Tonight's soundtrack: Foxey Lady. That
Tonight's soundtrack: Foxey Lady.
That is all.
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Tonight's soundtrack: Foxey Lady.
That is all.
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Visited The Beauty last night at her bar, to do a follow-up with her, since we were both in the same boat a week ago.
When I saw her, she showed off her bruises and grinned and told me she'd taken my advice. If the guy at the end of the bar was anything to go by, she was liable to take my advice again before the night was over, whereas, with no other women in the room, I wasn't.
We ducked outside for a minute to talk, and were accosted by a homeless man carrying a coatrack and a space heater. The Beauty hung her purse up on the coatrack, and we sat. Seconds later, she opened a girl standing near us, asking for a cigarette. The girl sat on the other side of me. The Beauty grinned - "Oooh - Manwich!" I smiled and blushed a little.
I struck up a conversation with the new girl, and the beauty went back in to work. The new girl had a job I can't pronounce, and wanted to talk about mine and my aspirations. Sometimes, I've said this before, the universe speaks to me in unlikely voices.
She told me that this was my time, my time to make the next step, my time to make a professional leap. Ironically, I'd also come to tell The Beauty about something excellent that happened in my professional life.
How the topic came up I don't know, but I mentioned (as I regularly do) that I'm shy. She laughed and said, without prompting or background on me "You're not shy. You just have trouble approaching. You'll get over that pretty soon. It's just a matter of doing it." What was spooky is that I hadn't mentioned my troubles with approaching to her at all.
Once she told me that, it was like something lifted out of her and she was slightly disoriented. She looked around. "I've got to get on that train to get home" she said, pointing to the F. "I've got to walk a few blocks up from here, if you want to come" I suggested. I don't know if she even understood what I said, because she got up, gave me a hug and a cheek kiss, and disappeared into the night.
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FrenchKitty points out something that Lola and I discussed yesterday:
Looking at the teenagers on the boardwalk, all dressed up with no one to really notice, I remembered being 14: parading in midriff-baring tops, along the boardwalk at night with my cousin, hoping that some cute Italian 14 year old boys would hit on us...invariably, the boys just stared, sitting on benches, trying to look cool while they snickered amongst themselves. I can't believe the fantasy I had in my head, of one of those prepubescent children having the balls to walk up to one of us, and ask in a gentlemanly way, "Hey, what's your name?" or even a simple, "Hi." Wait a minute...I still have that fantasy, but this time the boys are between the ages of 24-30. Still just staring and snickering. This memory extends to the friday night mall trips my friends and I used to make, when the mall was the only place our parents would let us go, unchaperoned at night. Again, we'd parade around, locking eyes with groups of boys, only, it was always the skeevy ones that asked for our numbers or initiated conversation. And I, being a terrible liar, could never make up a fake number--instead, I gave them my best friend Lindsay's home number (this was before cell phones of course). There were quite a few nights when Lindsay's parents were woken up to a "Can I speak to Alexis please?" Ah, good times.It's something I forget when I see a woman and get that deer in headlights look. We're all just people. And sometimes, on the inside, there are women who are screaming and begging for us to introduce ourselves (well, for me to do it, I can't speak for you). I think it would be rude not to oblige them.
I didn't mean to go drinking tonight, I meant to answer your questions. PArticularly, DirtyTalkinGirl's question about SouthernBelle.
Instead, I ended up drinkin' at the Beauty's bar, getting way more loaded than I'd meant to, and coming home thinking about things I shouldn't have.
I shouldn't have thought of my crush on SouthernBelle. I shouldn't have thought that The beauty only seduce me because I looked stressed out. I shouldn't think about the STD of the sexiest woman I've seen in months.
But I do.
Lots to talk about when sober.
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Katherine writes:
Your blog and I have been consulting together with the aid of an insightful retreat leader named Hans.You can post them in comments here, or you can email them to me.We have concluded that you need a question post, where you entertain questions from your readers. We also understand that to maintain anonymity you may not be able to answer questions like ⤦what is your name⤠or ⤦where do you live⤠or ⤦can I call you at home.â¤
At a party where a friend's band is playing, I'm speaking to a guy who fucked one of my close friends. Fucked her good, if she's to be believed. On talking to the guy, I mentioned that I hate parties. He told me
Yeah. I come to parties expecting to get laid. It never pans out.So - it's not just you, guys.
Sitting in the Union Square today with TaiChi and The Virgin, who should walk by but SouthernBelle. Didn't have a chance to say hello. By the time my heartrate slowed and the blood cleared from behind my eyes, I realized I'm over The Liberal, and didn't want to know who SB was going to meet. She lives in Queens, dammit. Someone pass a note to her that she needs to stay out of my hood so I don't have to see her.
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Email from one of my exes, whom I haven't seen in a long time.
I fell back to sleep, and now am about to hop in the shower and get going to Long Island, but I miss being in bed with you. It's "nice" with my boyfriend, mellow and intimate, but I want our passionate, fun, creative times back. Plus, he's only 24, he comes in about 10 seconds. It's disappointing. I feel bad writing this, but I'm being honest.I sent her back advice, including my offer to train up her current lover to acceptable standards.I should write to a sex columnist, "What should I do, my boyfriend and I get along well and enjoy similar interests together, but the intercourse is a little disappointing. He's receptive to me, and thinks of me first, but when it comes to having sex, he comes in less than a minute, and has a difficult time staying hard for more than a couple of minutes. He say its because pleasing me makes him come quickly, but I tend to think it might be his age of only 24. While in bed with him, I dream about rauchous, debauchery with a former lover, is this normal? Should I act on the thoughts, or try to communicate with my newly found lover? My friends tell me he's too young, and that he won't want the same things that I want at the same point in time that I want them. I tend to agree with them, and think that this can be nothing more than a summer fling. What's a woman to do?
UPDATE: I also offered to let her come over and fuck me, since I'd just woken up and was horny.
Yeah, would you be willing to teach him your techniques...I'm kidding, not that I don't admire your techniques, but can you imagine... Boyfriend, this is Eric, he's going to teach you a thing or two about wanton lovemaking, so just sit back and take notes while we demonstrate for you. Too funny. :)And although I would love nothing more than to come over and please you, with thoughts of "Quiet Riot's" song "I can't wait for the nights with you, I imagine the things we would do" festering in my head, I'll have to take a raincheck for now, but hope that the offer still stands at some other point in time.
