Saturday night my friends and I hit up another venue, Pangaea. At one point I go to the bathroom, and when I came out, I make my way past the entrance to head back to my friends. As I draw near the entrance, a group of feminine silhouettes enter. One of the shadowy figures moves closer to me and says, “Hey, you were at [I honestly forgot the name of the place] last night.” As the club lights reflected off the opposing wall, I slowly realize that it was, yup, the Little Latina Hottie. I respond:

ME: I WAS at [whatever that place was] last night. Are you following me?

HER: I think you’re following me.

ME: I bet I was here before you even hopped out of the shower. Which gives me a very nice mental image of you. Anyway, I have to go find my buddies, but something tells me I’ll probably see you later.

I went on having my fun and sure enough, throughout the night I would periodically run into her. We would chat for a bit each time but never really stuck around for too long. At the end of the night I told her that I come to Austin all the time and we needed to get together the next time I was in town. I get her number and we kiss a little bit before I leave — something to remember me by.

When I woke up Sunday morning I sent my standard “cool meeting you last night” text to all the girls I had met the night before. A few minutes later the Little Latina Hottie replies back. The following text conversation takes place:

HER: You too. What are you doing today?

ME: I don’t know, probably just takin’ it easy. What about you?

HER: I kind of want to lay out today. It’s so nice outside.

ME: Well my hotel has a pool, you can come here.

HER: Are you going to join me?

ME: I would love to, but I didn’t bring any swim trunks with me.

HER: I might have a pair you can borrow . . . my son’s.

ME: Um, how old is your sun?

HER: Twelve . . .  But I’m pretty sure it will fit you.

ME: Haha, if you say so.

About an hour later, she arrives at my hotel room. She had two different bathing suits (or as my baby brother used to say, “babin’ soups”) with her. A dark red one, and a light blue one with white fluffy clouds on it. Guess which one fit?

Well, technically, neither of them really fit, but it was the blue one with clouds that eventually got over my hips — with help from Little Latina Hottie. As I stood in front of my room’s full-length mirror, there was no question in any one’s mind, these were definitely a little boy’s swim trunks. I looked truly and utterly ridiculous, luckily I have zero issues with makin’ a fool of myself.

We make our way down to the pool and the Little Latina Hottie removes the pink J-Lo sweat pant/hoodie combo she was wearing to reveal a sexy little pink bikini. I gave her a once over and it quickly became apparent to me that the only evidence, anywhere, that this woman was a mom was me wearing a bathing suit with white fluffy clouds on it.

We spend the next couple of hours just hangin’ out by the pool having fun and getting to know each other, and after a quick dip in, we head back to my room to return her son’s swim trunks.

When we get to the room, I decide to just pull the trunks off right in front of her. We then begin passionately kissing and slowly make our way onto the bed. You can use your imagination what happened next.

Somewhere there’s a picture out there of me in the that twelve-year-old’s swim trunks. I know because a few random hotel guests looked at this as a prime photo opportunity. That weekend there was also a girl’s soccer team staying at the same hotel that kept following around. All in all, it was a weekend to remember.

It’s a beautiful thing.

My first costume idea for Halloween was to go as Anton Chigurh from No Country For Old Men. In my opinions he one of the great villains of all time — with his silenced shotgun and whatnot. But I quickly came to realize that this was just not in the cards. If I would have had a little more time I’m sure I would have been able to pull it off, but with denim jackets, little dutch boy wigs and oxygen tanks in limited supply in PB, it was obvious my “Sugar” costume was not going to happen. Oh well, at least I had a Plan B.

NOTE: I like to pick Halloween costumes that you can’t just pick off the shelf. A lot of guys like to pick costumes that are tailored to women (which I can’t necessarily hate on), kinda like the girls do for men (the one night a year they feel truly comfortable unleashing their inner slut). I personally always want to come up with something at least a little original (Michael Jackson might have actually been a really good idea a year ago) — show off my creative side.

My second costume choice was going to be fairly easy to pull of. There was just one component that I was kinda worried about. It was Leon, The Professional from the 1994 film, Leon: The Professional; and the only thing that concerned me was the circular shaped sunglasses he wore that haven’t been in production since 1996.

Leon: The Professional

I spent all day looking for those damn glasses, but stopped when my friend from San Francisco arrived into town.

That night we grabbed some dinner and decided to have a bonfire on the beach and maybe do a little night surfing. The bonfire was fun. The waves were pretty shitty so we opted out of surfing and all just hung out by the fire pit and passed my buddy’s flask, full of sweet tea vodka, around (it’s illegal to drink on the beach in San Diego). At some point I realize I split the ass-end of my favorite pair of jeans wide open and at that point it was time to call it a night. We were out of booze anyway.

As Saturday rolled around, I wasn’t feeling very confident about my costume anymore. Finding a pair of those circular glasses were so very crucial for my costume idea and I was havin’ zero luck. Not only that, but I didn’t really have a Plan C if it didn’t work out.

So, after breakfast I, along with my friends, set out to scramble for our last minute Halloween costumes. We  went to about seven different stores and I was already contemplating what Plan C would be, when one of my friends comes up and hands me an almost exact pair of the sunglasses I was looking for. After that, the rest of my costume fell right into place. The beanie, suspenders, gun holster, etc, I also decided to pick up a little potted plant (his best friend) at the grocery store to kinda set the whole thing off.

Some of you guys out there might ask me, “Why The Professional? Why not Edward Cullen, or Leonidas from 300, or a Teletubby ( in my opinion, probably the single costume most likely to get you laid. Don’t ask me why)? Why a character from a random fifteen year old movie that most people may or may not have ever even heard of before?” Well, the answer is quite simple: I thought it was fuckin‘ cool. Plus, sometimes being obscure can be beneficial.

NOTE: Don’t ever feel like you have to pander to people for the sake of acceptance. If you’re passionate about something and think it’s awesome, then own it; wear it like a fucking medal. People will have no choice but to get on board — or at the very least watch from the sidelines. Bring them into your world.

But I wasn’t the only one rockin‘ a kick-ass costume pulled off at the last minute, my friends did a pretty awesome job as well. My posse consisted of:

• The Dude (from The Big Lebowski)
• Gunther (European Internet Sensation)
• An Indian princess
• A cowgirl
• A Price Is Right contestant
• A vampiress
• Asian Agent Smith (from The Matrix. An “Asian Smith” if you will)

What was so awesome about my roommate going as The Dude was that he mixed us all up some White Russians before we headed to the House Of Blues Block Party. There was definitely excitement in the air and vodka/Kaluha in our bellies. Who doesn’t love Halloween?

We leave Pacific Beach around 9:15pm and make our way to downtown San Diego. As expected, parking was a bitch and after about 20 minutes of driving around, parking and walking to the venue, we got to House Of Blues around 10pm. I was stoked because right before we got to the door of HOB I got my first holler of the night, “Hey Professional!”, which I thought was pretty cool. As I approach the doorman, I am more than ready to get the night started. I have my costume, I have my ticket, I have condoms in case some young Philly decides she wants to take advantage of me, I have my . . . FUCK! I didn’t have my ID. It’s not in my wallet. I had put it in my carry on bag after I went through security at the airport the day before. I cannot believe this. I am such a fucking idiot.

There’s more ups and downs (as well as a few more drinks) to come in Part 3 . . . so stay tuned.

I left San Francisco and grabbed a flight back to San Diego for the weekend. I usually take Virgin America, but this time I ended up using Southwest. If you’ve ever flown Southwest Airlines, you know that you don’t have assigned seating — depending on the day, this can be either a really good or a really bad thing. This was actually neither.

