A Bad Man in a Bad Place

Went out and saw Princess's band perform last night. Her bandmate saw me and squeeled "It's the lawyer! Look, it's the lawyer!" I quickly told her that I wasn't a lawyer for much longer. Princess was bombed out of her head, but was very pleased to see me, and pointed out that so many friends of hers were there. I had to slip out early, but I was glad to see her being happy and successful. She's gotten good write ups in avant garde places, and I hope those continue.

Princess introduced me to her new man, Equips, and he seemed like a decent dude.

Is it weird that I root for my exes to do well even after we're done dating/fucking/whatever? There's no one I've ever slept with, not even the cheaters, that I harbor bad feelings towards that this point. I hope they accord me the same well wishes, but I can think of a few instances - the Buffalonian springs to mind - where the answer is most likely not.

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Met a woman from my program some time ago and had drinks with her tonight. Well, by drinks I mean club soda since I'm off drinking for the moment.

When told the story of meeting Surfette she looked confused that women approached men in bars. Told me that she'd heard a story of the same sort of thing from one of my impending classmates this past weekend. She seemed surprised that women pick up men in this town. I hardly knew what to say it's happened often enough to me and those that I know. She pointed out that it was obvious why I got picked up by women, I'm cute. Interesting data point. Not that a man wants to hear "cute" as that's mainly reserved for puppies and kittens, but ok, I suppose it's better than many of the alternatives.

Been working out again lately. Seems to be working, body is changing faster than expected. Kinda like that. Maybe I'll post a fan service picture of the body once it's ready.

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My doctor tells me that I have to quit drinking for six weeks in anticipation of a blood test that we're doing. It's not short-term life threatening, but as Chet pointed out not long ago, booze is poison. So, it's abstemiousness for 6 weeks. Wonder what that'll do to my life. Should be interesting, to say the least.

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I've been wondering why I've been sexually unsatisfied lately. Could you tell that I am? Even Surfette wasn't good in bed, I actually liked her personality. July 4 is a model and when I do the sorts of things to her that I like to do, not only am I afraid I'll break her, she seems to feel like she's breaking. It's not a good fit. Ditto the girl from reunion, and ditto others.

I like, in the bedroom, to dominate women. There, I said it. I don't like it in the real world, I'm much too laid back for that. But in the bedroom, I like to be in control, and what I say goes. Surfette was down for that, we just didn't click.

I realize, belatedly, that this is one of those things that causes friction between my lovers and myself. I look back very fondly on Princess and SouthernBelle because they not only indulged my passions, but they liked them, too. Princess, in particular.

So it is with great concern that I go out into the world seeking new lovers. It's been three years since I was in a very dominant spot in the bedroom, most recently with Athena, who was fantastic in bed. It's been so long that my skills are rusty, I'm afraid that women are fragile little flowers who might break. Something, instead, appears to be broken in me.

Finding a woman who shares those passions should be central, not a side benefit. At the end of the day, I am kinky, but they are my kinks. If I'm not going to find someone willing to indulge them, then they won't be indulged. An interesting data point.

The trouble is finding women who want to be topped, to have their hair pulled, to be bitten and spanked and all of those things that I used to love to do. To tie women up on a second date is a lot, and I've been known to do it on a first night together, just after meeting. It turns me on in part because I know that the chemistry of pain and pleasure are overwhelmingly linked, and in part because I know that I would never actually hurt one of the women I take home, at least, not in a way that they wouldn't like. But finding them is an issue for me. Particularly since I swore off of meeting women on the Internet, I feel like it's a much higher bar to cross to pick a woman up in a bar, take her home that night or shortly thereafter, and then tie her up. Maybe I'm just out of practice. That's probably it.

This was prompted by a post by Bitchy Jones, in which she said

I’m not in any kind of scene. I don’t go out a lot. I like to write my blog and think my thinks. I’m not even very active online. I’m not a big participator in forums or anything. I’m no one really. Not part of any gang. Never really found one that did it for me.

I went to a thing last week and there were a whole group of sex! positive! type people all talking about the fetish scene as if it were some kind of social thing. None of them were kinky in the kind of deep down my-vanilla-she-is-broken type way I am, but they all knew more about this ‘fetish scene’ than I did.

I felt kind of crappy and inadequate. Pan laughs about the times we have tried to go out to fetish niteclubs. Always my idea – I get excited if I find one without a dress code. He gets dragged along. I take one step inside and feel immediately how much I don’t belong. He’s there, dancing, drinking, talking to weird looking people. Fitting in.

I've been fishing in the wrong ocean. Not sure how to find the right one.

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I've been reading and rather enjoying Kinkerbelle's site lately. Added to the blogroll.

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I have a noisy neighbor. She screams, loud, as her (I presume) man fucks her. I'm an auditory person. I find this hot.

I've had noisy lovers before. I miss them. The writhing, the noises, the moans, the screaming. The wake-the-neighbors sex, the dirty looks in the morning.