One of the most amazing things about the tracker that I have is that it lets me know when people are reading the archives. I think it's awesome when they do that, they get a flavor of where things have been, they find random stories (like the story of Sis, the Student Journalist, watching the Greyhound become The Jaguar...)
You should check out the archives, there are some gems in there.
I've purchased badmanbadplace.com. I need a design and to move it to a new host. And to import all my comments. Once I've done that, I'm hoping to make categories for the various people involved here over the years, so that you can check out the story of any specific person that you want.
In the interim, off to the party goes I.
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Ok, so things are, by SouthernBelle's admission, over between us, basically, until things with her asshole (her phrase, not mine) are through, if even then.
Why, then, does she IM me every time she gets online? Continuity? Keeping me in the "In Case of Emergency, Break Glass" box? Girls are weird? Friendly? She's actually my lover, and I should treat her like Eden - it is what it is and accept and love what I can get from it?
Ugh.
In other news, Princess (from Tuesday night) txted me today:
"Good afternoon, gorgeous. How are you?"
I haven't responded because Sprint is a bitch.
Off to a party with Bro and Sis. Can you believe? I haven't seen them in like, a dogs age. Maybe even since Pussy was a Kitten. I may take JuanCarlos (also seen named as DonJulio) just for kicks.
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I got an email on Friendster looking for a link. No friend request, FrenchKitty merely asked for a link request. Not as friendly as could be, she did, however, talk about exhibitionism and masturbation. And she called me a whore. Exciting stuff.
Go check her out. I didn't see a link from her site to mine, but then, c'est la vie.
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And now, some political humor. (via Ace of Spades)
Jack Ryan walks into a confessional at his Chicago church. "Father," he tells the priest, "last night I had savage carnal relations with actress Jeri Ryan.""What is your sin, then?" the priest asks. "Did you simply engage in premarital sex, or did you commit the sin of adultery?"
"Neither, Father," Jack Ryan responds. "Jeri Ryan is my wife."
"Well that's not any sort of sin," the priest says. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I'm telling everybody," Jack Ryan says, and then hits the priest up for a campaign donation. The priest immediately writes out a check for $500.
For those of you who were sleeping, there are allegations by the very fucking hot Jeri Ryan that her husband wanted to fuck her in public.
Hell, if I were married to her, I'd fuck her in front of a live studio audience if I could. Kidding. Kinda.
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The Jaguar and I had an email exchange yesterday. She asked all the stupid questions that those frustrated people in unrequited love situations ask - do you miss me (no) do you love SouthernBelle (none of your business) and do you like me (you've got a lot of growing to do). After all of it, she told me that my opinion of her really didn't matter (why elicit it then?) since her boyfriend accepted her for who she is. I tried encouraging that thought line in her, but then she swung back to me. To further dissuade her, I told her that I had a date last night, which was true. I had a date with a girl who was way hotter than I thought she was at first glance, way sexier, and way more interesting. When I got my email first thing this morning, The Jaguar emailed:
So...what's new? How was your "date"?The Virgin emailed me first thing this morning, too:
are you back in the swing of things?When The Virgin writes it, I think she's genuinely interested. She wants to know how things went, am I back on my game, what can she do to help, how can I help her.
To answer them both, and you, I had a delightful evening. I was supposed to meet another Friendster date at Simone at 9. She was late. So late that I left. Went home. Found her number. Called her up.
"I just got off the train."
"Oh. Everything ok?"
"Yeah. Train trouble is all."
"Ah. Well, I just sat at that place, waited a half hour, finished my drink, and left."
"Oh."
"So - change of plan. Your choice - you can meet me at my apartment or meet me at Tribe."
She had no preference. I told her that since I don't know her at all yet, and I've got my virtue and innocence to look out for. She laughed and didn't believe me. Women never do.
I met her at Tribe where the usual Tuesday bartender was working. Which means we got pretty drunk. She's a 24 year old former ballerina. I need to think up a nickname for her, since she'll be showing up again, I think.
Drinks led to more drinks, which led to shots, which led to me leaning in to try to kiss her. And to her backing away from me. That was a surprise.
The conversation turned to sex, and she told me the only place in public that she'd done it. I told her about the Vatican handjob, the Church story, the Garage story, and others. Her eyes went a little wide. I told her about the afternoon with my first girlfriend where I'd left her naked, tied up and blindfolded on my bed, drove out of my parents house in my car, swapped with my dad, and then came back in his car, and didn't say anything when I came up the stairs and started touching her. She actually blushed at that.
I asked her to walk me home and give me a good night kiss. Halfway there, she asked me why she was walking me home, since she lives deep in brooklyn and I live in Manhattan. I told her that was a good point, and that she was welcome to spend the night with me if she was scared to go home. She came upstairs. One thing led to another, although not to sex.
I find that if I have sex with a girl on the first night, things don't work out, we either have sex a few more times and then drift, or not even, and then don't hear. I did the smart thing, I think, by not pushing it.
We made out like teens, hooked up, hung out, and then eventually, went to sleep. She didn't snore, she didn't talk in her sleep, and I didn't think of SouthernBelle the whole time I was out with her. In the morning, we made out for another hour, making me nearly late to my doctor's appointment, and then I sent her off to work, and me to my shower. I look forward to seeing her again.
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Sseraphimm wrote in the comments:
Dear heart,Darling!! Kidding. Hello, Sseraphimm.
Having stumbled across your blog, I've been captivated by your head space as it seems to have been designed by the same architecht as mine! (Different decorators though:)Have you asked for your money back? I keep asking and they keep shooting me down.
What I can see is someone struggling with the whole power balance thing. Like me, you had your first "great Love". It went horribley wrong because you recognised it as being great and acquiesed for it - you wanted to keep it perfect, forever. That cant happen. You changed, she reacted and it was shattered glass all over the floor.I did. Years and years ago. TheEvilOne. That worked kind of like something that just plain doesn't work. At all. Even a little bit.