I boarded the plane and grab a nice window seat in the middle of the cabin. As I’m getting situated, a girl decides to come sit next to me. She was interesting. Kinda your stereotypical San Francisco girl. She was young (maybe 19), very bohemian. She looked like she at a lot of granola bars, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, she had a nose ring, Jewish. She had a pretty nice body I must say, and a pretty amazing chest. I noticed she was reading a book with “Polygamy” in the title. This peaked my curiosity.

NOTE: Curiosity is good. Never keep your inquires and observations to yourself, God knows where it will lead to. They say curiosity killed the cat, but no one ever talks about how much ass the cat got before he kicked over.

We talked about her book for a bit, the that lead to all kinds of other topics — mostly only interesting to the parties concerned. This girls wasn’t really my type but I couldn’t help teetering whether I would or would not sleep with her. “She’s too young — but look that chest — She’s kinda dirty — but what nice boobs”, I would think to myself (my love for breasts very well could be a sickness). And it when on like this throughout the whole flight. Even after we exited the plane and made our way through the terminal, I continued to waiver.

Once we made it to the baggage claim, it became apparent I had to make a decision. She had checked a bag, I didn’t and my friend was already waiting for me outside. So I open my mouth and I say:

“Well, it was nice meeting you.”

Oh, you should have seen the look of disappointment on her face. I just couldn’t do it. Even that little part of me that was saying, “Oh, why the hell not?” couldn’t have convinced me otherwise. I can’t say I didn’t give it a second thought on my way back home, but it soon floated out of my head entirely.

When I got home, I dropped my bag down in the living room and immediately started combing the streets of Pacific Beach for the prefect Halloween costume.

Well that’s a pretty decent place to stop. Come back tomorrow for Part 2 of  my Halloween 2009 adventures.

As we approached, we noticed a cute blonde manning the register (I’m not a big fan of blondes, but I give credit when credit’s due). As she began emptying the cart I blurted out, “Crap, we forgot to get the dental dams.” Everyone cracked up, including the blonde. Blushing a little as she scanned, she said, “You can’t daze me, I’ve heard it all.” My friends and I begged to differ as one of my buddies brought up a story, I was telling the night before, of the first time a girl ever stuck her finger up my ass during sex.

This impromptu tale of eccentric debauchery stimulated a whole table discussion on accidental anal pleasures, at which point the blonde started to slow down, considerably, the rate of scanning and bagging the groceries as she looked around to see if her manager was anywhere around.

The manager didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, though as I looked around I noticed a very aggravated old lady wearing a shower cap standing right behind me. She glared at me for a moment, then I turned back to spit out some more of my own unique brand of impassive charm.

The blonde looks at me and asks, “What’s your sign?” I mentally make the little masturbating hand motion in my brain.

NOTE: I know a lot of chicks seem to be really into astrology and whatnot, but I personally can’t ever seem to get on board with that stuff. It’s kinda stupid to me.

Nevertheless, I play along.

Me: Virgo.

Her: Hmm, you don’t act like a Virgo.

Me: How is a Virgo supposed to act? Id like to believe my personality isn’t heavily relying on what day of the year I was born to sustain itself.

Her: You guys (she meant me) should come by everyday. Did you notice how slow I was bagging your stuff?

Me: Well don’t tell that to the lady in the shower cap. She looks like she’s got somewhere to be.

We grabbed our groceries and left on a high note.

The good news is I know where to find her if ever I decide I want to start dating blondes. Next time I might just get her information anyway because we’re always havin’ house parties, and it might be nice to have her in the loop just in case she has any cute Asian or Latina friends.

NOTE: It’s always nice to have a couple of cute chick friends (and gay friends for that matter) in your social circle. It opens up windows of opportunity and keeps outings with your friends from being total sausage fests.

I hope she didn’t get in too much trouble for inappropriate conduct (’cause it was definitely inappropriate), but in the end, I feel good knowing I helped increase morale in the Trader Joe’s workforce, and definitely made the girl’s night.

It’s a beautiful thing.

It was one of those gloomy days in San Francisco, I just got off work, decided to take a walk around Height St., a part of town I don’t usually go to. As a coffee addict, I couldn’t help myself to just walk into one antique decorated café. The first thing that caught my eyes was this blonde sitting down with her laptop on the table. Something immediately clicked in my mind that was the person I stink eyed 2 months ago.

I was thought this technique by a good friend of mine, Tie Guy. I was doing the stink eye to almost all the girls within my sight. I just felt the awesome effectiveness of it. The thing that I learned from the stink eye is that it cannot be used to average looking chicks, it can only work to a hot chick 9 and above. It is a very ballsy move to taunt the most attractive women. But you have to do it right; some women will give a “what the hell is wrong with this guy” look. Some would give me a dirty look back, but I didn’t really care how they would react. However, this move will blast through the platonic and friend zone straight to sexual zone.

About 2 months ago, this chick walked up to me, looking for a so and so item. The dynamic of the whole interaction changed immediately in the second I stink eyed her. I know I was at work, there was no way I could carry a conversation with her. I had to get her number that very moments. I did not have enough commitment yet, I have to make this happen in under 5 minutes. Done.

Days go by, eventually weeks and months, she never replied back to my text or voice mail. I thought she must have flaked completely. I was frustrated because I could not figure out what I did wrong.

Even after not having seen or heard from her in months, the game was still on. I walked up to her, pulled a chair, and started talking, pretending like nothing ever happen. I was told by my instructor, “grab her by the horns when you lead, and down play everything when she accuses you.” In following his advice, I scooped in the chair pretending nothing happen. Lay back my aggressive vibe; “What’s up?” I said. “Nothing, just checking my email,” she said. I don’t pay a lot of attention to conversational game, I just let it flow. I substituted what I am lacking, which is hard core flirting, with non-verbals. My impression was that she wasn’t pushing me away. She seemed to enjoy my presence.

I knew what needs to be done at this point, I just need to check the logistics and give a reason to have me at her place.

Me: How far do u live from here?

Her: A few blocks away.

Me: Right on, I need to use the bathroom, I cant believe they don’t have one here.

Her: Alright…

We just walked to her house, I felt nervous, but I knew I was on the right path. The moment I got to her house, I went to the bathroom. I asked her if she had any wine or something, she said, “Yea, I do in my room.” We both knew why I was there in her bed. All I need to do is to catch her eye contact and move in for the kill. She closed the door. I do enjoy the moment they flinch when I undressed them. By the time I was done, I could not believe it was only 7pm, the sun was still out.

NOTE: It’s okay to do a little comfort building when you make the initial phone call. It’s a great way for her to get a feel for your personality by filling in some of the blanks that one can’t always pick up on through texting. BUT, if you’re feeling less than confident on the phone I would recommend keeping this to the minimum. You have already done all the hard work by winning her over and setting up the date, you don’t want to blow it at the last minute just because you flub up for a second a make things a little awkward. I can’t tell you how many times I used to get flaked on because of something I did or said right before a date. You know the objective so get in and get out. There’ll be plenty of time to talk later.

Assume She’s Not There

You don’t want to find yourself getting spooked by the answering machine or voicemail and stumble over yourself because you’re suddenly at a loss for words. That’s why I always suggest calling with the expectation of her not answering. SO, before you dial her up, already have in mind what you’re gonna say. Write it down and rehearse it if you need too.  Make sure you know exactly why you’re calling and be able to execute those reasons in the delivery. Get rid of all the “uh’s” and “um’s” that typically comes along with being put on the spot, and make sure your tone is steady and moderately upbeat.

Here’s an example:

Hey, April, It’s Andy! I just wanted to call and let you know what I had in mind for Thursday–HEY, I was curious, are you more into whips or do you like chains better?  Ha ha (I personally like to literally say the words “ha ha”, but that’s just me) anyway, hit me up when you gotta second, otherwise I’ll just holler at you later. Hope all is well.