I remember when I was seeing two women at approximately the same time I was talking to my next door neighbor and I said that I had to go clean up, I had company coming over. He laughed and asked me - "so who is it tonight? Oh My God or You're The King?" It was Oh My God. I miss loud messy lovers that inspire me to get sweaty and violent, biting and groping and scratching and forcing and relaxing and generally messing around. Lately I've had a string (Surfette excepted) of extremely delicate flowers and this does not make me happy. When told that I like to tie women up and do unspeakable things to them, they usually titter and giggle and assume I mean other women. And frankly, after the performances they put in, I do.

Last night July 4 came over. Since we met, she's called and txt'd me every day. Sometimes I take them. Usually, not. I realize, looking back, that this is obsessive behavior of the most annoying sort. She has me on the same pedestal that most men put beautiful women on and I understand why beautiful women act the way they do in response. A mix of disdain and "of course you can do nice things for me, now go away." Because they can.

Over dinner at a nearby wine bar, I discussed my past history, and listened to stories of hers. I have been made fairly uncomfortable by her use of the term "darling" to describe me. She told me about her best friend, married for several years, and totally supporting her husband. "If I was married to a rich guy you can damn well bet that I'd be attentive to his every need." I shouldn't wonder if that's true considering how attentive she'd been to me. But by that same token, the more attention she paid, the closer she clung, the less attracted I was.

In an effort to make her realize that I'm just another guy, I admitted that when we met I did pick her up, although she asked for my number. She didn't want me to think of her as forward, so she reminded me that instead of going for her cheek when I kissed her goodnight, I went for her lips. I told her that I'd also subtly had my hand on the small of her back, walking her from her seat at the bar to a place to stand and smoke outside. She thought back and remembered it, noting that it was very subtle. That I'd basically taken over the situation from that point and she was putty in my hands. Yes, I'm good at what I do, it's subtle and it's easy. I'd earlier told her that she thought she was the cowboy in our little movie, breezing into town and strutting her stuff, when she walked instead into a Vampire movie where the cowboys were a snack on the way to dinner. Since it's easy, though, what I now need to do is add a layer of filtering to filter in only those that are what I'm looking for and filter out anything else.

I really don't want to see her again. We did have sex last night after watching a movie. After each of our prior sessions, she would make me stop before I was done, but only because it was taking so long and she was starting to get uncomfortable. Last night I had no such problem, getting her on all fours and then laying her on her stomach, finishing within five, maybe 10 minutes. She was shocked that it went so fast, and secretly, I think, pleased.

I slept isolated on my side of the bed. This wasn't Surfette or a woman like Surfette, in fact, I was convinced that this woman isn't for me. So I folded my hands under my opposite arms and slept, all elbows and knees, facing away from her. I didn't want to encourage intimacy, I didn't, frankly, want to encourage anything other than sleep.

When we woke up in the morning, she made an offhand comment about my not being very interested in her last night which I shrugged off and ignored. I showered and dressed, having an 11am meeting, walked her out, walked her to St. Marks, and gave her a goodbye kiss. She said something like "I hope you have a good day" and I said "thanks" and didn't reciprocate. I think that's an unspoken goodbye. If it's not, I will make a spoken goodbye soon.

Life's too short to not look for that which I've identified as that which I want. So - that's what I'm doing now. I'm looking for something specific. A certain type of spark in a woman - I know the spark I'm looking for, and after so many mistakes, I know how to hold it, and fan it into a full-on flame, too.

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On rereading what I wrote this morning before work about the trouble I have when I actually like someone, it was actually very nice to be surfing and to find out that women get that way too. I know this, I know, because I think July 4 has been getting that way, emotionally leaning in, etc etc. But nice to have it crystalized, and nicely written.

Money grafs:

When I meet someone special, someone I can conceive of being with not just next month, but far, far beyond, the initial euphoria invariably begins to mingle with a morbid fear of capsizing the boat. “Please don’t let me fuck this up” becomes my mantra.

It’s a vicious, vicious circle, because this terror breeds a pathetic neediness. And neediness is the biggest turn off; the thing most likely to send any man/boy running at top speed in the opposite direction. So mostly I try to conceal it, to shrug it off, to pretend that it’s not there. As one of my commenters once said, “you have to hide your crazy”.

For men, I think, it's "you have to hide your impulse to immediately nest with this woman you find amazing and let her take care of the nesting details while you take care of providing the adventure.

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My new favorite Flickr Feed via River City Kitty

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I've been deconstructing the Surfette interaction, and as I saw her of a kind with The Cuban and The Liberal, I've been looking into what happened between them.

I didn't tell you the story of what actually happened.

I texted Surfette on July 7 or 8, after a fair number of her suggestions that I come out there, that I would be out on July 19. Her texted response: "Wow. Ok. Game on."