And you've learned and you've reacted and you've ended up being hurt again. and again. In scenarios so different to teh first time it makes your head spin to try and work out why.Yep. Fourish times. There does seem to be a pattern emerging, though.
I think, for what it's worth, you need to look for someone like you. Your equal. Equal headspace, equal heart space.I'd love that. Find me another me! An interesting, intelligent, sexy, woman, who is a womanizer, and... well, you know it's complicated.
You can be smarter than her, she could be cuter than you; whatever; but you need someone you respect and someone who will care for you but not boss you; love you not bully you.I'd like her to be very smart, although if she's hotter than I am, well, I can live with that. Respect is important - but the real respect, not the "yo don't disrespect me" false respect that I've seen time and again. A woman who will be a partner, and a woman, and a lady, not a boss, mother, or little girl.
You want someone who will let you be you but wont take your shit.I had that in a Personal Ad once, after reading Mike Hendrix's tribute to tough chicks.
Who knows when to give in and knows when not to. Someone you like. Someone who doesn';t so much complete you as complement you.Yep.
When you find her - can you ask if she has a brother??Funny - at SouthernBeauty's party, when I met that girl I thought I could marry, I asked exactly that - have you got a sister? She's not like you? Have you got a spiritual sister?
Very weird. When Wing and I went out and talked to the three set on Ludlow (right outside of Paladar and Pianos) I didn't get the number of the girl I was talking to. Partly because she knew JuanCarlos, but mostly because my brain was still engaged with SouthernBelle and I was more interested in the approach than in the close.
There were three girls, all Latin girls. Each one was pretty, and when Wing tried to do his thing with one, her friend cockblocked him, leaving me alone with the other girl.
Here's where it gets interesting. Remember that that was over a week ago. Maybe two? Who keeps track?
The girl I wasn't talking to that was cockblocking wing? Yeah - she found me on Friendster yesterday. Emailed me. Added me as a friend. The girl I was talking to? Emailed me today. Flirty and fun email.
The Internet is weird.
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DirtyTalkinGirl writes:
you can't get past two months because you---and/or she----are scared or unsure or unaware of making the changes necessary to move the relationship onward.Yeah. Wing pointed out to me that I need to make clear from the beginning that for the RIGHT girl, I could settle down. But not just for any one. Otherwise I set up a sex-thing-only, and that's empty. (This advice from Wing, one of the better guys at pickup that I've met...)
I came up with an analogy/scenario to explain your situation to myself.I haven't been in the deep end since The Freshman back last millenium. It's hard when you want to go there and you keep getting kicked out by your synchronized swimmming partner.You're splashing around in the shallow end of the pool with all these cute chicks and it's getting boring because you've proved you can do it and you're starting to suspect, correctly, that the real action is happening in the deep end. But you don't want to get over your head because you're afraid that losing contact with the bottom means you'll die. But of course, losing contact with the bottom really means that you'll finally learn to swim. It's a matter of letting go and committing to the sensation of floating. You can splash in the deep end, too, and it's a lot more fun, but you have to get there first.
The guy who said you haven't been ready to commit is right. As you get older, the old question becomes more pressing: what scares you more, loneliness or commitment?Loneliness. I've committed many times before. Remember - when things fall apart, it's not me walking away as a rule. You can say that it's a reflection of me, but with SouthernBelle, The Liberal, The Cuban, and TheEvilOne, each of them went, saw another guy, and then fell out of my life. It was like some last ditch effort on their part to snap themselves out of the feelings they had for me.
I know you were hurt before, but are you gonna let that stop you from finding real love?No. But I'm in a bad place (hint: look at the blog title) right now, where I'm trying to sort a lot of things through for myself. Thinking less, for one. Feeling more. Getting clear in my head that any woman who I finally date will be thrilled to have me, lucky to do so, and I will make her happy and she will make me happy. On some levels, I know this. On others, I haven't captured it yet.
I keep thinking, four margaritas before you could tell her how you felt. I can't get over how deep you bury your feelings.Indeed.
On the other hand, Scarlett promises me results using the patented "bitch slap iron fist velvet glove" technique.
Honey, I just want to slap you! You're a smart guy; why do I have to point out the obvious? You're sleeping with other women while you're sleeping with the one you want. As much as a girl will pretend she's down with that; she's not! Please move to DC so that I can personally referee your love life. I know lots of nice (kinky) girls. I'll have you straightened out in no time! -"Matchmaker" ScarlettOoh - nice kinky girls. Bring it on. The slapping, maybe not so much. And, for the record, when I started sleeping with SB, I had no idea I wanted to be with her, I just thought she was cool and fun and we had a good flirting thing. As I got to know her, I realized she was infectuously awesome. It happens.
They say (and when I say They, I mean a friend of mine) that the fastest way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else. That's not _exactly_ true.
They also say (and when I say "They" I mean the community of players) that to get over your feelings for one woman you need to go fuck ten other women, or GFTOW.
That's what I was doing when I met SouthernBelle. I was off on a quest to get The Liberal out of my system.
What I didn't expect, and what I didn't bargain for, was actually liking the girl.
After seeing SouthernBelle yesterday, I figured I'd start right up with the GFTOW, since things with SB are definitely over for the moment.
Boss: Perhaps SouthernBelle's role is simply to show you that there is LAL (life after liberal).
Perhaps.
We're still IMing right now.
Last night, I met a girl, another broadway actress, lives in Queens. She wasn't SouthernBelle, but she's cute, had big breasts, and a good smile. From the initial "hello" to having sex was about three hours. The sex itself was good, but afterwards, first she wanted to cuddle (umm, hi, if this is a one night stand, umm, no, and two, no) and then she snored and talked in her sleep.
And while I was fucking her, SouthernBelle's name kept popping into my head.
Let the healing begin.
GFTOW (Liberal): 6
GFTOW (SouthernBelle): 1
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Anyone out there able to think of any good reason that my relationships have almost all fallen apart at the two month mark, demarked by the women I'm with sleeping with some other guy, and then disappearing?
Happens over and over and over again. TheEvilOne, The Cuban, The Liberal, and now SouthernBelle.