Equipping yourself with a solid, distinct, concise voicemail message is a surefire way to convey confidence and set you apart.

But what if she actually does answer the phone? Good question. A phone conversation should always be a very smooth, fluid interaction. It needs to always feel natural and not forced. So, when/if ever she does pick up, just go with the flow and enjoy yourself, and use the same topics you prepared prior to the phone call as a guide (does she, in fact, prefer chains over whips?).

When it comes right down to it, there’s really not a whole lot to phone game. However, I do like Troy Dizon’s method of “always be in the middle of something” , which is a great way to let the girl get a little sneak peek into your life. You could be out playin’ basketball with the boys, or at the grocery store trying to decide which spaghetti sauce to buy, as long as you’re making use of your time. A man who is actually out living his life is a whole lot sexier than some guy sitting on the couch, eating Doritos and watching Dr. Phil. Other than that, phone game is pretty much just point and shoot.

Word.

I have been so lazy lately. Tired, burned out and was even in a semi-committed relationship for a while. But I’m back and slowly gettin’ back into the swing of things.

Saturday night Timmy, Raja and I hit up Austin to hang out with Troy and his PI. As always Raja was running behind so we didn’t even roll into town til almost 11pm.

We start the night off at at bar/lounge called SIX. We meet up with Stripes and his girl and a few minutes later Troy, his boy Ben, and his PI, Ed_Hardy show up. We shoot the for a little bit and then head over to Qua.

We get to Qua and before we even get to the dance floor, a cute blonde comes up behind Ed and starts grinding on him. Everyone joins me in a round of applause as he leads her to the dance floor. Not a lot else was really happenin’ at Qua so after Ed did his thing and got some feedback from us, we headed over to Pangaea.

I’m with the guys for a total of 45 seconds after I walk into the club. As I cross the bar, a sexy petite little things walks past me. I get her attention and slowly come to the realization that I know this person.

ME: “Miranda”?

HB: Huh? (it was loud)

ME: Your name’s “Miranda” right?

HB: Yeah, what’s yours?

ME: Andy

She looks at me and thanks for a second. Then she looks at me again and starts jumping up and down.

HB: OH MY GOD! HOW ARE YOU! I didn’t expect to see you here.

Amanda was a lesbian that I had met a few months back while she was in Dallas visiting. This girl is a whole nother post in itself. And even though this is only the second time we had ever seen each other in person, we definitely had history.

NOTE: I plan on archiving my lesbian-seduction tips sometime in the (distant/not so distant) future. If anyone has questions about this subject let me know and I’ll prioritize it accordingly.

Anyway . . .

MIRANDA – Hey, I have to go talk to the manager about something. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.

ME – I’ll give you 3 minutes.

MIRANDA – I only need 2.

She takes off and I post up at the bar. Not even a minute later, she comes back.

MIRANDA – I’m not losing you. Come on.

She grabs my arm and pulls me away. Normally I wouldn’t have let this happen, but I was so turned on by her assertiveness that at that moment I didn’t mind bein’ lead around like a poodle. As I’m bein’ lead away, I quickly transition from her grabbing my wrist to the finger-lock hand hold. We find the club manager and after expressing her concern about her party’s cocktail (waitress), she turns back to me, grabs my hand again and says the words I long to hear.

“Come on, we have BOTTLE SERVICE.”

We sit down and fix ourselves a couple of drinks. Then we get a little more cozy on the couch and catch up on what had been goin’ on since I deleted her number (like I said, we have history). We talk for a bit and then she leaves for a second to go use the restroom. When she leaves I pour me another drink, sit back and talk to her sexy friend, “Clarissa”, for awhile.

Miranda gets back and we have the cocktail pour us a couple glasses of champagne and talk for a bit more.

By this point I have NO CLUE where the guys are so I decide to excuse myself from the lesbian for a second. I take my glass of champagne and, together, we go in search for my friends. I find Timmy and Troy observing some drunken white girls dancing. I couldn’t quite figure out what was goin’ on so I asked him if he knew where Raja was. Tim then points me in the direction of Raja so I go to find him—the champagne comes with me.

I spot Raja but quickly realize he’s in set, so I pull back before I crash right in the middle of his interaction. However, when he sees me, he calls me over and introduces me to the girl. Me and the champagne wing Raja for a second and tell the girl what a great guy he is. Then we decide to roll off.

Adjacent to Raja’s set was a girl in a zebra print dress sitting on a ledge next to her friend’s VIP spot. I decided to use this opportunity to try out Timmy’s new “animal print” opener, which he came up with one night in Dallas when we realized that 20% of M Street Bar was covered with some kind of dead animal spots.

ME – Hi.

ZEBRA – Hi . . . What are you drinking?

ME – Champagne.

ZEBRA – Ooh, that’s classy.

ME – BURP! Well I’m a classy guy.

ZEBRA – (laughs) Nice.

Tim swears by this – lets see if it’ll work for me.

ME – I have to be honest, I’m really not a fan of zebra print . . .

ZEBRA – (huffs) I think it’s cute.

ME – HOWEVER! You pull it off rather well, I must say.

ZEBRA – Why thank you. I like your tie.

Like a charm. And so it goes . . .

Right beside the lesbian’s bottle service was a sexy girl in a white dress and the brightest smile I had ever seen in Austin while drinking champagne. This girl seriously could have been a spokes model for Crest White Strips. At that same moment the clubs fog machine kicks on and the whole place fills up with mist.

ME – You’re all I can see right now.

CREST – Oh yeah?

ME – Well, really all I can see is your dress and your teeth. You could tell me you don’t have arms and I would have no choice but to believe you at this point. But I must say, I like what I see . . . Which really isn’t much so don’t let it go to your head.

CREST – (laughs)

ME – Hi, I’m Andy.

CREST – Nice to meet you, Andy, I’m . . .

And so on . . .

I then walk around to try and see if I can find some of the other guys, but instead I see two girls standing by themselves, drinking champagne. I raise my glass to them and they raise there’s back to me. I walk over and say hi and we chat for a bit. I compliment one of the girl’s on her dress and ask the other girl why she let her friend show her up. They laugh and I tell them I’m on a mission to find my friends, but that I’d try to catch up with them before I leave. Right as I began to roll off, it occurs to me that it’s doubtful I’ll ever see these girls again, so I slowly pivot back to the one girl and say, “I forgot something.” And then I softly grab her chin, left her neck up and give her one single kiss on her lips—biting her bottom lip ever so gently before I pull off. Then I just walk away.

NOTE: I like makin’ out with girls I’ve just met just as much as the next guy (maybe more). But in my experience, a single kiss, DONE RIGHT, will get you further than half-an-hour of continuous makin’ out. I promise.

Anyway, let’s get back to the lesbian . . .

By the time I get back to “Miranda” she’s totally wasted. She kisses me on the lips and tells me to keep it a secret cause she didn’t want “Clarissa” to see.

Evidently “Miranda” had a thing for her friend “Clarissa”, and at this point, curiosity gets the best of me. I decide to go over and talk to “Clarissa” and since I no longer had my new friend, champagne, with me . . . I had to go at this one alone (even though he was still there in spirit lol). I walk up and sit down next to “Clarissa.”

ME – So you’re gay too? (Real subtle)

CLARISSA – (looking over at “Miranda”) No, but I think she wishes I was. But I think she likes you.

ME – (tell me somethin’ I don’t know) You think so?

CLARISSA – Yeah, I think she’s just confused . . . I like your tie.

ME – (DQ) Yeah? It’s the gayest one I own, but I’m secure enough with my masculinity to wear it anyway.

CLARISSA – Well I think you look sexy

ME – Well I can’t argue with that (I place my hand on her thigh).

