Updates
I haven’t updated in a while. Been dealing with a lot of stuff like eviction threats, lay-offs, dumbass roommates, etc, etc. You know how it goes. But remember: Never let Life get in the way of Living!
Anywho, I’m currently in LA (well, Bakersfield for the next 2 days THEN moving to LA) trying to finish off my final semester and get the hell out of the whole college scene. I’m expecting LA to provide me plenty of material to write about so hang tight for some more posts soon!
Keep Being A Pussy. Seems To Be Working Greaaaaat
Guys, for the love of god, STOP BEING PUSSIES. I’m not referring to shyness around women or hesitation to even approach people. That’s an entirely different realm of self-confidence and mental bolstering. What I’m talking about is being a doormat. Just rolling over and letting a chick walk all over you.
Case in point, Jawsh has been trying to set me up with his roommate, Andrew, for over a year now. If it didn’t happen in the first month or so, it’s certainly not going to happen now 14 months later. This guy has done everything for me and continues to do so with or without me asking and without ever making a move. He buys me drinks. He makes me pasta at 4am. He has carried me to bed and slept on the living room floor when I pass out at their apartment!
This is not to say that I take advantage of this but I’m not going to say no to another vodka red bull or an opportunity to satisfy my late night drunk munchies when I’m not sufficiently sober enough to be around kitchen utensils. Point is, if he had been assertive at all I wouldn’t have been so quick to place him in the friend zone. Now he’s there and can’t get out without a lot of work which, at this present time, he’s not prepared to do.
Lesson: It’s fine to be less aggressive but don’t let it slip into pussy-whipped mode. Be assertive by the 3rd week or you’re going to create an easily avoidable uphill battle for yourself.
You Can Kiss-Close Lesbians, Apparently
Friday night I went to Jamie’s early Halloween party. I invited two new PUA friends from across the river to join me since they wanted to know what parties at my school were like. By the time they arrived I had ascertained a number of things:
1.) My Cambridge friends were walking straight into a freshman/sophomore lesbian taco-fest
2.) One of the two douchebags from early summer is hilariously insecure about his new girlfriend
3.) I somewhat enjoy hugging tall lesbian chicks with nice tits who wear schoolgirl outfits even though I don’t consider myself bi
Anywho, this party was pretty lackluster. I couldn’t have given you an answer as to what was going on if you paid me. Jamie invited a shit ton of underclassmen lesbian chicks who recycled the same old fucking unimaginative costumes: Harry Potter, Beyonce, Gossip Girls. They’re running all over the place making out with each other in the bathroom while Jamie is literally bombing up and down the stairs all night letting people in.
On the one hand, it was enjoyable at least having Julia (bi chick who looks like Keira Knightly) there even though she’s dating some punk rock douchebag. She fully supported my plans to wreck Summer Douchebag’s relationship but then I decided I didn’t want to deal with that bastard Karma. I’ll let him self-destruct on his own.
Some random writing major from school showed up in a most authentic Rorschach costume from Watchmen. We pretty much occupied the table near the windows the entire night. While I enjoyed his company through the night, he definitely let opportunity slide by during long silences. We were both clearly bored by everyone but he only minimally made the effort to fill the gap. Since he didn’t have a facebook account (what. the. fuck.) he asked for my number and I gave it to him. I did ask him to watch my beer and iphone at least 5 times that night so I feel that he earned it and he wasn’t a creeper.
Moving on, if you’re going to shit talk a chick, make DAMN sure you’re not mouthing off to one of the male friends the chick brought TO THE FUCKING PARTY. This is exactly what Summer Douchebag did while one of the Cambridge kids was making the rounds and ended up chatting with him and his new NYU gf. The douche in question even went so far as to ask Julia who she thought would win in a fight: me or his girlfriend. Her reply?
“’MiamiCounting’ of course. She’s a fucking badass.”
We had a good laugh about him on the cab ride to another party. Apparently the Cambridge Kids had run into him last year during some event at my school so they knew he was a tool from before. Not to mention he updated on his facebook later that he projectile vomited in a cab on his way home from the Halloween party with the gf. All I can say is, I got 99 problems but a lightweight bitch ain’t one.
By the end of the night I had 3 drunk chats with my best friend, one of the Cambridge Kids kiss-closed a lesbian, I grabbed Julia’s tits, and made friends with Rorschach.
Lessons:
Insecurity breeds problems in relationships.
If a chick is sticking near you during a party, escalate the situation and keep her interested so she’s not constantly looking around the room for someone new and somewhat bearable to talk to.
Never puke inside a cab. You’re just wrecking the evening for whoever gets in the car after you.