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I was going to write a full report of my weekend. I was. But I just can't bring myself to do so. I can tell you that I saw SouthernBelle twice (and because of that, I felt sort of like someone had taken a crap in my heart) and The Freshman and The Beauty. I spoke to The Buffalonian on the phone, and I got many emails from The Jaguar.
My weekend became difficult for many reasons, one of which was when I told SouthernBelle how I felt about her, after my fourth Margarita, and she said "I had no idea." And then thought about it and said "yep, there was a window open there that's closed now." I didn't say that windows can reopen, but I did tell her that I think it's for the best, as I think we weren't meant to date, but we were meant to be lovers for a very long time. She agreed. But not for right now.
When she said "So, The Liberal is coming home soon. Are you ready to deal with that?" I realized I was, and it was mostly because the piece of my heart that was yearning for the Liberal was yearning for her instead. I said nothing.
And when she said "you're a nice guy. Not in that creepy-nice-guy way, but in that every-girl-wants-one nice-guy way" I just smiled. The same sentiment was echoed by others as well.
Oh, and the nicest, if hardest one, that I heard from SouthernBelle was that, when asked, by her big gay boyfriend about the fact that I kept fucking all these other women on nights I didn't see her, she told him "well, he makes you feel like you're the only one in his world." Which is something I don't do to every woman I date. I think I was treating her like she was special, despite my verbal protestations to the contrary. She was special - a different breed of woman than I'm used to.
When TaiChi said to me "you have the most powerful reality I know of. You just see things and draw everyone else into your bubble." That's why Wing and Xaneus suggest I have such tight inner game.
And when The Beauty said "I knew you wanted me for so long so I just figured I'd hook up with you and you'd chill out." I laughed. It was true.
The Freshman was a delight as usual, and still beautiful and I still flirt with her to no effect.
I know, it's time to let all of these women go for a bit and start over. It's hard to do.
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Notes on 5 hours of drinking with SouthernBelle this evening.
1) She's addicted to her new boy, no room for me.
2) The first night they were together lasted four days.
3) I think he got Fools Mate, I left her so heated that when he met her, she was even wearing a t-shirt she'd bought to wear for me, and she just transferred. (C.F. Fools Mate)
4) I told her way more than I meant to, including how I felt. Stupid.
5) Kiss on the cheek.
6) Still lovers? Probably when she's done with photoboy.
7) I miss her.
8) I should have closed her on Friday when she hated him.
9) She went back on Saturday and thus today wasn't feeling the love for me.
10) Said "what was amazing about you was that I knew there were other women, you told me about them, but you still made me feel like I was the only one."
11) I'm actually sad about this, surprising me.
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In the Lone Ranger series, the Lone Ranger had a horse - Silver. Whenever he rode off, he gave his enchanting and memorable call, "Hi ho, Silver." Kids everywhere would know that adventure awaited them - like pavlov's dinner bell.
Stephen King played with that notion in It - that the phrase "Hi ho Silver" was the mark of childhood adventure. It's too long, and I can't find the quote or passage, but here's the gist as I remember it - the lead character had a huge stutter, and it was debilitating as a child. It was part of the evil of It that caused this stutter.
He had a bike, though, and that bike was a Radio Flyer - he'd named Silver, after the Lone Ranger's horse. Everybody wants to be a cowboy, but when your kid brother is killed by an evil clown, you want to be a hero twice as much.
There's power in a self created myth. There's also power in using your body and associating the two.
In It, there was a big hill that he would ride down, screaming "Hi ho, Silver!" and his troubles, the evil in his city, his little brother, everything would just disappear. Even his stutter.
I read that book when I was 10 years old, right before my family took a trip to Cancun. The time to leave approached - and I wasn't finished. I freaked out a little. I had 10 pages. It was four in the morning. "Dad! I want to finish." "Planes don't wait for people, people wait for planes." With that, we left the book on the kitchen table, open, waiting for me to come back and read the last few pages. I'll never forget that.
And I'll never forget reading that Hi Ho Silver portion. It's stayed with me my whole life.
For me - my rollerblades are my Silver. When things look grim, as they've started to this weekend, when things are not at their best, and when life is generally annoying, I can get on them, slap on my sunglasses, slap on my headphones, and the world just disappears.
I did that today. Hi Ho Silver.
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I know I shouldn't be dwelling on old bad things. I know this. Bring up old bad memories, wash yourself in them, feel like crap, the joy of your own misery. Wallowing. It's stupid.
But then, on the other hand, there's the old adage about not learning from history. Today, I choose to listen to both the new and the old.
When I was dating TheEvilOne, my first adult relationship, I desperately, horribly wanted everything to go right. I wanted her to be my wife, I wanted her to be happy, I was willing to put myself on a sacrificial altar to her saying "Look! I love you so much that I will give up myself for you! You should love me for that reason, and surrender to me, as well!"
This was, by all accounts, not only a foolish plan, but an unworkable one. It is hard to love a sacrificial lamb, no matter what Christianity might teach. And that love isn't the sort of man-woman love that should be what a relationship is, rather it's the spiritual love of Jesus (or so I'm told...) A woman wants to love a man, not a piece of mutton on an altar. So things with TheEvilOne devolved as soon as I stopped being a man and started trying to cater to her every whim. "What do you want to do" instead of "tonight we're going to X place. Wear that Y that I like to see you in." I became, in the words of some guys, a wussy. Horrible.
She cheated on me. She cheated on me while I was off giving my Grandmother's eulogy. We'd had a nearly sexless relationship for several months, which we blamed on the pill. It wasn't that. It was two things - first, that she was evil, and second, that I'd become a wussyboy. No woman that I know loves a wussyboy.
Eden (man, I quote her a lot) wrote:
I'm not a nice person when I have to be in charge all the time. That was one of the reasons my first marriage crumbled; my husband deferred to me on everything and I took increasing advantage of that. I ruled the house and made all decisions, yet he worked full-time and did most of the chores. First I was exhausted with having to make all plans and choices on my own, but eventually I became scornful of his lack of backbone and disgusted with his obvious fear of losing me. In my defense, I was very young, but what might have been a perfect situation for a more dominant woman was hell for me.Things started to fall apart with The Liberal when I stopped being dominant, stopped making the decisions, and started in with the "what do you want to do" and "she breathes in air, she breathes out light, The Liberal is my delight" poetic stuff. I think, finally, I've found, if not the answer, then a statement thatencompasses what I think happened.