Right as we start to move closer, the house lights go up. The cocktail brings Clarissa the bill and she notices that the cocktail had went ahead and but a 20% gratuity on the check. Clarissa didn’t appreciate her doing this and, with all the tact in the world, let the cocktail know that she just screwed herself out of a bigger tip. It was a sight to see.

“Clarissa” gave me her number and told me to call her the next time I’m town. After that, I find the guys and we all walk out and take advantage of what Austin is best for . . . the run and the gun.

In all honesty, I don’t do a whole lot of run and gun. It’s a ONS thing and I’m just not the ONS type. However, It’s not every week that I’m in Austin (even though it seems like I’m there about ever month) and I’ve had just enough to drink that I could do a few blowouts and take advantage of the opportunity. I walk up to a sexy blonde.

ME – You’re the most pretentious lookin’ girl out here . . . but there’s somethin’ about you that makes me think you could be the mother of my children ( I got the “there’s something about you” bit from Troy. It seemed to fit.)

BLONDE – You think I look pretentious?

ME – (sigh) Yeah . . . But I’m from Dallas so I see it all the time.

BLONDE – Haha, I’m from Dallas too.

ME – See, what did I tell you? Though, you actually seem pretty down to earth.

BLONDE – (smiles) Well not all Dallas girls are stuck up.

Yadayadayad . . . number close (I have plans to get together with her tomorrow actually).

I see “Miranda” outside and she informs me that she had lost her credit card and her cell phone . . . at least that’s what I think she said. She was really wasted. Then she said she’d hit me up on MySpace tomorrow and then walked off to talk to the valet. Then I see “Clarissa” hangin’ out by the wall. I walk up to her and tell her that she should probably not let “Miranda” drive home. She agrees and then I change the subject.

About that time some dude walks up and says “He bro, that’s my wife you’re talkin’ to.” I just look at him like he’s a retard and shew him away. At that moment Timmy comes out of nowhere and goes after this guy. I thought this was hilarious because Tim never does that. Timmy knows I can handle myself, but I found out later on that earlier in the club the same guy had came up to him while he was in set and tried to AMOG him too.

NOTE: The biggest mistake you could ever make is to try and cock block Tim while he’s in set. A truck load of naked blondes couldn’t keep him from makin’ you look like a complete and total jackass.

Anyway, so we finish up and, as always, end the night at WHATABURGER. Time gets away from us and before we know it, its 8am. There’s a little discussion as to what we should do, and we decide just to go back to the motel, check out, Drive back to Dallas, and worry about sleep once we got home. But before we leave, we swing by Troy’s hotel to pick up a couple of things.

We leave the hotel, and Timmy and I split the trip driving back home while Raja passes out in the back. I get dropped off at my apartment and then I konk out for a good 6 hours .

It’s a beautiful thing.

All day long, my mind was consumed with this thing. My mind just kept goin’ back to this thing.  “Did I fall?” “Was I drunk?” “Where the hell did this thing come from!?!” Nevertheless, I carry about my day, which eventually ended with me “getting lucky.” It wasn’t until then that I FINALLY realized how I got this huge fucking bruised on my thigh. As we were just starting to get into it, I start to feel this pain. Under further examination I noticed that it was coming from my thigh. THEN it all starts to come together. It was a battle wound from having sex.

The positioning of our anatomy was in such an angle that ball of this girl’s foot was constantly banging in and around the same area of my big-ass bruise. The harder we would go at it, the more pain my leg would be in. I can’t say for sure if it was the same girl that actually gave me the bruise in the first place, because I don’t remember getting it in the first place, but a similar situation was definitely the cause of it. I guess I was just having too good a time to notice. I don’t think I’m going to start wearing hockey pads during sex any time soon, however this instance definitely gives the phrase “use protection” a whole new meaning in my opinion.

It’s a beautiful thing.

It was a Monday night, so Timmy and I hit up one of the only places (at the time) to hit on Mondays, Martini Ranch. As we walk in I notice that the place is already packed -  and with lots of sexy latinas (which I love). Tim and I end up befriending a dude who’s birthday it was, and in return introduced us to every sexy single Latina he brought with him.

Within 15 minutes we owned the place, and it was easily starting to become one of the best nights of my life. At one point I start to walk up the ramp that leads to the patio. Next to the window outside was this sexy brunette looking in. Right before I walk past her, I stop and face her from the other side of the glass and start grooming myself as if the window was a mirror. As soon as Tim and I walk outside, I strike up a conversation with her. She then precedes to ask us why we were drinking water. Truth be told, I didn’t really drink at the time, but I had rode my motorcycle to the bar and drinking and driving that thing is just a big NO-NO. So, after telling her this she says, “I want to see your bike!” I immediately grab her arm and lead her out to the parking lot.

When we get to my bike, she looks at it for a bout two seconds and then says, “Hey, A doll house!” evidently I had parked in front of a daycare center that had a small playground next to it. In front of my bike, just beyond the little picket fence, was, in fact, a little playhouse for the kids. It was pink with a little door and window. It had white trim and even a fake chimney at the top. I then turn back and look at her.

ME: Wanna go inside?

HER: Uhh . . .

Before she even had a chance to speak, I grab her arm and lead her toward the little picket fence. We then hop over the fence and crawl inside.

Inside the play house we both just sit there for a moment. You can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s waiting for me to do something, so I decide to man-up and go for it. We immediately start making out. The next thing I know, her shirt and her bra is off. She suggests we play a little game of truth or dare. I go first.

ME: Truth or dare?

HER: Um . . . Truth.

ME: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

HER: Um . . . Sneak into I kid’s playhouse with a guy I just met five minutes ago.

We laughed and then it was her turn.

HER: Truth or dare?

ME: Dare.

HER: I dare you to take off your pants and run around the outside of this dollhouse.

ME: (Laugh) If you say so.

I unlace my shoes and remove my pants. The next thing I know, I find myself running around this playground in nothing but my underwear.

I climb back inside the dollhouse. The girl is sitting on the ground laughing her ass off. I pull her up to her feet and begin kissing her again, then I place her hand inside my boxer briefs. Before too long she is giving me what comedian Ron White refers to as a “mouth hug.”

ME: You can’t tell anybody else about this place . . . This is our place.

She stops and says:

HER: Well, if it’s our place, then we should christen it somehow?

ME: You mean like break a champagne bottle over the side of it?

HER: No, not exactly . . .

Well it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant, but sadly that wasn’t going to be in the cards–I didn’t have any condoms on me.

NOTE: Things happen when you least expect them. The best advice is just to always be prepared. Take condoms with you wherever you go (even if it’s just to the supermarket), and have you place clean and your bed made, even if you don’t plan on having company over. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

So, we just fool around a little bit longer and then head back to the bar. As soon as we stepped back inside we both went our separate ways. I found Timmy and told him everything and ended up having a couple more makeouts before the night was over, but It was what happened in the dollhouse that topped it all off for me. I never actually got the girl’s name, and I never saw her again after that, but I’m pretty sure it was a night that we both won’t soon forget.

It’s a beautiful thing.

A few minutes later, a couple of really cute girls, a Mexican and a Blonde, came up and asked if they could join us at our table . . . That was fine. I go back to the Russian, but eventually we ended up getting to know the other girls a little more. Some how we started talking about marriage, and who doesn’t like talkin’ about marriage? Me, that’s who. The Russian told us she had married some guy for citizenship and that was actually kinda interesting. With that, brought up my views on the subject. From this opened up a whole can of worms with one the Mexican, and stemmed a more personal conversation.