Handling Rejection
I recently rejected the advances of two of my male friends who couldn’t be more different. The interesting thing is how each of them reacted to my dismissal. The first is a friend from school. I was drinking with him at his apartment the night before I moved out of mine into a different neighborhood a couple months ago. It got to the point where we were feeling the first twinges of drunk munchies and decided to go on an adventure for food.
As we’re walking down the street he starts mentioning how he’s really glad we’re friends, how awesome I am, etc, etc. Shit. I can see where this is going. I gave him the Standard Operating Procedure Rejection Speech.
“Oh. Sorry. I’m not really looking to date anyone right now. Especially since I’m moving in 3 months. Listen, though, you’re really chill and if I run across any quality chicks I’ll send them your way.” *wink and nudge*
And just like that we were back to hanging out. No fuss. No awkward tension. If he was absolutely crushed he hid it well. With that kind of attitude I would absolutely send another girl his way. He handled himself well in the face of awkward rejection and has so far managed to maintain a continued, functioning friendship with me.
Now here’s the awkward flip side. By the mid-30’s, I would expect guys to have enough experience with rejection and have the maturity to just say “fuck it. alright” and move on. Especially an established business owner bopping around all of Boston. Ugh.
So about 2 weeks ago I was at my friend’s house having a glass of wine in his new apartment which happens to be a block and a half from my new apartment. Eventually his roommate went to bed so we’re stuck watching fucking Jimmy Fallon dance around a stage pretending to be a late-night show host. At some point my friend asks some drawn out question, essentially asking if it’s ok to hit on me.
“Um. With all due respect, no. We’re chill though.”
The tension was immediately obvious. So in an effort to relieve it I mentioned that I should go home because it was 4am at this point and I had a lot of shit to do the next day. I gathered up my things while he grabbed his phone and started playing around with his contacts list. Eventually I buttoned up my jacket and stood there waiting for him to say something.
Nothing.
“Are you really texting someone right now or just pretending to so you won’t have to say anything to me?”
Nothing.
“Aight. I’ll catch you later.”
And with that I peaced out. I’ve had guys in their mid-30’s hit on me before. But it was done a lot more eloquently and without a weird hissy fit during the rejection.
Lesson: If you get rejected by a chick, it’s not the end of the world. Especially if it’s a random one you were gaming. If it’s a friend, don’t make it even more awkward. It’s going to affect your recommendation if that chick had a friend in mind who might better fit you. You now no longer have that option and might not even have a friendship with her any more.
Nobody Likes A Creeper Magnet
A couple months ago this kid we know threw a birthday party for his cousin. Despite the fact that this cousin lives in his grandfather’s mansion in one of the wealthiest parts of Boston, the guy looks like a dog and the house looks like it was decorated like a 1920’s hunting resort in Great Britain. Antique chintz lounges don’t exactly make the panties drop.
On top of that, their creepy grandfather was lurching around hitting on all the girls who looked like jailbait. Add that to the fact that the ratio of girls to guys was about 1:3. Even I got creeped out and I much prefer guys over girls. What went wrong here was our “friend’s” approach to the whole thing. It was basically a fuckfest to get his cousin laid but the girls all knew it and peaced out before midnight.
It’s fine if you feel like hooking up with a guest but your intentions quickly become transparent and backfire if you put those blinders on. In the future:
*Don’t invite Grandpa Pedophile. If we wanted that we’d hit the Playboy Mansion and at least get paid for it.
*If you’re going to choose such a hideously old-school location, at least work with it and offer something more sophisticated than B-rate Jungle Juice (yes it IS possible to fuck up Jungle Juice)
*Don’t invite ALL of your guy friends who are only looking for a fuck. You need some good wingers who either have girlfriends or aren’t off in the corner humping anything that moves.
What Women Want
Note: I’ve really been behind on updating posts but I just have so much material to write about I haven’t been able to sit down and focus. That and dealing with bullshit like having our Comcast-rented DVR stolen out of our living room which is on the account under MY NAME. Can I get a bailout please?
Anywho, moving on. I’m going to address the eternal question of “What do women want?!?!?!”. The following is my generalized, brief theory. I’m obviously not promising the Fountain of Youth or Key to Life but what follows should give you a starting point to the desires of our subject.
1. A man who loves every inch of our bodies. I know that men weren’t born with tits which is why you guys always zone in on ours when you get that golden opportunity. But there’s more to us, physically speaking. Without going into an instruction manual on how to touch us correctly, let me sum it up as this: OUR LEGS CONSTITUTE AT LEAST 1/3RD OF OUR BODIES. I can only remember one guy I’ve been with who has ventured further south sans prompting. It’s not necessarily an erogenous zone but it’s incredibly sensual and it will set off our sensors. And for christsake, don’t manhandle them either. Lightly stroking or tracing your fingers up and down is enough. Makes us melt. Fin.