And what can be done.
Eden again.:
That's a large part of what charms me about Brian. He's not macho, but he's overwhelmingly masculine. During his short visit, I felt comfortable in a way I haven't been in years. We shared decision-making, but he defended his choice when it was different from mine. He was protective without being overbearing, possessive but not clingy. With that balance, I blossomed into the best "me" -- feminine but outspoken, warm and affectionate yet an intellectual equal. He and I want the same sort of traditional household, and that combination is as close to perfect as I've ever come.Sounds good to me. Brian is the man that Eden met online, and seems to be falling in love with. There is a lot of food for thought in those two passages, for me at least.
Mark talks about "Being the Man" and "Becoming Fully Human." Yeah. I want me some of that.
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I promise that I'll give you a weekend update soon. It involves The Liberal, SouthernBelle, The Freshman and The Virgin, as well as Sid and TaiChi. But for the moment, I'm busy processing it all.
The trouble with having beautiful, sweet, amazing girlfriends is that when it's over, you've got beautiful, sweet, amazing exgirlfriends. It's been a long, somewhat agonizing weekend, and it ain't over yet.
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However the key result was that it's not just that certain shared areas of the brain are reliably activated in both romantic and maternal love, but also particular locations are deactivated and it's the deactivation which is perhaps most revealing about love.Explains a whole goddamned hell of a lot about my reactions to TheEvilOne, The Cuban and The Liberal. Also explains Oneitis quite nicely. "Of course you don't see her flaws - you're brain damaged."Among other areas, parts of the pre-frontal cortex ⤳ a bit of the brain towards the front and implicated in social judgment ⤳ seems to get switched off when we are in love and when we love our children, as do areas linked with the experience of negative emotions such as aggression and fear as well as planning. The parts of the brain deactivated form a network which are implicated in the evaluation of trustworthiness of others and basically critical social assessment.
Reader Perker sent me an intriguing email:
eric..I have been reading your site for some time, and have even taken the occasion to leave comments from time to time (i think you even referenced a comment of mine once, of which i was very proud - thanks!!)I tried to keep this short, but failed. I'll start with thoughts and then move on to tips.anyway, i am in a situation where i am seeking your advice. I often fall into the 'friendship' roll when meeting new women. I hindsight, i think i may be too 'nice' and fail to exude that 'so what if i fail' projection.
Recently, i met someone at a charity event - she was managing a table during the silent auction and we started chatting. I have purchased stuff from their store in past auctions and am a huge fan of their products.
I was with a date and later that evening, the woman from the auction found me outside and we started chatting (my date was in the bathroom, or something). My date walked up, picked up on the sexual tension with this other woman, and made a HUGE scene before storming off. I looked at my new friend and sort of rolled my eyes and indicated i was tired of that other woman's shit, etc. I left the party, alone, in the next five minutes - a combination of anger and embarressment (it was a big shouting scene).
The next day, my new friend called me (we had exchanged cards earlier in the evening), we chatted about how silly my date behaved, i mentioned my solo walk home. Thinking of your tips and suggestions, i knew i had to close at least something on the phone. I did, we are meeting for drinks early next week. Now, why am i writing you?? I am eager to hear any suggestions on navigating the upcoming date and working towards getting laid. MY new friend has been aggressively emailing me over the past week - telling me her weekend plans out of town, busy at work today, etc - so i am sure she is interested. thoughts and tips would be appreciated perker
Thoughts: you've run an interesting thing here - you showed that you had "social proof" by showing up with your date (be she attractive friend or date or whatnot) but you did undermine yourself by bringing up both your walk home alone (how does this prospective woman know you didn't go home and have wild steroid monkey makeup sex? Because you told her you didn't, suggesting that you're not that sexually aggressive) and by letting her know that the other woman's leaving made you upset. You're seeming both needy and like you can't close the deal if someone throws you off your thing.
All, however, is not lost, as she's calling you, and sending you Indicators of Interest by making time for you. This is good.
Now, I'm not expecting that my advice will get you laid, even though some of my friends claim that if a woman in a situation like this calls a guy, it's only beause she wants to fuck him.
The advice I most often hear in a situation like this is - you're in - don't fuck it up. Stay relaxed, don't drink too much, just stay chill.
For the date itself, here are my tips:
1) Don't talk about her work and her product, or if you do, talk about it in passing and then move on to any other topic.
2) Don't be afraid to kiss her when it's time, don't ask permission to do so, just lay one on her. Don't do it too early, though, because that makes you look desperate. Don't do it too late, that makes you look timid. Going from kissing to more is just a matter of being bold. Other people can teach that better than I can. I just naturally escalate when I feel like it.
3) Bust her chops about things - be funny. Don't know how to be funny? Learn. Be Cocky and Playful. Wing and I both agree with cocky and playful. Just play. If she asks how old you think she is, if she's old, estimate really old (like, 80s) if she's young, estimate really young (like, 8) - exaggerate things. Remember that things I've found to work are telling women that I'm an ass model and that they look like they're in their late 40's. It shows you're comfortable enough to screw around and aren't afraid of them, and aren't putting her on a pedestal. Good god, whatever you do, don't put this girl anywhere near a pedestal. She's just a girl. You're just a boy. That's fucking it.
4) And this is CRUCIAL: remember that if it doesn't work out, there's still billions of other women and don't take it personally.
5) The mantra below - try to internalize them. "Be yourself. Be yourself. Be yourself. By which I mean be the relaxed you you are with your friends, not the uptight you that pretty girls brings out." That's gold right there that most people don't do.