That surprised me. We had a bit of witty banter back and forth about her picking me up at the airport, and then on the 15th, she called to say she'd likely have to work on the weekend I was there, but I should still come anyway assuming I had other friends to see, which I did. I figured something was up, but who cares? I'm blinded at this point by a woman with a strong, good personality.

So I flew out and she picked me up at the airport and we got promptly lost in Inglewood. I pulled out my iPhone and found our way to her place where we had a beer on her roof overlooking the city and Venice Beach. Went downstairs to get into bed, and here's where the needle starts to come off - she got into pajamas, told me how weird it was that she was in pajamas, but got all uncomfortable. This whole time I'm deferential and basically spineless. My big mistake.

The next day we wake up, go about our day, hang out, have breakfast, talk a lot, get to know one another, and damn, she's really way cooler than I'd realized. The day winds on, she helps me shop, we go to the beach, we go to several parties, we get totally wasted, and as we're walking back to her place, I get tired of pussyfooting around so I throw her into some hedges and start kissing on her. She makes happy surprised noises and we scamper back to her place for a night of sex.

Wake up in the morning, go to the beach, wander LA a bit, go back to the beach, and she's already told me that I'm booted that night because she's got events that she's going to solo [we think she has a boyfriend now - Ed] but that's fine and when we get back to her place about 4 hours later than she wanted to, more sex.

I leave her to dress and when she comes out of her bedroom, it's completely cold and remains that way to this day.

Now, I've been giving it a great deal of thought (nobody, least of all me, likes rejection) and what I've basically come to is that I was too "nice" and not nice as in polite and such, as in deferential. Yes, I committed my own cardinal sin, and I know it.

After the jump, an instant message conversation I had with the Liberal in September of 2003 which I found this morning when looking for something else. It completely and utterly summed up my feelings on "nice" and what I think happened here.

I'm not telling this well, and perhaps when I have more distance I can do better. But if you're into reading chat transcripts, this transcript is a whole gold-mine of things not to do when you're totally into someone but it's the beginning of a relationship. The problem with puppy love is that you act like a puppy, and women worth anything don't want to date a puppy, they want to date a man.

It's also true that women will tell you what the problem is much more than men will - as if they're almost rooting for you to listen to them and fix the problem so you can stay together. And by "you" I clearly mean "me."

This IM conversation was within the first two months of knowing The Liberal.