At some point my friends come back and start chatting with The Russian and the Blonde, while I continue my discussion with the Mexican. As the conversation intensifies, I begin paying less and less attention to the Russian, and she eventually gets jealous/bored/tired and decides to go home. I felt kinda bad about ignoring her, and even thou I enjoyed talking to the sexy Mexian girl, I ultimately really wasn’t interested. The Russian left wanting me even more, though it seems it was a wasted opportunity. After she left I go to the restroom and let my friends go after the Blonde and the Mexican, and my good buddy Cicero stopped by for a bit as well.

Beer, tacos and pretty ladies. It was pretty chill, fun night all in all. We’re supposed to be hangin’ out with the The Blonde and the Mexican again this weekend, and I’ll make sure to see the Russian when she gets back from Miami.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Long story short (or as short as my wordy can get it) This chick finds me on MySpace. A half-hawiian, half-asian runway model named Whoa (That’s her actual, real effin’ name). She was an easy 9 in the looks department. Anyway, so we start conversing back and forth via MySpace, and then after a day or so of that we exchange numbers. I give her a call and we agree to hang out. Workin’ around her’s and my schedule we decide she’ll come over sunday night and hangout. She could only come after midnight for some reason (strange chick).

I call her around 11:30 sunday night to give her directions to my place, but when I call she tells me she just got home and doesn’t really feel like comin’ over. I said “whatever” and got off the phone. A few minutes later I text her the following:

“I have to say that’s pretty weak, Whoa. I even cleaned my toilet for you. I like you and everthing, but I just don’t put up with flakiness. Take care.”

I quickly get a call from her. She said that she had to park her car about 2 blocks from her place and didn’t feel safe walkin’ to it, but if I wanted to come pick her up, then she’d be down for hangin’ out. So I said okay. My roommate had blocked my motorcycle in the driveway so I just decided to take his car (a 96 Toyota Camry).

So I drive about 10 miles north to her place. I pull up in the most unimpressive car you’ll ever see. I give her a call and she comes down. She’s wearin’ a sexy black top, with super tight jeans and a black leather jacket. Oh, and for some reason she was wearing sunglasses (God knows I called her out on it, and she gave some bullshit answer . . . whatever, she’s hott). So off we go, back to my place . . . or that was the plan at least. About 4 miles down the road the car starts smokin’ and burnin’ oil like crazy and we very quickly find ourselves stranded on the side of the interstate with nothin’ but a loss for words.

Ya know, shit like this happens. Whatcha gonna do but just roll and deal with the situation? This chick is cool about it for a total of about 40 seconds. She’s like, “Your better call somebody now.” So, I ended up calling a cab to come pick her up. It took a good 45 minutes for the cabby to actually find us, which very well could have been the longest 45 minutes of her and my life. Pure silence. I did my best to try and lighten the situation, but she was NOT HAVIN’ IT. All I got from here were little bitchy comments here and there.

Finally the cab shows up. I give here some cash for the cab ride and right as I go in for a goodnight kiss I get a car door slammed in my face (I’m obviously joking, I’m not that clueless). So, she goes home and I stay stranded on the side of the road till around 3AM when I finally got hold of a tow truck to take me and my roommate’s car back home.

By the time I got back, she had already deleted and blocked me from her MySpace account. Which saved me the fuckin’ trouble right? But let’s all give Whoa a round of applause. We need more women like her if we’re gonna have any chance of Keepin’ Dallas Pretentious.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Andy

Everyone was already outside when I walked out to meet and greet. looking at the ratio, there seemed to be four guys and four girls (all extremely cute). I ended up talking to “Cloe”–who seemed to be the youngest of the group. Evidently the other two girls were her sister and sister-in-law. We started talking about SF and all the things she had seen while visiting. Then I commented on her boots, which was a pair of the infamous Fuck Me Boots or “FMBs” as she called them. That little comment quickly made things a little more sexual, at which I made sure to capitalize on.

NOTE: There’s no need to get overwhelmed and over-think making the interaction sexual. It really can be as easy as a simple comment. Use general/specific observations and don’t be afraid to call her out on her sexiness. Example: “Wow, you’re really workin’ those boots. Now I’m curious if you’re AS sassy when they come off.”

Sometime after that, all 8 of us decide to grab a late night bite to eat, so we split off in groups of 4 and drive to one of our favorite 2am restaurants. On the way there, I’m sitting in the backseat with Cloe. It was a lot of fun seeing how sneaky we could be with our physical advances, knowing that her sister-in-law was sitting right there in the front seat (Keep in mind, I’ve known this girl for 10 minutes.)

Dinner was great. We were all laughing and cutting up and just having a great time–It makes me proud to think how well my crew carried themselves that night. At one point in the night (in the midst of all the festivities) I lean over to Cloe and whisper in her ear:

ME: “Tell me how the fuck I’m going to get you home with me tonight?” HER: “My sister is right there? She’s very protective.” ME: “I know, that’s what I’m saying. So what do we do? Can we beat her over the head with a bat or drug her or something?” HER: “Just hit her with that vase. That should do it.” (there was a vase on the table) ME: “I’ll distract her, you make a run for the car.”

NOTE: Some might call these “sexual barriers”, but fore some reason that phrase puts a bad taste in my mouth. Always make sure these are natural. There’s nothing worse then making a long reach with something like “I want to kiss you right now but the bartenders looking.” Lame.

Haha, It was a very enjoyable time, and it was obvious that logistics just wasn’t going to play in our favor. We ended up all hanging out again the next night before they left but, again, the close just wasn’t in the cards.

After they left back for LA, I continued talking to Cloe on facebook. She told me how much she loved San Francisco and how she couldn’t wait to go back, and how she wished we could have “spent a little more time together” and whatnot. And I’m not exactly sure how this happened, but ultimately (sometime during one of our online conversations) she decides to make a special secret trip back to the bay area and asked me if that would be okay. I of course said sure, but the next weekend I had a PI and two weekends after that, A-Game was comin’ back into town to hang out, so that weekend in the middle seemed like the best option. So it was settled, she was gonna pack a bag, fly in for a couple of days and not tell her family or friends where she is (and also made sure that the only person I told was detox). So it was settled, she was coming Saturday morning and I planned accordingly.

Last Friday morning (the day before she was supposed to come) around 10am, while I’m walking back to my place from the CalTrain station, I get a text from Cloe saying that her mom’s and brother’s birthday party had just been moved up from next weekend to this weekend and asked if it would be okay if she came next weekend instead. Well, I had been up all night since the day before (again, reference Extraordinary) and was just too exhausted at the moment to respond. However, once I had gotten some sleep (which is very important), I let her know that this was very short notice and that next weekend wasn’t going to work because I had plans. A few hours later, she texts me saying that the party was in the evening but if she could get on an 8pm flight, she could be in SF by 9. Gotta love the commitment from this girl . . . I mean seriously.

So, Saturday night comes around and me and detox drive to the airport to pick her up. The great thing about this rendezvous is that there was nothing that I had to do. It was already “on” before she even got off the plane, SO we might as well just relax and enjoy ourselves.

NOTE: Foreshadowing and tone setting is HUGE!!

We leave from the airport and head straight for the city where one of my favorite bands, Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers, were playing a show at The Great American Music Hall. It was both Cloe and detox’s first RCPM show and I was stoked that I was gonna get to share it with them. We find a nice little spot (with a great view of the stage) up in the balcony. detox had gotten wasted at my place the night before, so he respectfully declined when I offered to buy him a drink. Cloe was game thou, and because she wasn’t familiar with whiskey, I ordered a few James on the rocks for us to enjoy while we watched the show. It was great because she got to see me in my element. I love this band and I know every word to every song and she was able to witness my passion and utter enjoyment, which ultimately spread over everyone around me. We all had just an amazing fucking time.