6) If you want to escalate to touching, try the following - it's not likely to work unless you can control your tonality into a seductive one, but it's stupendously effective when used properly - "Can you remember the last time you had a really amazing feeling? Like, something really great happened at work, or you won a race, or an orgasm or something? Can you step back into that moment and relive it?" Assuming she can (and I've never met anyone who can't...) touch her inner elbow and say "let's say that on a scale of one to ten, that's a ten. Now, your normal day to day experience, like when you're at work, or grocery shopping, that's a one, ok?" Get her agreement that that's ok and point out that one is on her wrist. You've now got yourself a scale of pleasure from one to ten going from wrist to inner elbow. "And your whole life is on a scale from one to ten" *drag your finger from one to ten. And back down to one. Watch her face, see if she flushes or reacts at all. Touch the inner elbow and say "What if we could take what's now ten for you and make that your new one. Can you imagine how that would feel?" Touch her inner wrist where you placed the one before. "Can you imagine if we made your old ten into a hundred?" Roll back up from wrist to elbow. "Or a thousand?" Lightly stroke the inner elbow. "Do you know how much pleasure you can take?"
7) Don't be afraid to discuss sex in very graphic terms, but don't focus on it. It's part of life. It's why you're both there - she likely wants it as much as you do, you just have to give her the opportunity and excuse.
8) Have fun. If you stop having fun, feel free to leave. Always know that you can bail. Never be afraid to eject. If things go badly, also, feel free to try whatever you like.
9) Don't be a wussy. I don't know any good woman attracted to a wussy. Be a man. For models of Men - think: James Bond, Ethan Hawk's character in Reality Bites, Marlon Brando in Streetcar Named Desire, that kinda guy. A man.
10) When they say that women like assholes, what they mean is that women like powerful guys who have their own reality around them and don't buy into theirs, who don't buy their meals, who don't buy all these gifts, who aren't totally thoughtful, because that smacks of stalkerism. You can't make a beautiful woman be attracted to you until you push her away. It's illogical, but then, so what.
I also promised him that I'd open the floor to suggestions in the comments. If you have suggestions for him please feel free to post them in the comments. If you want to email him, do that. Email me, and I can forward them to him too. And Perker - if you want more than that, email me with specifics.
Good luck!!
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Last night, at midnight, when I finally left work, my secretary asked where my car was going to take me. "Home?"
"No. First and 8th."
"Going for a drink?"
"I'm here at midnight, aren't I?"
"You could use a drink, Eric. I'll get you a car right away."
Back to my office to unwind. Check the referer logs. Hmm. New links. Check the comments. Hmm. New people. Check the email. Phone rings.
"Your car will be downstairs in 10 minutes."
"Thanks."
In the car, talk to the driver about going out to party. That Friday night is awful. The Driver speaks with a thick Thai accent about how he prefers to have a beer in his own house to going to bars on Saturdays. I agree.
He drops me off at Tribe, where TheOldNewGuy is working. There are five girls at the end of the bar, and a large black man on a date with a petite blonde woman. I take stock of my headache and decide to slip into something more comfortable, like a Jamesons. Rocks. Thanks.
TheOldNewGuy asks if I've had a hard day at the office. When I tell him that I just got there from work, and that Saturday night was the insanity with my boss, he pours me a shot of Jamesons. "A shot of Jamesons with a Jamesons back?" "Yeah." "Awwwwwwriiiiight."
I tell him about meeting the bartender at Loreley with Juan Carlos and my boss.
"We met the bartender there - she asked what the three of us were doing showing up looking like hell at 1 am on a Saturday night, and I told her we were coming from work. 'What do you do?' 'We're Chippendales' I told her. She immediately wanted a free dance. I told her that I don't give freebies. Later in the night, I told her I'd stolen one of her mixers, and she demanded we go in the back and she'd strip search me. I walked towards the back and she followed me, and then grabbed me and told me 'I'd love to, but I'm working. Maybe later.' We kept drinking for awhile, and I opened a six foot blonde girl, and pawned her off on my boss. I did my best to jump on the ugly-girl-friend grenade, but somehow the ugly girl ended up liking Don Julio more.' My boss got the number of the six foot blonde but didn't close the deal. Hell, I would have - he'd spiked her buying temperature - if I'd known he wasn't into it, I'd've closed that deal, she was hot."
"Wait - Loreley? I know the bartender there... what the hell's her name... " He remembered it. He'd worked with her at a previous bar.
More shots. A discussion about whether you can close a bartender from the side of the bar I was sitting on. "It's hard as hell - at 5am, you're good and drunk, and she's been working all night. If she wants you, she'll make it known. Otherwise, don't bet on it. You might get her number. Don't give her your number, she'll just put it in the tip jar with all the other numbers of the other dweebs that gave her their numbers that night." Solid advice.
Another round.
A big sausage factory comes in. Six guys, each guy bigger than the last, every one bigger than me by 50 pounds at least. I sit, amused, and sip my whiskey, as they order light beer.
Soon after, drunk and finally relaxed, I find myself at home, in my bed with my laptop. The Jaguar had emailed me while I was at work. "If I can get a spare ticket to the premier of The Terminal tomorrow, would you go with me?" Sure. Just like old times, apparently. Email from The Groupie - she's having a high quality problem - too many hot guys after her. Poor thing. She said she was swearing off men. I literally laughed so hard I get the hiccups. That's like me swearing off sexual girls. Or Rock Star Designer swearing off crazy strippers and actresses.
We can try, but we can't fight our nature.
An email from an old online friend who is still as hot, maybe hotter, than I remember. Some other personal email. I send The Virgin a quick note. And then, I collapse in a heap. It's not always about getting laid, or pickup, or meeting someone. Sometimes it's about just having a great time.
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From nearly a year ago, I found these notes to myself in my personal diary:
Bust on girls, in a funny way, which says to them that they don't scare you at all.
Buying dinner/flowers/gifts is little more than bribery, and says "meal ticket" more than "good man."
Don't ever be dishonest about anything. Ever. Not a single time.
93% of communication is non-verbal.
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ATTEMPT TO IMPRESS A WOMAN WITH MATERIAL GOODS, YOUR LOOKS OR ANYTHING ALONG THAT VEIN.
Be yourself. Be yourself. Be yourself. By which I mean be the relaxed you you are with your friends, not the uptight you that pretty girls brings out.
Try treating women with respect, like you treat your bratty little sister. You love her, and you'd always be there for her and would never hurt her, but *insert eyeroll*.
UPDATE: Matt asks:
what do u think of these notes now ? u think u were right or u changed ur mind about it ?I think they were dead on accurate, and I wish that I'd paid more attention to myself, particularly when dating The Liberal. And random emails to The Cuban.
