A Bad Man in a Bad Place

So, now what seems to distract me is short skirts. Because talking to strangers has become, almost overnight, easy.

I don't want to overstate the case. Because I didn't do what are classically called "cold approaches" or anything, although I don't know why I think that, since I was talking to people (of both genders) for a portion of the night. I went out with Chet and his roommate, a cute French 24 years old girl who deserves a name but these days I don't feel creative enough to come up with one.

We had a bit of fun on our own trying to get to a party that we missed, and instead ended up at Sugar. Much of the time I just stood like a stone looking around and then I looked at Chet and said "I'm going to the bathroom, I'm going to harass people." For those of you who are dry-humor impaired, that meant talk to them...

Topic? The line. The night. Where they were from. Guys and girls. Social person. It's easy once you get started.

The cold approach in my mind was what Chet did, which was, when he saw a woman sitting on a couch looking lonley and bored, he sat down and started talking to her. When her boyfriend showed up, he befriended the boyfriend and made himself liked by the both of them. We then bounced.

Also interesting was that he befriended the bouncer. I have a lot to learn from Chet. He has a lot to learn from me, too, on what to do once he's befriended them. I was always known as the closer, he's the opener. We'll work it out.

Now some of you are wondering why I'm not writing about my sexcapades. I'm not having any. My relationship with The NewYorker matured me, or changed me at least, to a point where the idea of just having lots of empty meaningless sex isn't appealing to me. Some may be wondering why I'm not just going for low hanging fruit and starting back that way again. It's hard for me, after having been deeply in love with someone, to just jump back into bed with new women. So what I'm doing, and what you're seeing here, is me in a halfway point, dealing with an issue that was a sticking point in my mind until now - the sticking point was talking to strangers.

Chet raised an interesting confusion he was having when we were at Sugar, which had been echoed by the cocktail waitress at my bar. Her confusion was, if I could talk to her so easily, why couldn't I talk to everyone? His confusion was what my problem is. He described me in a way that I'd never heard before but when he did it was very clear that he was right. I was complaining about the short barely-ass-covering-skirts that were stressing me out into inaction and I said to him that I was "totally distracted by the shiny things out there." His response? "you know that you're the shiny thing they're looking for, right? You're living here in Manhattan and they've all driven over bridges and tunnels and gotten dressed up and shiny so that they can meet you and maybe you'll take them to your place in Manhattan." Hmm. I'm the shiny thing. Interesting. And probably right. It's all in the framing, isn't it.

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I've challenged myself, lately, to push beyond whatever boundaries I come across.

I had a long talk with Chet last night about me where he told me things that I probably knew, but probably denied. Like the fact that right out of the gate I'm what a lot of women want. But also out of the gate, I'm closed off and defensive and it's not clear why.

Chet's a psychiatrist. So part of me wondered if I was looking like a nail to him because he's a hammer. But he's also a friend and he's also not wrong. Damn psychiatrists.

One of the things that'd plagued me since I was seeing the New Yorker was my inability to start conversations with anyone, much less women. I would describe the process thus - I go to speak to someone and my tongue swells and my jaw clamps and nothing happens next.

That doesn't actually happen, clearly, but that's how it has felt for some time now.

So lately I've taken to just talking to people. The person sitting next to me on the train, the person standing in line in front of me at the Shake Shack today, a guy rollerblading next to me, and on and on and on. It turns out that most people are will to talk to me given any kind of prodding at all.

Chet's challenged me to go to a party tonight and meet five new people. The challenge works thusly: we go to an ATM, I take out a hundred bucks. Out pop five crisp Yuppie Ones. I hand them to Chet. For each group I talk to, he returns one to me.

What I'd like to do next after that is set up a system where I can actually get some money that isn't mine, whether it's getting money to get a number, or five bucks of his if I open ten sets. Whatever it is, it's boring when it's my money, I throw my own money away. But when it's someone else's, then it gets interesting.

Chet was also talking about my goals. I recently read The Four Hour Work Week which, while self-helpy, does have some very concrete step by step analysis of addressing certain issues while -not- having the Step two problem. The step three problem is basically step 1) Do something, step 2) ???? step 3) PROFIT! This is common in self help books - they tell you about what you're doing now, and where to end up, but not the concrete steps on the path. This one concretes it. Anyway, back to Chet.

He asked me what my goals were. I looked at him and said without any hesitation "duuuh I don't actually know." And then he asked whether I do the things I enjoy and I said "ummm, sometimes?" And he asked what I enjoyed, and it's not the first time he's asked that and so far I've come up with dogs, rollerblading, and electronic music. Not a long list. Also long walks on the beach (hey, who doesn't like those) particularly with beautiful women in bikinis (ditto).

But I don't have any concrete goals beyond the grad school I'm going to and I don't even know what I'm going to be doing there other than "something else." I can't even describe the program I'm in.

Chet's point, then, was well taken. I don't have any big goals. None that aren't generic.