After the concert, detox drops us off at my place. I put on some music and poured us a couple glasses of Evan Williams black label bourbon. The E.W. was a little to strong for her pallet so I got the idea to mix it with a little OJ, which she really seemed to dig. Because neither of us knew the official name for the mixture, she ended up calling the drink “bourbange”–which I thought was kinda funny actually.

We then just cuddled up on the couch, drank our whiskey and enjoyed some of MY favorite music. With each sip of the bourbon, I was able to point out all the subtle details of each song which made her fall in love with the music just as I had once upon a time. It truly was a great night. We eventually headed to bed, and well . . . we all know what happened after that.

The next day in a half was kinda just like that. We would “sleep” in, we’d grab yogurt, I cooked for her, we hit up a movie, and then she eventually went back home to LA. When she got back, she kinda got into a little trouble with her family and friends (being that no one knew where she was for 2 days), but she told me that she would do it all again in a heartbeat.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Lately, I’ve been trying to get back into shape. I’ve been working out and TRYING to eat right and be healthy. I’ve just recently started to eliminate all sodas and sugary drinks out of my diet, which sucks because I absolutely LOVE orange juice . . . but we all sometimes gotta make sacrifices for the greater good, ya know? A friend of mine even suggested changing the type of alcohol I drink when I’m out at the bar. See, I’m a big vodka guy. And even thou vodka in itself isn’t really too horribly unhealthy for you (haha that just sounds funny to me, but you know what I mean) but all the Red Bull, OJ and Cola that I’m accustomed to mixing it with is ultimately what does me in as far as the love-handle department is concerned.

So for dietary reasons, I took the advice of my friend and switched to bourbon. After making this switch, something unexpected happened. I started getting a lot of attention from the girls at the club purely based on their curiosity of what I was drinking. There was something about the bourbon on the rocks that gave me an even more assertive presence. Now, I’m not hating on vodka Red Bull, in fact it’s one of my favorites, but how many dudes do you see drinkin’ that same played out drink every single time you go out? I just never realized that a drink could make such a big impact at a club–just as much as a fresh haircut or a really fly jacket. Fucking details.

My last night in Atlanta, Lil’ Wayne took me (along with a couple of my old friends) to this place called the Clermont Lounge. This place was nasty. It the kinda joint where strippers go to die. Seriously, count up all the strip clubs you’ve ever been to (which for me isn’t a lot actually), pick out the ugliest girls from all of them and have them all congregate together and they would still be heads and shoulders above anything thing you see at the Clermont. Seriously, these girls where disgusting lol.

Nevertheless, we were havin’ a great time, havin’ a few drinks, talkin’ about old times, internally laughing at the fat gutted girls shakin’ what their mother gave em (which was a whole fucking lot). It was just an awesome time out with the boys. At one point in the night, one of the strippers walked over there where we were at the bar and started up a conversation (soft-selling a lapdance) with me and Lil’ Wayne.

Now, if you’ve never met him, Lil’ Wayne is a really good looking dude (kinda metro) and I certainly have my moments from time to time, so i guess we were lookin’ pretty good in our jeans and t-shirts. The following dialog is just another instance where the details do the talking, and we both thought it was pretty damn funny.

HER: “So . . . what y’all drinkin’?”

ME: “Maker’s on the rocks?”

HER: “MAKER’S??? Y’ALL AINT GAY??? Hey, Rhonda, These guys is straight”

LMFAO . . . The fact that every single stripper in the place initially assumed we were gay wasn’t that much of a big deal (I am quite the sharp dresser if i do say so myself haha). The funny thing is that ,if the subject came up, we would have sat there for twenty minutes trying to convince this stripper that we, in fact, weren’t gay, it would have been a really long winded, frustrating conversation (one that I wouldn’t even bother having), but the fact that all we told her was that we were drinking bourbon, that solidified in her mind that we were indeed, two heterosexual males. Who knew?

The moral of this story, gentlemen, is that every single aspect of yourself gets picked up and processed by the female brain . . . all the way down to what you’re drinking. Keep this in mind the next time you head out. With that being said, take heed, go forth, enjoy yourself and don’t give a fuck.

Word.

My recent trip to Manila was (as my good friend, Julian would say,) “The fucking nuke!” It was an absolutely amazing experience. One of the first nights we were there, we were doing bottle service at this super club known as Embassy. It was great because the foreign exchange rate boiled down to about $20 USD per bottle. Needless to say, I was pretty sloshed for the majority of the vacation. The day before, I had been warned to watch out because this club was kinda known for having trannies scattered about. Well I have to be honest, it wasn’t always the easiest to tell. I’m 6 ft tall and weigh 170lbs, and even  though I’m considered average by American standards, it’s safe to say I’m a giant in Asia. So what am I saying? I’m saying that if you were to put makeup, a wig, and a padded bra on a little Asian guy, he’s gonna do a pretty good job of blending in. Coming from Georgia, I just expect the people that look like girls to actually be girls. Call me crazy.

This new education lent itself as a prime opportunity to ask every single “female” I met on this particular night if they were really born a boy. It’s a little after midnight, and I am completely drunk at this point. So, after workin’ the crowd a little bit, using my awesome new “pickup line”, I decide to head back to the VIP area for another drink. I walk through the velvet rope and next to my party’s table I see this absolutely breathtaking Asian Beauty. I said, “Hi.” She said, “Hello.” To be honest, everything after that starts to get a little fuzzy, but I want to say the rest of our conversation went something like this:

ME: “I like this place, I’m having a lot of fun.”

AB: “Yeah, this place is always fun.”

ME: “So, are you a tranny? I’m not saying you look like a dude. Actually, you should take the fact that I’m asking you as a compliment. ‘Cause if you actually looked like a guy to me, then there wouldn’t be any point in me asking you in the first place. I would probably just be running far, far away.”

Oh, you’ve got to love a drunk man’s logic.

AB: “No, I’m a real girl.”

ME: “Awesome, I should get your number then.”

I reach in my pocket and hand her my phone.

ME: “HERE, you type it in, I’m way too drunk to.”

And so on . . . Turned out, her name was “Laura”. It was about a forty-five second number close. After I get her number, I turn to my pal, Julian (The German Falcon), who had just witnessed the encounter.

ME: “I’m pretty sure she’s not really a dude.”

GF: “No she’s definitely a girl, but Rafa thinks that she might be a hired gun.”

ME: “What do you mean a “hired gun”? Like, she works here?”

GF: “No, he thinks she might be a prostitute.”

ME: “A prostitute? FUCK! It’s not bad enough we got transvestites roamin’ around, now we have to worry about the real girls being hookers! What kind of fucking place is this!”

I won’t get into the rest of the night (that’s a whole ‘nother adventure in itself). Long-story-short, I ended up getting lost in the cab on the way home. During that time, trying to get a hold of people, I ended up accidently calling Laura. She picked up right away and we ended up chatting for few minutes before I had to hang up and focus on getting back to the condo. Over the next day or two, I would text her from time to time. Nothing big. Pretty much whenever I was bored or drunk. One particular night, she was trying to get me to meet her at this after hours spot. I told her, no, that my friends and I were already on her way to another after hours venue called Bureau and we were going there . . . So, me and my friends get to Bureau and everybody’s talkin’ to girls and dancing and having a good time.

NOTE: Don’t ever change your plans for a girl. No matter how bad you think she wants you or how solid you think your chances of laying her. You have your own life. You have you’re own friends. You have your own interests. Have enough respect for yourself and your loved ones to not let world get turned upside down by trying to convenience others.

