Drunken Charm

Sorry for the lack of posts, guys. I’m currently in The Philippines and frankly, there’s just no time to post. But I’ll be back stateside in a couple weeks and we’ll get back on track. Until then.

Andy

We were at Matrix in San Francisco on a Saturday night (a couple weeks ago) while I was teaching a PI. I had spent a good chunk of the night talking to this cute filipina girl, but lost track of her when I went to the restroom (reference Extraordinary). When I came out of the restroom, I ran into detox who let me know that one of our female buddies was outside with some of her friends from Los Angeles who were visiting for the weekend.

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.

They are so important in everything we do. The attention to detail is what takes a person from being good at something, to being fucking amazing at it. Obviously you can (and hopefully do) apply this to going out. It’s the details that set you apart and make you stand out. It’s the hair style, it’s the stitching on your jeans, its the fit of your shirt, it’s the bling of your watch. Everything from the swagger in your walk to the look in your eye is going to make even more of an impact on your success and the way people look at you. All of this isn’t news to me (as I’m sure it’s probably not news to most of you), but this past weekend, during my PIs in Atlanta, the importance and understanding of this became even that much more clear.

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.

With my next trip to Asia only a week away, I thought I’d reminisce a little with a report from my last trip. It was an amazing holiday and hopefully this one will be even better.  So anyway, here ya go. Enjoy.

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.

This scene from the 2004 remake of the classic 1966 film, Alfie, has just about everything. He made a smart move by making  friends with the door girl so he never stands in line. He walks straight through the middle of the club, establishing awesome Line Of Site. He does a great job of breaking down exactly why you should never put a woman up on a pedestal or put to much stock into her. Also, he displays some extremely sick (yet subtle) non-verbals to the chick with the chip on her shoulder. Truth be told, I’ve never really been a big Jude Law fan, but I gotta say, very smooth.

It’s a beautiful thing.

This was a podcast I recorded, along with A-Game and detox, that never saw the light of day . . . until now. It recaps a drunken weekend in San Francisco that I, personally, have a hard time remembering. Anyway, it was a lot of fun and maybe even a little informative. In this episode you’ll hear us talk about:

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

I met “Stacey” a couple of weekends ago while I was teaching a PI in San Francisco. I was at Matrix and I had wondered off from my boys and ended up introducing myself to a group of girls (Stacey being one of them). Initially I didn’t really have my eye on any one particular girl because they were all pretty cute, but after a few minutes Stacey was the one that started to stand out to me. At one point in the night, I led her to a sitting area so we could converse a little more comfortably. She told me things about her life, I told her things about mine, though many times throughout the night she would say to me, “You are so full of shit.” Oddly enough, I was actually telling the truth. Nevertheless, interesting conversation. Obviously, there was some touching and caressing involved as well, and its always very important to hold eye contact. Later on, I had to pee so I excused myself, but grabbed her number before I did. I ended up NOT seeing her again that night-instead met up with one of my friends who had some lady friends visiting from L.A. (reference Escape From LA).

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.

I talk a lot about having a “drunk mindset” whenever you’re out at the club. By no means am I suggesting you necessarily have to go out and get drunk, but I am saying that a little perspective as well as putting yourself into the shoes of the folks around you can be very beneficial to the success of your night. Remember, if you want to catch a thief, you have to think like a thief, and if you gotta think like a thief, you have to understand what makes him tick.

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.