UPDATE: DirtyTalkinGirl writes:
The thing is, you've got it all figured out. I guess you just have to implement it, and that's the hard part.Me writes
I think you were right on too! It's always hard to heed our own advice though - well, really any advice - we do what we can!Indeed.
I went out with Wing and his Dominican friend TheKid today, and they opened and closed all the ladies, and I didn't. Halfway through, I got bored, so I called The Virgin, who is supposed to be my newest wing. She knows how important sex is to me, and she won't give it to me, so it's all about getting it for me from other people.
We agreed to meet at my place at 7, and went to dinner at Prune. Love love love that place. I've been very tense lately, so we came back, and she was going to give me a backrub, and I was going to relax, and then we were going to go out hunting for girls for me.
That didn't happen.
What I didn't expect was a blowjob. What I really didn't expect was that she, who'd only given them to one other guy, and had never given one to me, (we've talked candidly a lot) would, by the end of the night, grab me by the wrist, put my hand on the back of her neck, and push down my hand on her neck, to force in that extra few centimeters. More fodder for the Rough Blowjob discussion. That she immediately, upon putting my cock to her lips, would suck the whole thing down her throat and keep it there, well, I'm getting hard again just thinking about it.
I fear for the man she marries. She's going to eat him alive and fuck him to death.
Despite the misgivings of some people when it comes to interracial sex, I've gotta say - watching white cock disappearing into a black mouth, holy freakin' hotness. And white skin next to black skin? Yum. And the girl? She's fucking cool.
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So, I've checked my traffic. 230+ hits yesterday. Not bad.
Suggestions on how I can get more? I want to break 1,000/day.
Anyone want to make banners for me?
I'm a Leo. Deal.
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Apparently, my reputation precedes me. Lots of google searches lately for "bad man in a bad place blog" - if you're just joining the party now and you somehow heard of this place, be so kind as to leave a comment or send an email, would you? I'd love to know how you're coming in here.
Plus, I don't bite, unless we're on a date. Or in bed. Or... you get the picture.
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I updated my Friendster profile. Shouldn't you be my friend now? And write me testimonials? And put a photo of yourself up? I did...
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I'm using one of the other Blogger templates - tell me - what do you think?
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Ever go on a date with a very beautiful woman who is totally your type physically, but then found that her speech patterns were way too slow for you, you couldn't engage her in meaningful conversation that didn't seem like an interview, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a midnight ejection call?
Well, I did last night.
Ladies - the phone call at a prearranged time to offer you better plans is tacky. Get some guts and say "I think the date is over." Don't blush and sputter and pretend that something just came up. At midnight. On a Friday. Just say "You know, I think that this isn't working out" or "you know, I've been on better dates with my vibrator" and move on.
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You lot have been asking and asking for a photo of me. [censored for privacy purposes]
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I'm not going to send any of the photos I've taken, but Girl's Flashing Us is cool. I think the models are just random girls. Awesome.
All of the women I've really liked (with one exception) have had a lot of fun with a digital camera, me, and their bodies. Yum.
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Eden has an interesting post on some "nice guys" she's met over the years.
For some reason, I kept waking last night thinking of this hot Costa Rican who had a crush on me several years ago. He was really sweet and incredibly persistent -- I didn't want to lead him on, so I never even kissed him, but he was so dogged in his pursuit that I did agree to a lunch date and one night of dancing. He spoke no English, worked for the janitorial service at my company, and had nothing in common with me. Still, he was so adorable that I still keep (but don't wear) this hideous cheap ring that he bought for me to remember him when I moved to a different office. I hope he's found happiness.It's interesting. Years ago, back before I started this site, I was on a mailing list where we wrote about our sex lives. After living like a rockstar for awhile and writing about it, one of the readers, your typical frustrated guy, wrote to the list with a whining pleading email. Same complaints all guys who don't get any seem to have.
I'm a "nice guy" and always have been. Sometimes I wounder if it would just be better if I wasn't. if I just a little more forceful or wasn't such a "nice guy" I would have girl freands.The person who wrote to the list was among friends, so, we tore him a new asshole, as only friends can. Explaining that his whining wasn't going to get him anywhere, that his niceness wasn't actually nice (c.f. what the heartless bitches have to say about "nice guys" or this awesome cartoon that sums my position up) and that he was, basically, an emotional tampon. There's a difference between being Nice (buying gifts, always listening, not having a penis) and being nice (being a man, but not being an emotional tampon). Here's what I had to say about this in 2000, for perspective on where I'm coming from.I remember when I was around junior high age, my older brother would talk about the girls in high school. they say they want the "nice guys" and end up going out with the not so nice. I guess I was worned.
When ppl talk about their Xs I just sit and hear them. I let them think that I have Xs of my own. as long as they don't ask about them. Its strange to find an eighteen year old who has not so much has french kissed someone. People don't like strange-ness.
sometimes I wounder if I wasted the past 4-6 years of my life by having no girl friends. but then I remember that it IS only 4-6 years of my life. I still have all the time in the world.
It might be true that "all nice guys finish last" but isn't "last but not least" true too?
I can wait for the right person. I'm patient.
For all you guys coming to me for advice, realize that that's where I was a mere four years ago, and not long before that, I was in a dysfunctional abusive relationship with TheEvilOne. Shortly thereafter, I'd had a few brief flings with random women I'd met in various circumstances, including on the Internet, before Friendster was the new Black. There's hope for you, if you want to improve your life and make yourself happier.
I had an insane case of beautyphobia for most of my life, and I've only recently gotten over it. I was afraid of beautiful women. Terrified of them. All through college, I thought to myself, of so many women, "she's so beautiful - why would she ever talk to me?" I was the prototype of the cowardly nice boy.The Diva read that and reacted:
My friends are some of the most beautiful women I've ever met, because instead of asking them to sleep with me, instead of kissing them when their lips screamed out "kiss me," I thought that a friendship with them was more important. These were amazing women, and I figured that being friends with them was a good thing - they had friends they could introduce me to, and it was nice to surround myself with beautiful women. Making friends with them would give me entrance, I thought, into that clique - the old adage about being seen with beautiful being some sort of secret access handshake.