I told him I really liked electronica and then I asked him why I don't see more electronic shows and he said "good question" and I felt like an idiot again.

Today, I was talking to Akira about life too. Akira and I went to college together and Akira is helping me in my real life (my non-pseudonymous one) with a rebranding. He asked me a pretty fundamental question too - "who do you want to be?" and I said "well, that's something I should give some thought to" to which he, cleverly, responded "now's a good time." I didn't come up with much at the time, but I'm thinking about it now. I'm minded of a quote "The future is all around us, waiting, in moments of transition, to be born in moments of revelation. No one knows the shape of that future or where it will take us. We know only that it is always born in pain." That was Chet's other point - that as a man of 31 years who has only ever been in one fight (maybe more, but only one, really, with ass-kicking) I needed some adrenal boosts to get my life kick started. A motorcycle ride. Some fights in a controlled setting (martial arts). Etc.

Lots to think about. Yes, it's introspection time right now. Perhaps I'll have a field report after tonight.

Also adding to the list of things I like: writing, which I'd stopped doing in the face of television, among other things, but I'm battling back.

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Office party last night. Set out with a goal of meeting three new summer associates so I could practice the cold approach in a safe setting. Success. Met one by the bar, one by the bathroom and one by the wall.

Why, you may be asking, is Bad Man having trouble with approaching? I always have.

Lots has been written on the subject and in theory much of it is very good. In practice, the minute I get into the scenario where there are new people, I freeze.

Chet and his roommate came out and Chet got one of my paralegal's numbers. Good deal, Chet, she's hot and extremely smart.

I have a lot of work to do to get from approach anxiety to approach excitement. One of the problems is that my state, lately, has been totally flat with the exception of one day when I was up. The other problem has been my drinking. I think I need to take an old friend's advice and drink soda or something when I'm out instead of getting schloo'd. Schloo'd is good when that's the objective. When the objective is meeting new people and or opening sets for the heck of it, drinking is bad.

I'm still ahead of 85% of the world with my openness and such. But it's the other 15% that I'm having trouble with, and I want to be at least in the top 5%.

There are games and tricks and such to do this and I used to be able to do it and the New Yorker was a master at it. Somehow, I've had it as my only sticking point for so long that I haven't come to grips with it.

The other issue is that because it's a sticking point, I haven't been filtering who comes in. I need to start doing that, as there's a surfeit of women out there and I only want to spend time with ones that are good for me.

This post typed up in the back seat of a taxi on my way to work, heavily hungover.

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Went to a party at Chet's place today, with all French people (due to his very cute now-24 year old french roommate) and his other roommate who shares my name and penchant for country. and western.

And?

Approach anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks.

Which was bizarre. I raised the issue with Chet who pointed out that of all of his friends that have met me, none haven't liked me, and the worst question asked about me was "is he high?" to which the answer had been a resounding yes. So, umm, what's my problem again? Besides needing Doritos?

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To all the moms out there that raised us, to the moms raising children on their own, and the moms that we've yet to meet, happy Mothers Day.

I would regale you of stories about hooking up with various mothers today, but I'm celebrating my own mother instead.

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The Jaguar (yes, THAT Jaguar) IM'd to ask for advice. It seems she'd met this nice Frenchman who was going to put her up in Paris for 5 days before taking her to Cannes for the show. I thought that was a fantastic idea since she's become a whore.

I'm not saying that perjoritavely, I respect it. But there was a time, about a year and a half, when she was having sex for money. Not with me, stop looking at me like that. But she's since quit and wants to turn her life around.

I told her this wasn't the same, since there wasn't money, it was more like normal dating among normal people - you sleep with me and I buy you things. She laughed at me (ok, she LOL'd at me) since I don't buy things for women until we're dating seriously, but you get the gist.

She didn't bother going. I think it was a mistake.

The Brazillian called for one split second to ask a legal question. After our conversation, she pointed out twice that she's not in school anymore and has the summer to herself. Interesting, I think. Interested? Harder to say. Probably better to be friends with, as she's in my impending program, but still, nice to know that I'm not dead and women are sporadically interested.

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Nothing to report, been out very late lately, but nothing doing on this front.

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The new girl who hasn't even got a nickname yet saw pictures I had posted on the internet and saw how happy I looked with the New Yorker. She wanted to know what was up there. While it's a fair question, it's a postmodern one and awfully premature for someone I just met.

I told her the truth. She'll deal. Or not.

To diffuse the situation, I asked her if she was a good girl or a bad girl, and told her I bet she was a bad girl who kept a good girl tied up inside and sporadically untied her. She said that she guessed I was a bad boy who only looked like a good one. Good guess.

I didn't tell her I was a bad man, but i think my personality's coming back after being suppressed for so long.

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I caught myself buying a drink for the 21 year old last night. What the hell happened to me?

Interesting, though - she pushed her luck and asked me to get one for her friend, too. I laughed in her face and asked who their tab was under.

And I bought drinks on Friday night for the late night student date. She's a student. I give myself a pass on that one.