AIM Direct IM with The Liberal.
9/24/03, 10:34 PM
The Liberal: what's doing?
10:35 PM
Bad Man: gearing up to ro.ll. [Rollerblade -ed]
The Liberal: cool
The Liberal: jealous
11:25 PM
Bad Man: back
Bad Man: have presents for you.
The Liberal: happY?
Bad Man: happier yes.
The Liberal: more presents? not just the battery charger?
Bad Man: needed that.
Bad Man: more presents.
The Liberal: cool.
The Liberal: i like presents.
Bad Man: I'm glad.
The Liberal: i just hung up with my college boyfriend. he is getting married. well, got engaged.
Bad Man: another one bites the dust.
The Liberal: has been dating the same girl ever since i ended things, like 8 years ago. they ought to get married by now.
The Liberal: he's coming on sunday.
11:30 PM
The Liberal: he said he is glad i am out of my exboyfriend land. we haven't spoken in forever, like 2 years. it feels like a few weeks. wierd
Bad Man: very weird.
The Liberal: i am just in such niceness now. with everyone.
Bad Man: totally. I'm glad to be a party to it.
Bad Man: It's so nice to watch and be a part of in some small way.
11:35 PM
The Liberal: please bring your camera and use it on sunday
Bad Man: of course.
The Liberal: getting back to me and greed, what kind of presents?
Bad Man: ha.
Bad Man: greedy girl.
Bad Man: you'll find out when I give them to you.
Bad Man: I think they'll make you happy. Probably disappointed because we've inflated them to some big mystery, but they'll make you happy anyway.
The Liberal: photshop and final cut?
Bad Man: maaaaaybe
The Liberal: flowers?
Bad Man: [well, probably not final cut]
Bad Man: maaaaybe
11:40 PM
Bad Man: I can give you a photoshop book.
Bad Man: that I can do.
The Liberal: yeah? more presents!!!!!
Bad Man: good lord. I don't _give_ presents to girls. What's wrong with this situation?
The Liberal: thank god because everyone i know, when i tell them my largest hesitation about you is niceness, they agree that niceness is evil. even though my friends and i all love each other, we are mean people.
Bad Man: that I'm nice to you is your biggest hestitation?
Bad Man: that's amusing.
The Liberal: when i told my friend last night that you are nice, he was like, ouch. he said there should be a sticker, nice people suck.
The Liberal: this is not a big concern. but i like to tell the pros and cons when i report on someone, you know
Bad Man: I think we may have to break up. I'm not a nice guy. if I'm being nice to you, you're obviously corrupting me into something I'm not.
The Liberal: i told that you usually treat girls like trash. that made him happier.
11:45 PM
Bad Man: very strange. When you say nice, in my case - are you using that as a euphamism for spineless?
The Liberal: i am not taking any responsiblity for your niceness.
The Liberal: um. i don't think so. sometimes, maybe, you are willing to compromise and it surprises me.
The Liberal: sometimes you tell bad bad jokes but that is another issue.
Bad Man: that's something else entirely.
The Liberal: and your politics...that actually bothers me more than the niceness.
The Liberal: the politics.
Bad Man: you've been giving this a lot of thought lately.
The Liberal: niceness, is actually nice.
The Liberal: nope. .i
The Liberal: i've been talking to old friends i haven't seen in years and they ask for all the goods and bads. that's how we talk
Bad Man: ok
The Liberal: and yes, the politics thing still prevents me from being 100%. i am uncomfortable with something. is it okay to say that, Bad Man?
Bad Man: So I'm a nice conservative who tells bad jokes? I'm jerry seinfeld.
Bad Man: yes.
Bad Man: what are you uncomfortable with?
Bad Man: _some_thing or the politics themselves?
The Liberal: he tells good jokes. actually
Bad Man: yeah, he does.
The Liberal: a bit of some things, a bit of the politics.
11:50 PM
Bad Man: you're right.
Bad Man: about that.
The Liberal: mostly i feel wierd about what i told you before.
The Liberal: by month 3 of a relationship, i don't want to have to think about anything more than that, and in this case, month 3 has to get postponed until next summer and that is wierd. it is wierd, isn't it?
Bad Man: it is weird.
The Liberal: and as much as i like you and say mushy things sometimes, it freaks me out when you say them.
Bad Man: Tough. Sometimes you make me feel mushy.
The Liberal: like just marry me now isn't really a marraige proposal, but that is 'nice' and it gives me the creeps a little, even if i understnad the momentary sentiment post sex and good weekends.
Bad Man: it's neither a marriage proposal nor was it nice. It was a gesture saying that I'd had a lovely time and I'm sorry to see it coming to an end.
The Liberal: and i appreciate that you emote.
The Liberal: why an end?
The Liberal: or the end of a phase?
Bad Man: the weekend.
The Liberal: oh
11:55 PM
The Liberal: marry me now so the weekend never ends?
The Liberal: hee hee
Bad Man: caught up in a moment. won't let that happen again.
The Liberal: no. you can, it just creeps me out.
The Liberal: for unspecified reasons.
The Liberal: unspecified to me.
Bad Man: "Feel free to give me the heeebie jeebies if you'd like."
The Liberal: (i am not talking and my damn head has a bubble next to it)
Bad Man: every time you start typing and stop it pops the cloud and disappears.
Bad Man: wobble wobble.
The Liberal: i am doing a magic trick. poof
Bad Man: something like that.
Bad Man: stop that!
The Liberal: it's really funny. i'm cracking up.
The Liberal: because i'm mean
Bad Man: since when is being retarded mean?
The Liberal: i am doing it to annoy you. that's mean.
The Liberal: ha
Bad Man: and here I thought you were doing it because you couldn't think of anything to say.
The Liberal: i am so funny
Bad Man: your sense of humor needs a tune up.
The Liberal: super jerk
Bad Man: eh.
The Liberal: ps my battery is depleting.
The Liberal: i am going to keep it plugged in and see what happens. genius at apple says 'fluctuating from 95% to 100% is normal. some can't hold a charge" let's see if it goes any lower. i'm at 98
The Liberal: new things should hold charges
12:00 AM
The Liberal: i think i better go back to being productive for awhile, away from the computer.
The Liberal: stay on, i'll check back.

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I haven't slept properly in several days. Surfette threw me for a loop, as you can well tell. Silly, really, to turn a three night stand into anything bigger than that in my head. But I did, mainly because I liked her personality. And sometimes, when it's quiet, I worry that I'll be alone on this merry go round forever.

An interesting confluence of events lately, while I was in LA, I visited with LAActor, someone you might recognize if you watch the commercials on TV, and whose voice you may have heard on the radio. I showed him this site, showed him old writings I'd done and compiled, and other things. He said that I should turn this into a book. i had grand visions of turning the book into a three picture deal with Colin Farrell playing me (we're said to look alike) but what, instead, happened was that he forced me to start from scratch, go back to the beginning, and review what I'd done until now.

So - a post from Feb 12, 2004 -

The universes' greatest joke:

When I don't care about the outcome and I come from a state of play, things go really well.

When I invest, they don't.

Which to do, which to do.

What's worse is that it's totally true. July4 keeps texting and calling and texting and telling me about all of the dirty things she wants to do to me. The idea of them bores me, and the idea of sex for its own sake right now is kind of dreadful. I'm not putting this on Surfette by a long shot, I'm assuming this is residual from the end of things with The NewYorker and my never having properly processed them. Whatever it is, I've been unable to sleep, waking up with anxiety filled nightmares, dreaming of Surfette, for the last several days.