It was a small Liberal Arts college. The only college in the country that I've heard of that requires you to send a photograph with your application. The women there are still some of the most beautiful I've ever seen in my life. I go to bars in Manhattan with my friends, and men ask me what the women's signs are, they're just that intimidating. Men scurry into the seat I vacate to go to the bathroom, just for a chance to talk to them. It's comedic, since we're usually there to talk about their boyfriends.
I felt, for the longest time, like the ugly duckling. Like the one that didn't belong in the land of the beautiful. I was there because of my intellectual prowess, not my magnetic good looks. I don't have magnetic good looks. So I felt out of my league. Terrified. I saw these beautiful young women every day. I had crushes on crushes and always thought to myself "hmph, you'd be better off with me than _that_ guy that's treating you like crap." I never found out if I was right - I left college, that time of sex, alcohol and drugs, having had three long term relationships and a whole lot of dead time without women. And a cadre of amazingly beautiful friends.
My plan didn't work. I was labelled the nice guy - but not the "hey, what a nice guy, I'd love to fuck him" more of the chump. The sweet kid that you could talk to, if he could get over the fact that he wanted to puke on his shoes every time he saw you.
It was only a year and a half after that that I got over it. One of those women, TheEvilOne had received an email from me - I asked her, if she had a dearth of things to do in Manhattan, whether she'd be interested in getting a drink with me sometime. I didn't know what I was doing - she was so beautiful - 5'8, a dancer, blue eyes and long blond hair - what could she possibly want from a plain guy like me? But we'd spoken at a few parties and I'd made her laugh. She was somehow nonthreatening, in spite of being eyes-bleedingly attractive. Seeing her just made me want to fall down and thank god that I was alive. We dated for a year and a half. I met more beautiful women through her, spent time with the women that my friends used to speak of in awed, hushed tones.
I learned quickly that they're as flawed and as terrified of life as I was. As afraid of me as I was of them. Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous women, with men at their fingertips, feared the world too. Even the most confident among them had doubts. Some doubts. Not as many as I had, but the strength that they exuded was merely confidence that they had something that other people wanted. For many of them, it was because they'd been told so - whispered "you're so beautiful" at bars, had men just draw breath in that appreciative "wow" when they entered the room.
I've since gotten over my beauty-phobia, and my "nice guy" status. I'm still nice, but not in a befriend the people you want to sleep with way. With few exceptions, I am still someone to turn to in times of crisis, but I'm now also a person who can walk up to a woman and tell her what I'd like to do to her. Not every time. Some women still intimidate me. But now I'm open to their advances, even if I'm not making them myself. [Some things never change, do they? -ED] It takes less than a full frontal assault to get me to notice a woman's interest at this point. Perhaps it's that I'm actually talking to these new women, instead of just being super quiet and hoping that they'll notice how sensitive I am.
I won't say that I exude confidence, or anything that simple. A combination of self improvement and the sexlife you've been reading about have both made me believe that maybe, just maybe, the women that are out there, might be interested in guys, and if they are, there's no valid reason that the guy they're interested in shouldn't be me.
The self improvement included all the things typical of ending a relationship - returning to the gym, rebuilding my wardrobe, and asking my ladyfriends for flirting advice. The same things came up time after time: be friendly, be yourself, listen, and ask questions. Also, don't try to take home every person you meet, then you seem desparate. It also included a stint as a salesman in a stupidly hip clothing store, which helped me put the beauty thing in perspective. Watching the young and beautiful when they're trying on clothing opens your eyes to just how human they are.
My exgirlfriend used to tell me that I shouldn't love her for her looks. They'll fade, she told me, and they were just an accident of genetics. Not something to love her for. It wasn't until I watched models try on jeans that that I realized what she was talking about - watching a woman's curves fall into all the wrong places was eye opening. I got over beautyphobia because I suddenly realized that TheEvilOne was right - beauty wasn't it - it was just a part of the package. I won't go so far as to say that an ugly person is a beautiful person and beauty is ugly, that's simply not true. But beauty is now only one of my criteria. An ability to make me laugh, and a desire to make my eyes roll back in my head, and to give as good as she is about to get, is much more crucial at this point. Intelligence, sensuality, sexuality. Much more impressive than classical beauty. I got over it by reaizing that it wasn't important, it _is_ just a mistake of genetics, and that it doesn't make a person good or bad. It just is.
So I got over my nice guy thing at the same time. When I wasn't totally terrified that I might have to try to satisfy a goddess, when I realized that these women, as confident, brash and beautiful as could be imagined, were also fearful, intimidated and friendly, something changed in my head. It became fun, instead of an exercise in panic attacks, nearly broken windows, and temper tantrums. The women I've known like the fact that I'm nice, but they also liked the fact that I'm forward, and now, aggressive.
I was recently talking to a friend of mine about this. One of the Beautiful Women I befriended years ago - The Shark. My friend had also had recently hooked up with a boy on the same weekend as I had my most recent fling. She had met my fling, so she knew who I was talking about. The boy she hooked up with mentioned, at one point that he was amazed that she had had erotic thoughts about him. He didn't think _anyone_ had. I laughed at that, because I'd said the same to my fling after speaking with her on the phone, days after we were together. I couldn't believe that anyone would get off on the thought of me. My friend said, in an email, summing up my point: "ha ha - you nice boys, man. you have no IDEA what the things you do/don't do do to us."
well, take it from one who has been told plenty of times that she's "beautiful", it certainly doesn't guarantee any kind of success in relationships or with people. If anything it makes you feel more like people want you for the wrong reasons, or if they don't that you must really be a sad case. (See, anything can make someone insecure).Exactly.
My email address (badmanbadplace@gmail.com) should make it obvious to anyone who wants a Gmail account that I have Gmail invitations to give to those people who want a GMail account. I have seen the GMail Swap, which Sir Italian is using to get himself things, but I'm wondernig what sort of things I can get offers for just from posting to this blog about my available GMail invitations, and the fact that, at the moment, I have five of them. So - if you want a GMail invitation, either email my GMail account with an offer, or post to the swap and let's see if I find anything I like there.
(I can't believe my luck in getting five Gmail invitations to share!)
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