I usually don't do that because I feel like its buying attention. It is buying attention. But on the flip side, if it's a straight up date, sometimes you gotta.

Yeah, I'm out of practice.

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Two bits of unsought validation today.

A lithe 21 year old with no body fat who was writhing on me for around a half an hour, when asked how old I was, guessed 24. Under by 7 years, but I can work with it.

In addition to the two girls who catcalled me with "foxy foxy" on Friday, a stunning black woman (with whom I would later have no interaction) told me that I "was sexy and should be a model."

These, plus lots of other factors are making me reassess an awful lot about me.

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I'd forgotten how much fun it was to hook up with a new girl. In a bar no less. Just... fun.

She pulled an interesting move. "Do you want to dance?" And then once we were up and dancing, it was physical and we were touching and escalating of touching from knee to shoulder to dancing then making out. Not a bad way to cap the work week.

I recommend, if you don't have rhythm, get some. If you are having trouble getting some, ask someone for help. If you're still unable to get it, try country or indie music.

Also an interesting moment - we were standing at a bar and on the banquette was a rather big guy who she was afraid we were in the space of. So I leaned down and asked him. Big smile from him for being so polite, which seemed to shock but please her - that I'd gone and cleared that up for us. What is it they say? Lead the men and the women will follow?

So, that was fun.

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When I'm feeling low and depressed, as I have been lately, it's nice to get a compliment. Some guys call it "validation seeking" I just call it a pick me up.

I got one in spades last night, which helped my mood.

I was talking to the cocktail waitress I know about my breakup. She'd seen me with the New Yorker and seen the decline and fall of our relationship. I was bemoaning the fact that I missed the New Yorker and that there would be no sex for me for some time as I found my land legs and healed my various emotional wounds.

She looked at me and said "but Bad, you're not going to have a problem, you're smart, articulate, good looking, and not creepy like most of the guys I've met. You're not going to have a problem."

Not that high a bar to hit, the "not creepy" bar, but I'll take it.

I was supposed to go to a birthday party at Lotus tonight but I don't know if I'm on my game enough to do that sort of thing. Might just chill at home or go for a walk and talk to people instead.

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I see that Sir Italian tried starting over too.

It's hard, right?

You change in those years you spend together. You change as a person, your desires change, your skills change. You become part of a different community and on and on and on.

And you don't, or at least I don't, want to go back to being exactly who I was before I left. That's stepping backwards, not forwards. Learn from what happened, yes? Don't get trapped in the past.

Battling back is hard, though. And so is the letting go. I get wistful, a bit, wishing things had turned out differently. That it could have worked, happily ever after and all that.

But it didn't. So we begin again.

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Had an interesting conversation with a new friend today. We were talking about gender roles and men being men and women being women. We agreed that the workplace was a place of equality, but after that she made clear that she supported certain tasks (lawn mowing, garbage out-taking) as men's work and other tasks (house and dish cleaning) as women's work.

Friend:The best is when a guy comes up behind you and puts his arms around you while you're doign dishes. that's my favorite.
Me:like 'hey, thanks for doing the dishes, you're pretty great for doing them.'
Friend:Exactly.

I liked that, so I thought I'd share it with you.

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The New Yorker came over and took her stuff back just now.

Until now, I think, in my mind, I wasn't sure it was actually over, thought perhaps we were just working things out on our own. Now it seems that we're really through.

Sad.

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According to a whoremonger:

They say that when you fall off a horse, you should get back in the saddle quickly before you lose your nerve.

I think that's happened to me. I've lost my nerve. Now, once I'm settled, I need to get it back. I have no nerve. I'm a social person, but i'm very much wrapped up in my head. I've loaded this site back up in part for me to study it, and in part to start reading it again.

I mean, I know what happened...

I dated the New Yorker for nearly two and a half years. I compromised to be with her. She compromised to be with me. As both of us should have. But once that other person is gone, if the compromises remain, there's an issue.

On the other hand, I think I'm still grieving the loss of the relationship, which is only a month gone. I think it's fair to grieve for awhile, don't you?

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I had an incredibly vivid moment in a dream last night. I woke up nearly unable to breathe, heart racing, and all that was on my mind was a phone number. I haven't called it, but I woke up this morning and found the following on an indexcard:

DREAM:
The Liberal
xxx-xxxx
The Liberal

Very strange.

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Ok, so this new Movable Type rig is going to require a lot of hacking. Yes, I just said that.

More important than that is that there's a lot that should be on my mind but isn't. And i have to deal with that.

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It's been more than two years since I was here. I've upgraded my movable type, and downgraded my life.

I was talking to Chet today about where I'm at. I dated the New Yorker for more than two years. And it didn't work out. Two years and three months later, I'm back on my own again.

I feel like I've stepped backwards in some ways and forward in many others. I'm back here. Don't know what that'll develop into, but it is what it is.

I need some templates and some figuring out of how to use movable type.

And so, freed, I begin to write.

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