfriend. The four of us engage in an awkward and meaningless conversation while we each try to discern who each is interested in, until I get fed up and grab SpanishGirl’s hand to go dance. She and I are grinding progressively harder on the dance floor. I told her I know how to Salsa and Tango dance which got her amped. Given that I know neither Salsa nor Tango, I do my version of Tango which is to dance with her more aggressively and see if I can’t nut in my pants by the end of it (that’s only happened twice). Her blonde friend dancing with SmileyTool observes our dance intimacy escalation, and does what any normal female best friend would do: try to outshine and out-sexy her. In the land of catty insecure women (aka America), there can only be one queen bitch. Just as BlondeFriend is ramping it up with SmileyTool (who clearly was not complaining), one of my buddies at the bar comes up in a thinly veiled attempt to dance with both of them as a hey-we-are-all-having-fun vibe. He ends up hijacking BlondeFriend, unapologetically dancing with her right in front of SmileyTool. There a few things more amusing to me than watching a guy I don’t like pretend to happily play along and dance alone as my friend grinds up on his target girl right in front of his face. SmileyTool knows that if he exudes anger or walks away, he loses the inkling of chance he has with this girl. He also doesn’t have the balls to take her back from my friend. It’s a true dilemma for NotSmilingPussyTool! Lucky for him, my friend is too drunk to give a shit about this girl and eventually walks off.

The four of us resume dancing as we were into the end of the night and finally migrate outside the bar. I try to convince SpanishGirl to walk back to my place, but she insists that she cannot leave her friend. I tell her that I have a futon in my living room with BlondeFriend’s name all over it, but she refuses. We end up parting ways. It’s obvious that NotSmilingPussyTool wants to hash out with me the recent chain of events, but I have other plans, namely going home with my dick in my hand. Fear not though, SpanishGirl is so amazed by my Tango abilities that she drives up to my place the next day to physically show me just how impressed she is with me. We get to it, and afterwards informs me that she has a daughter. Not your typical pillow talk, but I was able to cross off both Spanish spice and MILF from my bucket list in two solid pumps. Efficiency at its finest.

Life Lessons Learned:

  • To avoid cover charges and long lines, it’s worth the attempt to cut and pass through if you can get past the 300-pound bouncer tactically programmed to look left to right like the head of a sprinkler. Once you get past the doorman/bouncer and get stopped by the stamper girl, I invite you to use my guiding life principle: Ask forgiveness, not permission.
  • You don’t have to know how to dance to convince a girl you do, just channel your uncoordinated energy and excitement, be in the moment, and she won’t care to notice the difference.
  • Play the long game (if the short game fails). Make your mark, and the women will return (unless they are like my ex-girlfriend who I can’t get over – then you are just fucked).
Posted in Pursuit of Women | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments