Great line used on me
Two hours into the night, she looks me in the eye and says "are we done talking yet?" and then kisses me.
Two hours into the night, she looks me in the eye and says "are we done talking yet?" and then kisses me.
I saw The Beauty tonight after a long absence, several years, interrupted by one brief lunch.
She and I were talking about love, love lost, love found, and I told her about this blog, although not the name or how to find it. I told her stories of my recent encounters and
"You're not the boy I knew."
"I know. I grew up."
"I liked that boy."
"I did too."
"You had such a crush on me."
"I know. I was a puppy."
"It was beautiful, I didn't think anyone like you could have a crush on me" mental note - absolutely fucking beautiful women have self doubt too.
"You knew the whole time?"
"Of course I did. Remember when we went up to that cabin?"
"Of course I do." I posted it here. I remember it well.
"You were so nervous, it was so cute. You had me on such a pedestal. I remember sitting on the couch and you just talking and talking and talking. What did I say to you? 'Do you want to sleep with me?'"
"I'm pretty sure you said 'It's really cold in my bedroom. Come and cuddle with me, and keep me warm tonight.'"
"Really?" She laughed at me, and herself.
"Not that I remember it verbatim or anything."
We spoke some more about my ascent from timid boy to bad man, about how she missed the boy but was impressed with the man. Any validation I'd ever sought was there, summed up in that moment.
"I hope that that weekend we had was in some way instrumental."
"Honey, that's what started it all off. That weekend is what gave me the ability to seduce The Cuban. And after that, well, that's how it all came to be."
She seemed pleased with that. We talked for awhile longer, about her lover, my sadistic urges, and on and on and on for five hours. Eventually, I told her I had to get dinner (it was 11 o'clock) and that she should walk me there. She took me by the arm, and we walked down the street to my destination. A few doors away, she realized friends of hers were bartending, so she gave me a kiss and a hug and said goodbye. And then we started talking a little more, and another hug, another kiss, and I considered things for all of one split second before disentangling myself, smiling, and walking away. She'll always have a place in my heart, and I'll always have a place in hers. That'll be enough.
TaiChi and I went out to dinner last night for burgers at Stand and the conversation inevitably turned to women. As my wing and a natural red blooded Latino male, TaiChi has, for many years, been a partner in crime and wing. We've gotten into a fair bit of fun together, talking to strange women in bars, on the street, in parks, at the movies, wherever. TaiChi approaches with Machismo, and I lean back like a spider in his web, waiting as they are driven to the more harmless looking of the two of us. And then I strike.
Imagine my surprise last night when he revealed that his girlfriend of four months, the one from Ireland, is pregnant. And he's the father. And they're getting married after the birth.
What?
Apparently, European is the new blond.
We had a long talk about his proclivities, his impending fatherhood, my lifestyle choices, his choices, and at the end of the day, I'm happy for him. I'm surprised, I have to admit - he struck me as a perennial bachelor. But I met his girl, or bird as she would call herself, and the two of them together were pretty good. They got along well, she made him happy and kept him on the path.
I wish him well.
As we were leaving dinner and walking through Union Square, I pointed out the upside of this for me, which is that he's not going to be able to fight his nature, he's going to continue to rampantly flirt. And there I will be, looking harmless, like a spider in my web, waiting.
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.
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.
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.
I'm back on chat again.
AIM: Badmanbadplace
Gmail: badmanbadplace@gmail.com
Talk to you soon.
"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.
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.
I forgot to mention. I got rejected last night. Slightly. But enough to make it worth reporting, because I believe in cataloguing my failures to prove to myself that I'm trying hard enough to actually fail.
Chet and I were discussing success at one point and I told him the story of playing hockey and learning to skate. My dad said "if you're not falling down sometimes, you're not trying hard enough." I immediately understood it, but misapplied it by falling down at random. This didn't help my growth into a good player at all, so I stopped falling and started pushing things 150% farther than I thought they should go. I started falling again, but with much better results. It was more random, it always surprised me, and I always picked myself back up and threw myself back at the game again.
Last night was one of those nights. Since I started talking to strangers, I've been having a lot of fun with, well, just talking to strangers. Easiest way to get a name and a quick test for whether you can capture attention is to ask two questions:
1) What's your name?
2) Would you watch my drink to make sure nobody roofies me?
Which worked 100% of the time until last night, when the woman I asked, a pretty but thick blonde girl, gave me her name and then said "I'm only going to stand here until I get my drink, then you're on your own." While I appreciated her candor, I do remember thinking "hey, you're not cute enough to be rejecting me like this..."
I don't think there's anything I could have done, well, short of having a whole conversation with her and amping her up to what a great guy I clearly am. But since that wasn't happening, I chalk it up to a rejection.
And you know how badly I want to chalk up rejections? So badly that I'm adding a new "rejections" category here. That's right. You'll be able to see all of my crash and burns with a single click.
Mistakes, I will learn from you.
After a bizarre night involving Cocaine, Chet, Chet's beautiful friends, and lots of tequila, I had the following conversation with the cocktail waitress at my bar.
"So, now you know what I'm interested in."
"You're looking for a perfect brunette, tall, thin, beautiful, and brilliant?"
"Well, yeah, no blondes, gross."
"Umm.... yeah."
"Hey, you've got a boyfriend, what do you want from me?"
And then I walked out.
Also involved in tonight, a married woman who'd never met a jew before, a girl who wanted to set me up with someone, and seeing the sunrise.
Also, I had one of my patented "stomach flips out, I start sweating" anxiety attacks before going to the Gansevoort. Fortunately, Chet was there and he reminded me to breathe. And that's all it took to get the sweats off and everything else OK. It's cheesy, but true. In through the nose, deep, and then out through the mouth. Worked like a charm.
So.
No blondes.
Go me.
Damn Cocaine.
Chet's confusion is apparently echoed around the way. Was talking to one of my old bartenders now manager/owners about my worst pickup experience ever (the one with Wing at Inoteca with the glass of water in some girl's lap...) and he looked at me and my best friend from college and said:
Man, I keep a diary of my experiences here and I'm going to write a book about them someday, and you're going to have a whole chapter. I'm going to change your name, clearly, but I have a lot of customers here, a lot of regulars, but I just remember you coming in here like 3 times a week with a different girl every time and every time you'd leave with them. You were legendary, man.
So why, for example, do I have approach anxiety? Enter Chet - who pointed out that perhaps my approach anxiety doesn't stem from a fear of women, but a fear of men. A fear of what the other guys in the room might do/say. An interesting point. So - befriend the bouncer and go from there.
Lots of work to do, but it's fun, I have to tell you.
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.
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.
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.