Rob asked what I'm going to grad school for - as I'm still trying to maintain a semblance of anonymity here, we'll just say that it's a technology related program in New York City, far afield from the law, and I'm excited.

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The universe laughs at me. It does. You know this. Search for "Hubristic Correction" and you'll see.

Before I went to LA, I emailed The Cuban to tell her that I'd be on her coast as she'd moved to SF from the Upper West Side about a year ago. I'd also emailed her months before telling her of all of the fantastic amazing things that have been happening lately - quitting my job, on to the next thing, etc etc.

Today, after landing in New York, I got two emails from her, the first of which was her number telling me I absolutely HAVE to call her if I'm still on the west coast, and the second was a long rambler complimenting me on my successes and telling me that she got engaged.

Wait, WHAT?

This is the girl who told me "I'm never getting married, I don't believe in it. I'll live with [her boyfriend] for the rest of our lives, but marriage? No way."

Made the sting of Surfette shutting me down feel like a minor flesh wound.

Five years later and she still can kick my ass with an offhanded email.

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So, now that it's over and ended questionably, I admit to myself that Surfette's song wasn't "tonight let's dance" rather it was "now that I miss her" by Elefant. See lyrics below. They fit. I had a hard night sleeping last night because of this whole thing, processing it, wondering when (and if) I was rejected, whether I did something other than go past my expiration date. I wonder if it's something I said (I can think of one thing at an inopportune moment) or if The Biter is right. I'll give a full LA trip rundown soon, but for now, I'm sorry that this one didn't work out the way I had hoped it would. Which was that we would hook up a few times and then stay friendly and visit each other when we were on one another's coasts, understanding that we could never be together unless one of us moved which would likely be me. I'm thinking that that was a pipe dream because I'm saying the same thing about this as I said when I lost The Liberal - "It's not over until we're all dead."

"Now That I Miss Her"

When I first saw her, I knew that I loved her
When I said goodbye, I knew that I lost her
Now that I miss her, I wish I could kiss her
And tell her c'mon girl, you know that I need you

And without her, it all feels the same
And without her, you got no one else to blame

I went to the movies and stared at the big screen
I thought that I saw her looking right at me

And without her, it all feels the same
And without her, you got no one else to blame
But yourself, but yourself

And all I can do is just write a song about her
And hope that one day, hope that one day
She turns around, she turns around

I hear the phone ringing
I know that she's calling
I hear her voice singing
And this is her answer

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Dinner with Surfette tonight started with "I have an 8am meeting, I can't stand it." Which clearly meant I am sleeping at a friend's place.

I wonder what happened. I have theories, but don't know. And don't care.

It was a fantastic eye opening experience and I learned quite a bit about myself, about LA, and about what I'm interested in.

UPDATE AN HOUR LATER: I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the hot to cold thing has thrown me for a bit of a loop. I did kind of expect this reaction, kind of, but I didn't expect it so soon. I hope The Biter was right about there being another man, then I'd be less worried about it having been something I said. Either way, i'm frustrated, albeit more emotionally than sexually. Sex is easy to find. Someone worth talking to for 36 hours is a lot harder.

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So the adventure continues, hanging out with college friends, directors, Victoria's Secret models, but all the while, I must admit, thoughts turned to Surfette, who I haven't seen since Saturday, and whose part in this story appears, quite possibly, to be over.

The Biter suggests that what most likely has happened is that since we met back when and now Surfette met a boy who wanted her time and she couldn't (or didn't want to) get out of seeing him over the weekend. So - she had her cake and ate it too. Not the worst theory in the world.

I pinpointed it. Her personality reminded me of The Cuban and The Liberal. She was of a kind with them. That was my attraction. It's a personality and a self assuredness and an intensity and now that I've figured out what it is, my next step is figuring out A) how to identify it and B) how to find more of them. Or one to keep, really.

But yes. Surfette. The Cuban. The Liberal. Three of a kind.

I fly back tomorrow. I may take an earlier flight than the redeye I'm scheduled on, depending on availability. And then back to work, back to life, and back to a million things that I need to do.

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Lola noticed me being back after all this time. Hi Lola!

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Rob said:

I find it funny that with all the positive points you've got going for yourself (well-educated, affluent, etc.) that you get self-conscious when you're talking to girls. Especially one you've already slept with -- she's given you her tentative seal of approval. At this stage, you should only worry about saying really really really bad stuff, like calling her mom a whore or making one too many racist jokes. You're past the point now where one wrong word from you will fuck things up with her... enjoy the wiggle room, kick back and just let it flow. Cause when it comes down to it, if she doesn't dig what you have to say when you're being yourself, it probably isn't meant to be in the first place.

Oh. Duh. Good point.

UPDATE: Rob asks if I meant that he was being the dumb one there. Not at all, Rob, the dumb on was me. Surfette basically clubbed me over the head to get me to take her home, fucked me over and over, invited me to LA, fucked me some more, and here's me wondering if she likes me or not. Stupid.

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LA is fantastic. Surfette is as cool as expected, and as much fun to spend time with. And as sexy. Instant connection.

Don't know if anything will come of this lunatic trip. Spent two days on Venice Beach so far and am now in Brentwood.

Surfette took me to a party last night and I noticed something interesting. Talking to anyone other than Surfette was easy. Talking to her was a little more stilted. I think I know why that was, too - I cared about the outcome, worrying seconds after I said things that maybe I'd said the wrong thing. With everyone else, I leaned back, relaxed, and had my way with them. Until a certain tipping point moment last night when I noticed that effect and started treating Surfette like I treated her friends, all of whom gave me a thumbs up, and many of whom wanted to know if we were dating. "No, he's just in for the weekend." That doesn't tell much of the story - we were getting along famously before the parties and the bars, and I just got all self conscious when surrounded by her friends.

I was wondering what it was that I am attracted to about her and I couldn't put my finger on it. She's pretty, but this is LA where a 10 only gets a 9. I realized what it was - it wasn't her looks at all, not her fine ass, beautiful smile, or eyes, all of which were killer but not LA-10. It was her personality. Which has made me think about quite a number of things, in particular the fact that perhaps my "type" is based on who someone is rather than what they're wrapped in. You still must be this tall to ride this ride though.

July 4 and I spoke just now and she told me that I should have fun, get debauched, but please practice safe sex. This from a girl who texts me 5 times a day and left me three messages in two days. Interesting data point.

There is so much more including two beach days, cribbage, "do you want to sleep on the couch or the bed" and large numbers of times I found myself speaking, worrying about what I'd said, and then not worrying.

This is, I'm pretty sure, a fools errand, what with the country between us and the general MO of things, but it's a fascinating adventure.

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That's it. Tonight's the night. Flying to LA to see Surfette who informs me that I'm on my own on Saturday (should be interesting) and I have no idea if that means that I'm out on my ear after Friday or what.

It's a long time since I had an adventure. Maybe I've never had one? This isn't really one, I mean, LA is hardly roughing it. But - when I land the expectation is that the first thing we do is, and I'm not making this up, go to essentially a party of all of her girlfriends. Which is going to not be weird at all because I'm a fantastically social person now that I've learned to relax. But then, how do you tell everyone at a party "I met this girl in a bar about a month in a half ago, we had insane chemistry, we spoke on the phone and chatted a bit, and now I'm here."

As The Biter pointed out - I'm going out there blind and the first thing I do is meet her friends. The Biter's exact words? "Harsh."

Who cares. It's going to be fun, I'm excited.

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All of you - say hello to Jess who was kind enough to link to this site.

That makes two sites - Jess and Lex. Who's next?

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That's supposed to be my motto - not dead can't quit. Sometimes, though, I find myself too bored to go on, or too wrapped up in things to pay attention. Plus, living one's life by a slogan is stupid.

I haven't been fully absent, I just have been recuperating. After Bad Saturday I've been keeping a lower profile. Work snuck up on me and kicked my ass up and down the week last week. And July 4 thinks she's my girlfriend after meeting, well, July 2. You know it's trouble when the third date, which is an all night and all morning sex romp, ends in "you're not sleeping with anyone else are you?" "What, right this second? Right this second I'm standing in my kitchen with you." And text messages involving the world "darling" after our first night together.

We've had sex twice. Chill.

It's interesting. She was a fit model (she's a little older now) so when I say she's got a perfect body, I mean that literally. And check the various boxes for why she's beautiful and 5'9 and 120 lbs and frankly, I'm not interested.

I was watching Ridicule earlier today. A line stuck in my head. "Je sais que une femme qui se jette à un homme le perd toujours."

So true.

Also - Fanny Ardant is fantastically beautiful. I mean, JESUS.

Been drinking less, since I'm pretty sure I couldn't drink more. Which means less stories. I mean, there was a random hookup a week ago when I had a friend from High School in and was trying to show him a good time. A good time I showed him, by giving him the cuter of the two of them after taking her number.

It's not the number of women you hook up with, or even the quality of them. If you're missing something inside you, or if they're the wrong women, it's not worth the time.

Having said that, in a blind leap of faith, I fly to LA Thursday night to see Surfette. This could go wildly badly or wildly well, but it'll be an adventure, and I'll have carpe'd some diem for once. Will clearly let you know how it goes.

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Dr. Vital pointed out tonight that looking outside myself (women, booze, etc) isn't going to scratch the itch and that I needed to look inward. He's right. And my point that that's very difficult when there are shiny things everywhere was met with derision, in that of course there are shiny things everywhere, it's New York, but what good are shiny things if you don't know what you want? Trading one drug for another sounds like a stupid plan.

Sitting quietly and meditating for just 10 minutes a day sounds like a better plan.

What do I want? I have no idea.

Thanks, Dr. Vital!

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So, following in Lexs footsteps, I bought myself an iDouche.

Out. Again tonight. Meetng my friend from High School for the opening of a new bar in my neighborhood. Opened by the bartenders at a local of mine. One of whom was heard to say that in the memoir of his life, I'd have an entire chapter dedicated to my escapades.

Assorted regulars are there, cheering the event on. Drink beer instead of tequila, figure thats a good start. Anything's better than last weekend.

Talk to high school buddy for some time. Show off the iDouche, which he's also got. Girl who looks an awful lot like Surfette clinks glasses with me. Introduces herself. Clinks with my friend. I tease the other girl that she's not clinking and start working on her. I'm here to make sure my high school friend has a good time.

We all talk. Pair off. One group, then the other. I talk to Surfette lookalike. She tells me that she's in New York for the week from London and that I'm cute with my curly hair and that I should take her number in case she needs a guide. She putters to the bathroom.

Her friend looks mad. Her friend, who has just the sort of large and bouncy breasts I want to play with, gives me grief about taking her friend's number. I make a mental note to give the cuter friend to my friend as I'm here to show him a good time.

Passing each other back and forth and it could be on for anyone. I get too close to the non-Surfette one, that inches from face moment that you know is the tipping second and she reaches in and kisses me. I start to worry about the number of people in the bar that I know. I don't want to make a scene. They know what I'm capable of, but I feel bad anyway. I don't want to make a scene. In my head, I keep hearing "this can't turn out well" as I remember that July 4 used to work with these people and strikes me as slightly mad.

Talk the one I'm with, who, incidentally, I never got a name for, to come outside with me and make out on a street corner. It's more secluded.

More kissing. Not much fondling, I'm mainly in the mood to kiss. I want the heat, the electricity, but I don't want anything else. At the end she pulls away telling me that clearly I'm a player. Well, yes. I ask her to come home with me for more kissing, in a secluded spot. She says that she wants to, but she's concerned for her friend. I tell her that she should take care of her friend instead of coming home with me. She tells me that she wants to come home with me, but I'm firm about not letting her. Kissing is good. Complication is not.

I never got her name, nor what she does for a living, or any details, really, despite having tried.

I did get a text just now saying that it was the highlight of her last two days. That's a good start to my week.

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That is fucking it. I can't deal with this hangover anymore.

7 days. No drinking.

I've got to go to a bar party tonight, a bar party on Monday night (where they're christening the bar!) and a bar party on Friday (where they're christening the bar again!) and I'm not going to have a drop of liquor until brunch on Sunday July 15.

Demon liquor, I reject you.

Let's see how that works out for both my social life (will make it difficult, I think) and how I feel.

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woke up this morning to find my clothing in a pile on the floor, vaue memories of last night, blood on my toilet (from throwing up), a massive hangover, angry text messages from a friend, and vague memories of seeing one of my colleagues out last night, and massive worry about how I might have acted. I think i have a drinking problem.

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July 4th came out last night at 11:15. My bartender teased me that I was going to get laid if I had a date at 11:15. I told her that I hoped not, I am trying not to have sex with too many new women right now.

We met at 11:20 at a bar down the block from my apartment, two drinks there, up to my apartment, family guy in the DVD player, making out, sex shortly thereafter.

In debriefing with Chet today we both agreed that I'm getting to be too easy and need to step up what I'm doing to go after the women that I'm really interested in, rather than whichever ones talk to me long enough to have their pants charmed off.

I once again have no goals in this area, I'm not looking for anything specific, so it's hard to put together a path to get there. I need to come up with a goal.

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I made plans to fly to LA to see Surfette after much daring and asking on her part. A drunken July 3 text message sequence ended with her promising me elephants and tamborines to greet my arrival.

That was all until I sent her the text saying that my flight was X and that I'd be in LA on the night of July 19.

Her response: Wow. Ok. Game on, then.

I have no idea if that's positive or negative and I frankly don't care. I'm going to go have a good time, and I'll bring my credit card in case I need to emergency crash at a hotel for a few nights. Or wherever.

Last night I went to a party, as did most everyone, but this was a little odd in that I went to a party in a penthouse in Chelsea to accompany the woman I met on Monday night. Which was weird because I had, well, met her on Monday night. Into the Lion's den I went, finding out that she was 38 was a shock (although I told her she didn't look a day over 47) and that most of her friends were far more successful and a little bit older than me as well.

She had an exboyfriend there, a partner at a firm whose name I know. I kept my mouth quiet about who I was and where I work as I didn't want to deal with that.

The night wound down after awhile and we weren't quite the last to leave but left soon after. We walked from Chelsea to Union Square as we looked, in vain, for an open bar.