Next thing I know, I turn around and Laura is standing right beside me. I can’t describe the exact look on her face, but I have to say, It was the sweetest thing I have ever witnessed while wearing beer goggles. On top of that, she was lookin’ sexy. Very sexy. There was a little bit of dialogue between us. Evidently her and her friends knew some of the girls we were hanging out with and yada yada yada. She then tells me that her friends had a table in the back, pointing in the direction just to make sure I knew exactly where it was located (it was very cute, I must say). I replied, “Right on, well have a great night”, and carried on with whatever the hell it was I was doing. Keep in mind, at this point I’m still not sure if she’s a prostitute or not. This girl is unbelievably beautiful and she really seems to like me . . . A LOT. At the same time, I didn’t feel like I had put in enough effort to justify her liking me to the extent that she did. Nevertheless, after that night, and after I had sobered up a little, I realized that this girl was more than likely NOT a hooker due to the fact that she seemed to know a lot of the same people that rolled with my crew.

The plan for the next night was to get everyone together for some karaoke, (which you may or may not know, is one of my all time favorite things to do). So I shot Laura a text inviting her to come along. She says yes and asks if it would be okay if she brought a friend. From browsing her Facebook page the day before, it became apparent to me that she has some pretty smokin’ friends, which was awesome because I have some very single buddies (haha you can’t say I’m not lookin’ out). Well, at the last minute I find out that the plans for karaoke fell through due to the fact that the place was no longer in business, and when I texted Laura back to tell her that plans had changed, she was acting like she didn’t want to hang out at all anymore. At that point I wasn’t about to beg, so I just said, “If that’s how you want to be, right on . . . It was nice meeting you.” Sure enough, she changes her mind and said that her girlfriend was having some sort of crisis and that she would meet up with me at Cuisine (a very fancy restaurant/lounge) later.

NOTE: Cuisine has some of the best sushi you will ever put in your mouth. If you are ever in Manila, Philippines, you definitely have to try the rainbow roll.

So sure enough, she shows up later along with her friend “Tara”. Tara was very attractive as well. She had bigger boobs than my girl’s which I was kind of jealous of, but I definitely wouldn’t have traded even if I could have. So, I take it upon myself to reintroduce Tara to Julian (my right hand man) and Laura and me find some place quiet to get to know each other better. To be honest, I don’t really remember the rest of the night until Tara gave us all a ride back to my (and Julian’s) condo. When we get back to our place, we invite the girls up. After we walk in I decide to give Laura a tour of the condo, while Julian kept Tara company on the couch. I showed her the kitchen. We made out in the kitchen. I showed her the balcony. We made out on the balcony. I showed her my bedroom . . . Well I don’t think I have to tell you what happened in the bedroom.;)

I have this habit, when I’m drunk and having sex, of falling asleep right after it’s over, then wake up a couple hours later (out of a dead sleep) wanting to go right at it again Haha. This cycle happened a few times through the night and up till the morning. By morning we were both pretty hungry, so I offered to buy her breakfast. We got dressed and then walked over to Greenbelt for some crepes. I knew how great my night ended up being, but I couldn’t help but wonder what ended up happening with Julian and Tara after Laura and I had went to bed. Well, about 30 minutes later (in the middle of breakfast) I get a call from him, asking me where I was and if Laura was still with me. I filled him in and about 15 minutes later Julian and Tara come over and join us for crepes. That’s my boy, Jules. Those girls were cool and it definitely wasn’t the last time Laura and I “had breakfast”. I have to be honest, I look forward to going back to Manila and “having breakfast” with her again. Great girl.

It was a beautiful thing.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Andy’s fascination with teeth

Andy being the “best wingman he can be”

Good Cop, Drunk Cop

Andy’s appreciation for cougars

Presence

Catch phrases

“Have you met Andy?”

Facebook

And much, much more.

So, without further adieu, My lost blogcast. Enjoy.

Download Mp3

It took about two weeks before I actually had the time to meet up with Stacey again. She lives in San Francisco and I currently live in Palo Alto (which is about 45 minutes to an hour away)–not only that, but my wheels are currently still in Texas which means, I have no mode of transportation at the moment. Needless to say, logistically, the situation sucked. The one thing that we did have in common was that we both lived next to the CalTrain. So, I decided to take the train up to the city (something I had never done before) and meet up with her.

The plan was for me to hop on the train at 8pm and be in SF by 9pm. As I was getting ready, I realized that I had accidentally washed my two last condoms in the washing machine, so I knew I was gonna have to stop by the Shell station across the street from the CalTrain to grab some beforehand. However, when I got to the Shell I found out that they, in fact, did not sell condoms there which definitely put a kink into my plan. But the clerk told me there was a 7-Eleven about four blocks down that sold them. Looking at my watch I realized that I had seven minutes before the train came. At that moment I had to make an accelerated decision. Should I try and make it to the 7-Eleven and risk missing the train? Or should I head to the train station and risk not getting laid? . . .

I immediately start running like a bat out of hell for the 7-Eleven. No doubt, I was bookin’ it, and the fact that I was wearing a tie and a sweater didn’t make my four block dash any more enjoyable. Three minutes later I get to the store and quickly grab a box of condoms and a bottle of water. I pay for my items, then make another dash out the door for the CalTrain. I arrive at the station just in time to see the train pass by in front of my eyes. FUCK!! At this point I had to call Stacey and let her know I missed the train.

I give Stacey a ring and tell her what had happened. She laughs and asks me if I still wanted to get together. I tell her that if she doesn’t mind meeting up at 10pm instead then I would just catch the next train. She says, “Sure!” and then proceeds to ask me how I planned on getting home at the end of the night, because the CalTrain stops running at midnight or maybe even earlier (haha I’m not really sure). I responded by saying, “Hmm, I hadn’t even thought about that.” She gets quiet for a second . . . Haha the truth is, is that I really HAD thought about it. I, obviously, was planning on spending the night at her place, but I wasn’t going to let HER know that just yet. She then asked me what I had in mind for the evening. I suggested just grabbin’ a drink in the area. She then says, “Hmm, okay, we’ll just figure something out.” (referring to me not having a ride back home) With that confirmation, I walked back home and changed out of my sweaty clothes and waited for the next train to come around. At 9:01pm train stopped in Palo Alto, I actually made it this time.

NOTE: Let it be known that crappy logistics can, in some instances, work in your favor . . . which, I suppose, actually makes them good logistics by default. Work with what you got, and make the most out of what you have avaliable (and unavailable) to you.

She picks me up at the train station and we drive to one of her favorite local bars. I forget the name of the place, but I have to say it was pretty chill. I actually dug it a lot. She was drinking tangere and tonic, I was drinkin’ James on the rocks. We definitely had some interesting conversations. A few times she would shift her body language away from me and, of course, I would always call it out or turn mine away from her until she got the message and re-corrected. I have to admit, this girl was different. She had her own way of operating that, oddly enough, I haven’t come across too often. It was odd because she kept calling me “26″ and talked about how young I am. I made sure to tell her how retarded she was–it wasn’t like she was some wilting old cougar, she was only 29 for fuck’s sake. She really seemed to have a problem with me being younger than her so, knowing this, I made sure to tell her that my mom had picked out my outfit, HOWEVER, that I did tie my shoes all by myself.

After a couple of drinks, we left the bar and drove back to her place (which was super nice by the way). And like clockwork, she made sure to make very clear to me that she was NOT going to sleep with me (Haha, that one never gets old).

NOTE: If a girl tells you that she ISN’T going to sleep with you, you can usually bet your ass that she, more than likely, IS going to sleep with you.

So, long story short, we get back to her place, brush our teeth (she even had a toothbrush for me to use) and climb in bed . . . I don’t think I have to tell you what happened shortly after that. Afterwards, we cuddled and talked for a bit (what can I say? I like to cuddle). A lot of times women can tell that it’s definitely not my “first rodeo,” which usually leads to all sorts of personal questions about my sex life. Questions I really don’t mind answering and because I answer them so honestly (even if its presumably not what you think she wants to hear), they can’t help but respect it–or at least respect my conviction.

