January 31, 2003

I've got a date with

I've got a date with Kiss Me on Saturday (still need to figure out what to do...) and I have no idea what my plans are for tonight. Bartender chick introduced me to a two-set the other night, but I was too drunk or too wrapped up in my head to do anything about it. That sucked. I got photos and names, and told them I'd be back in a week, if they' promised not to stalk me. We'll see.

The "You have to promise not to stalk me" line is gold. I've used it several times before, and women respond to it like "duh, I'm obviously not going to stalk you. Wait. Do you get stalked? Hangon, are you worth stalking? Why are you walking away?" It confuses them. I love that.

As to the Power that one of you asked me to expand on, it's internal. I don't have a better way to describe it as: it's something that you feel, when your body just properly aligns itself of its own volition because of what's eminating from within, and you notice that other people are noticing, too. A good framework to use for looking at the world at that point is as if the world is you VIP room, and it's your job to A) make sure that everybody has a good time and B) filter out the losers because C) everybody seems to want to get in.

When you look at and treat the world that way, it pays you back.
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January 27, 2003

I didn't get a number,

I didn't get a number, but an incredibly hot bartender told me to come visit her at her bar on Wednesday or Thursday night. The bartender I fucked (The beauty) had amazing things to say about both my prowess and about the things she sees inside me. I have trouble explaining it outside of "I found the power inside me, and she sees it." Yes, Sid, I know you think that makes me a cult leader, and maybe it does. But I found a way to connect what's inside to what I want and to what's in my mind. I can't explain it, but women are reacting to it like I'm Brad Pitt. Self confidence is going so much better than I thought it's insane.

Oh yeah, the girls at the party tonight kept taking off their tops. Happy birthday to me.
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January 26, 2003

First number is of a

First number is of a six foot tall brunette. I met her at my bar, the old barback and she went to college together, and he introduced us.

She told me (verifying my beliefs) that guys rarely hit on her because she's so much woman. I laughed at her, put my hand on the small of her back, and said "I'm hitting on you. Do I not count?"

She said that I counted.

I asked what her name was.

She replied: Kate. Like "Kiss me Kate." So I did.

At the end of the night, after a several hour long makeout session at the bar, when it was clear she wasn't going home with me either because she's a good girl or because she actually likes me (more on that another night) I asked her for her number.

"If I ask you to give me your number, and I call you, on a scale of one to ten, what are the chances I'll see you again?"
"Eleven" at which point she proceeded to start writing.
"Good. You should write your last name on there, too, so I remember who you are."

She did.

I'll call her soon.
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