"Do you have an movies at your place?" I'd told her earlier of my big TV and the hijinks that caused me to get it.
"Of course."
"How about drinks?"
"I have those too."
"Let's get some mixers and watch a movie. I hope you don't mind that I'm a smoker."
I told her that my very first kiss when I was 17 was with a smoker, and so I'd developed a thing for kissing girls who smoked. She smiled at that and lit a cigarette.

Into a cab, off to a bodega, up to my apartment, and of all the movies to pick, she chose Alfie. An ironic choice, but we watched it anyway. I told her that I saw myself as the main character many years ago but decided to get over it because I didn't like being a douche. She laughed until the end of the movie when she said "So am I the Susan Sarandon character?" I told her she was and she playfully punched me in the arm demanding I take it back. "I'm not that old!" It's true, she's not.

Her body reminded me of The Jaguar as we kissed and fondled and groped and played on and off for many more hours than we should have on a school night. Tall, thin, made of all muscle, responsive and fun to touch. I told her that I am not having sex with lots of new people right now, although I'm totally comfortable with anything else. She accepted that, and we dozed off to sleep wrapped up in one another.

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I'm back on chat again.

AIM: Badmanbadplace
Gmail: badmanbadplace@gmail.com

Talk to you soon.

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One follow-up thought to last night's adventure. The conversation was good, the girl was very pretty and I wasn't really paying much attention. She opened me (yes, Chet, I'm the shiny thing, I get it) and we were talking and she told me about herself, and about her career, and what she was successful at and what she had failed at, the business she owned and the career she had in addition. It was an interesting conversation.

I was at a different bar than I usually go to - this one in NoLiTa, my usual in the East Village. A little farther afield than I like to go on a Monday, but a friend was bartending, so why not?

The women were, overall, even on a Monday, of a higher caliber than I'm used to at my bar. Slightly older, more mature, more self assured, more up my alley. With the exception of Surfette, as I think about it, I've been often disappointed with anyone I've taken home from my bar.

Willie Sutton was asked why he robbed banks and he simply replied "because that's where the money is." Chet pointed out that I needed to start going to the Meat Packing District more because that's where the top flight women are. I'm now starting to see his point.

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"We should hang out again sometime" she said. Tall, thin, pretty Worked in Fashion and TV and knows people I know. That last is a danger flag for me, but I can survive it.
"Sure" I replied. Why not?
"Do you have a card?" I fumbled through my pockets.
"How about you write down your number instead."
"Ok."
"And while you're writing it, put down a few things so I remember who I was talking about in the morning."

She did. Wrote down Fashion, the name of the bar, and our mutual friend's name.

She number closed me. I went for a goodnight kiss, because why not, and got the closed mouth.

What did we learn? She's dated 5 lawyers ("Lawyers are attracted to me") innumerable Jews (ditto) and that she was flirting with me (see the prior two comments). We also learned that women close me. So. Onward and upwards.

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After much back and forth (all of it in my head) and a large number of pins, needles, and other stressful events, Surfette called me today.

What's ironic is that she called at exactly the time my "I should call her to see" formula said to call her. I was going to call her right before I went out, at six here, which would be three there, catching her at... yes, clearly I'd overthought it. But as I picked up the phone to call her and debated doing so, she called me.

And then, and here's what's weird, our conversation was stilted and almost dreamlike. It was like we were two prize fighters, so enraptured with being in the ring with one another that we couldn't even throw a punch. Like, when you have a huge paralytic crush on someone and have a hard time talking to them? Only it was that way for the both of us. She had trouble being witty, I had trouble bantering, and when I got off, the only two things I thought were: wow, I like her and wow, it seems like she rather likes me.

It was very high school. Only with a corporate lawyer and a whatever it is that she does.

I've read a lot of PickUp blogs lately - The Sinns Of Attraction, Immaculate Seduction. Captain Jack - They all seem so formulaic. No room for the magic, no room for life to happen. It's applying Dungeons and Dragons to meeting women. They sell the "solution." Don't get me wrong, I've learned from their ilk quite a bit, they helped me a great deal not only in learning who I am but in the mechanics of meeting people. But what they seem to lack is heart. I'm not saying that each of them don't have it individually, I've met Future of Immaculate Seduction at least, and he seemed to have his head screwed on straight back then. But in their writing. It's very much "I went out and did X move Y move and then rolled a 2d10 and voila, liquid panties.

Don't get me wrong, it's good to know that there are moves out there, or as TaiChi used to call them, Jedi Mind Tricks. And don't get me wrong, I've certainly learned my share and have used them extensively. But that all seems mechanical. The shorthand, the step by step nature of it, it just depresses me. I don't know of a lot of happily married pickup artists. Are the two skillsets, settling down and pickup, antithetical? I'm not sure, but it's cause for rumination.

So. Surfette. I like her. And I'm going to go visit her in LA at the end of the month.

In the meantime, The Brazilian is here for two more weeks before she goes back to Rio for awhile, which means PS1 with her this coming weekend, and perhaps I can get her out to Cooper Hewitt with me. We'll see, as they say, what develops.

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