2. A man who encourages us to push our limits. In our later years this translates to career vs. relationship/starting a family. But you can apply it on a much smaller scale. For example, I did a summer program after my junior year of high school. I was at a private boarding school learning Japanese all summer. Within the first two weeks I wanted to quit due to a number of factors and it takes A LOT to wear me down to that point. My boyfriend at the time sat me down and made me consider the consequences of not seeing the program through until the end. I wouldn’t be able to put it on my resume. I would waste the free grant money I got to attend the program. My mother would be disappointed in me to some degree. I ended up staying and thank him for keeping faith in me even though it meant he had to drive an extra 30 minutes to see me, sign into the guest log every time, and listen to me practice my elementary Japanese skills in conversation.
3. Finally, have goals. There are few things sexier than a man who has his shit together. Case in point, Wayland (friend of a friend) met us at the bar one night and I learned he was a successful entrepreneur about to open up another business. This is on top of his infectiously positive attitude and sense of humor. But then the phrase “my girlfriend” slipped into his vocabulary. It’s all good though. He was a breath of fresh air among all the douchebags creeping around. Set some goals for yourself. This isn’t meant to squash a free-roaming spirit. But at least having an idea of what you specifically want out of life is a good starting point.
You Can Lead A Horse to Water….
I guess some people need to experience failure first-hand in certain situations. Case in point, long-distance relationships in college. It’s like trying to fit two fatties next to each other in an airplane. It does not work no matter how much you butter it up.
I’m not trying to discourage love despite its similarities to Big Foot. Glimpsed but rarely capturing the essence. But absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It blinds you to other opportunities.
You’ve got an out-of-state girlfriend who is kosher with you mingling around the opposite sex. So you go out with some friends one night and flirt with someone. Maybe you even really connect. But that’s as far as it can go.
Because you have a girlfriend.
Who lives out of state.
And will not be coming home with you that evening.
And cuddling.
And having amazing, connected sex.
You lose out on the intimate aspects of a relationship. Temptation knocks and even if you don’t take the bait, you still wonder “what if…”. There are 6.7 billion people in the world. Why limit yourself? If you’re going to get tied down in the name of love, shouldn’t you get the full benefits of the commitment? It’s like buying a car without insurance. If you crash, you’re fucked. You don’t have that security.
If you love something, let it go. If it was meant to be, it will come back to you. Take the day off and go fishing…..
It’s Not My Fault Your Girlfriend is Fug
This past Friday I got invited to Cheating Steve’s bbq by our mutual friend Jamie. It was fairly decent. Good people from school. My best friend Matt was there sans his psycho-bitch, big-titted girlfriend. It wasn’t awkward at all, helped in part by a bottle of red wine I brought and a gouda burger one of the hosts made me.
Cheating Steve (formerly known as S.K.) was fairly anti-social to most people at the party. Clinging to his girlfriend and sitting with his roommates. Hey, whatever. Good for him that he finally found someone to put up with his bullshit. I’m just keeping my ears open to hear about the day he cheats on her too.
And on a final note, thanks Steve for taking several good looks at my rack. It must be quite a shock seeing a chick wear a bra since your hipster girlfriend seems to have burned all of hers in a 60’s feminist movement redux.
What Is This? The Blue Shirt Mafia?
It never ceases to amuse me how some guys just hand over ammo for our “stereotypes” about the opposite gender. i.e. not knowing a single goddamn thing about how to dress. I was at my favorite dive bar in Beacon Hill last week with my friend Calli D. when we were bombarded by über bro-ness. One of them actually dared to throw his arms around both our shoulders and yak loudly at us. Fuck off you tacky-ass drunk.
Moving on, if you’re going to wing your boys, don’t set them up to have a discussion with a girl if they’re vocally retarded. Case in point, “over the shoulders” bro-dude tried impressing me with his friend who “supposedly” ran a .com that got over 100k hits every day. When I turned to the .com owner for further comment he was at a loss for words in his drunken ignorant stupor and acted like he had no idea what was going on. After failing to be adequately impressed I began mocking their choice in shirts.
Me: “Did we miss theme night? Or did you guys all plan on wearing the exact same blue button-down?”
Bro-Dude: “Yeah. You must’ve missed the memo. You’re out of the loop.” <chuckles>
Me: “Well thank god I missed that one. I wouldn’t want to be one more following the herd.”
Bro-Dude: “……..” <takes giant swig from beer>
You don’t have to dress like a Burning Man enthusiast or use the ever-tacky “peacocking” method perfected by PUA Mystery. But for godsake at least make an effort to not blend in with your friends. If you happen to be wearing the same ironic t-shirt as another guy in the bar, oh well. Shit happens. But looking like a clone of your boys just tells us that there is nothing special about you and no reason to invest more interest than is polite.