As we were laying in bed, she tells me that she was talking to someone she knows about me and mentioned to her the fact that I had dropped out of art school (which, apparently, is a big deal in northern California). Her friend then asked her, “Then why are you even giving him the time of day.” knowing that Stacey has a Master’s Degree. This was her reply:

“He’s just Extraordinary!”

This just goes to show, that if you own yourself (good, bad or indifferent) and focus on the things you have, instead of the things you lack, people WILL appreciate you (if not for it, despite it). Being myself was the one thing it took to charm the shit out of her.

The next morning we woke up and she was thoughtful enough to make me some egg whites and a salad (knowing that I was on a diet) for breakfast. We then said our goodbyes and I walked back to the train station to get my ass back home. When I got home, I received a text from Stacey letting me know what a great time she had, and thus adding another glorious piece to the ole pipeline.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Truth be told, I wasn’t always the lively social drinker I am today. Back in the old days I used to buy a beer and carry it around all night just to look like I belonged — yes, I once was that pitiful. In fact, I had never even been drunk (not even buzzed) until I was 25 years old, and by then I had already been good with women for quite some time. Alcohol should never be used as a crutch and all the issues you have (physiologically or otherwise) should be treated or medicated with methods other than the sauce (thou I hear crack works pretty well — just kidding). However, I have to say, my skill level drastically increased soon after I got drunk for the first time — but not because of the reasons you might think.

Up until that point, I had spent my entire adult life going into bars and clubs completely sober, for no other reason than the fact that I tried beer when I was 15, thought it tasted like piss, decided drinking wasn’t for me, and was turned off by it from then on out. I liked bars because I enjoyed socializing, however, I looked at all of my interactions on a very logical and (I would even go as far as to say) uptight level — even thou I was always out to have a good time. Nevertheless, I would go out, mingle, charm, close, and had lots of success — if I do say so myself. But, every now and then I would have encounters that seemed promising, initially, but by the end would totally fizzle down to nothing, and I never could quite figure out why . . . until I got drunk.

It’s a whole ‘nother world once you get a couple shots in your system. You quickly realize that thinking logically is pretty pointless when dealing with the tipsy.The fact of the matter is that people go to bars to drink. God knows the fun and the socializing is a big part of it as well, but you don’t really see a whole lot of 20 and 30-somethings flocking to the mini golf course on Saturday night — at least I don’t. They want to go to the bar so they can all have a few drinks, let their hair down, and let loose and enjoy themselves because, as we all know, that’s what alcohol does . . . well, it’s one of the things alcohol does. So, here was my revelation. The more someone has to drink, the more the following 2 things become prioritized (even more than it already is naturally):

1.) Fun - This can be anything from humor to dancing to games (like “Spot The Boob Job”).

2.) Sex - This can be racy comments, sensual touching, kissing, fingerbanging her under the table or, of course, taking her home.

This is what women at bars care about, and I never totally realized this because I, myself, could never relate to it. If you can convey a fun (don’t give a fuck) vibe, or cut loose on the dance floor, or (and this is the biggest one) be a little naughty, then you are on your way to having your pick of any number of hotties that have the same ideals. No one wants to talk about where they went to school, or how many siblings they have, or what their grandmother’s maiden name is. This stuff is boring — especially after a couple of drinks. Be aware of one’s “drunk mindset” and think about the things that interest YOU after you’ve had a few — even if you’re completely sober. More than likely someone else is gonna think they’re awesome too.

I know being fun and sexual in the club isn’t anything you haven’t already heard a thousand times before, however I see (over and over again) guys failing to capitalize on this. It’s like there’s some kind of little troll inside their head telling them that it’s not okay to express what you really think and feel. This doesn’t do anyone any good, because it is not the woman’s job to take the lead, and if the man is too scared to handle that responsibility, then nothing gets accomplished and EVERYBODY loses in the end. So, don’t be afraid to bring out your “inner drunk”, because, I guarantee, he wants to have a good time — even if you don’t.

Word.

Why, at certain times, is it so hard for us guys to be ourselves around women? Why is it that we avoid talking to women we’re interested in purely because there’s the chance that the interaction MIGHT not go the way we want it to? Andy, why, when talking to girls, do we tell them what we think they want to hear so as to not cause any waves or make them look down on us? The answer to all of those questions is quite simple actually. BECAUSE WE CARE WAY TOO MUCH!! We are so invested in the undetermined outcome of the opportunity at hand that we don’t even try–and if we do try, we play it safe by doing anything and everything that we think will make her like us more without ever escalating. This, my friend, gets us NOWHERE.

I understand that not giving a fuck may be easier said than done for some people — at least when it comes to women. Nevertheless, I think everyone in the world has the capacity for apathy, when it comes to AT LEAST one area of our existence. Unless you’re some super sensitive bleeding-heart, I think it’s pretty much impossible to truly invest your soul into every single mechanism of life.  Example: the lottery. Just about everybody would like to win the lottery, no? That kind of return on investment would be one of the most badass things ever, in my opinion. Now, I don’t play the lottery, which is why I will never win the lottery, but let’s pretend for a second I did, and maybe some of you guys out there that do play can attest.

Okay, so every Friday I go down to the 7-Eleven and purchase my weekly Lotto ticket. I think about how much that week’s jackpot is and of course the bigger it is, the more excited I get. I imagine what it would be like to win all that money and fantasize about all the things I could do with it. It’s one of those things that would be so unbelievably awesome and would completely change my life forever. HOWEVER, I pick my numbers, buy my ticket, then carry on with my day, and if I turn on the news the following evening to check my numbers, I’m not going to really care if I don’t win. As killer as it would be, losing the lottery isn’t going to put a damper on my day/week/month in the slightest. I am indifferent to losing because my investment is so minimal

I’m sure there has to be something similar to this in your life, and, coincidentally, this is the exact same mindset one needs to have when engaging women. To walk up to a woman and say something takes very little effort. It’s not at all a huge investment, so it would be silly of me to get too bent out of shape if/when it doesn’t pay off — at least it’s better than not playin’ the game at all. So I’m not really going to sweat it too much.

But, besides personal peace of mind, what are the real benefits of indifference? Good question. Simply put, it gives you the freedom to play by your own rules. It’s one aspect of Aaron Dan’s method of being Socially Selfish. When you’re out, your only job is to lookout for no.1 and ensure your own personal enjoyment. Always ask yourself, “Is this pleasing me?” and if it’s not, do one/both of the following:

Call it out

Walk away

It’s your investment. If you find yourself aboard a sinking ship, it’s your responsibility to either repair it or jump ship. And it’s all based on whether or not you feel it’s worth your time and effort. It’s your call. Do what YOU want to do, talk about what YOU want to talk about, and bring people into YOUR world.

Just the other night I was taking part in a social gathering. Within four minutes of chatting with this one particular woman, we were talking about the first time a girl ever stuck her finger up my ass during sex. It was a fun, interesting story and it quickly allowed me to transition the conversation to where I wanted to take it. If I wanted to have talked about penguins with the girl, I would have asked her if she had seen Happy Feet and go from there. If she can’t get on board, I’m going to call her out on it and if I have to I’m completely prepared to go find someone else who CAN get on board. In my experience, most women are very open and comfortable talking about almost anything–as long as YOU are comfortable bringing it up. Women want a man who knows who he is and knows what he will and will not stand for. Confidence is the sexiest thing you can convey to a woman. Stop worrying what people are thinking and start playing by your own rules. It’s your world, everyone else is just livin’ in it. It’s that indifference that makes all the difference.