Dating Doesn’t Have to Be a Chore

Late summer afternoons, when I was a young teenager full of innocence, suburban angst, and sappy love poems, I would bike past a certain house to catch a glimpse of the girl who, by dint of having never been corrupted by actual bedsharing, would remain a lifelong figure of purity to me.  Being my first lust object, she set the gold standard against which future girls would unknowingly compare.

Such a vision she was, that even from a non-stalker distance her miniature form made my heart thump like a wet drum.  She stood up from her chaise lounge chair in the front lawn to apply suntan lotion, long sweeping motions up and down her arms, wearing corduroy shorts and a white bikini top.  I stopped my bike to watch her, transfixed.  She sat, laid on her stomach, and didn’t protest her straight dark brown hair when it dropped in silky ribbons across her face as she read a book.  To this day, the memory lingers as powerfully as the smell of my grandparents’ house, or the first time I got a bloody lip in a fight.  Eventually she moved, and the memory is all I have of her.

It’s easy to get the dating doldrums from years of being in the field.  Age tempts the spirit with weariness.  Learning the ropes and becoming proficient at game makes you realize that women respond like automatons to certain stimuli just like men do.  The princess pedestal that men start out putting women on quickly crumbles with real world experience.

Life is ugly like that.  The trick is to live as if the underbelly of life had no authority over your mood.  You understand that it is there, and even use it to your advantage, but you never let the poet in you be subsumed by the machine.  Happiness is equal parts realistic appraisal and self-delusion.  There is indulgent joy in putting women on pedestals — it splashes color into your life that could easily turn monochrome from cynicism.

So many men and women have become irretrievably jaded with the dating scene.  They’ve seen it all, heard it all.  Dating for them has become a chore whose only purpose is to efficiently ascertain the suitability of a person as potential relationship material.  Just the way I wrote that previous sentence pretty much sums up how modern dating feels.  The whole enterprise takes on the flavor of checking off a grocery list.  The sheer giddiness of sharing the company of a date and careening recklessly in the emotional whitewater gets lost along the way.

I know that game works.  I know that women aren’t unfathomable creatures.  I know that the beastly side of life always has its maw open ready to swallow you whole at the slightest misstep.  I know that once women pass that magical age of 26 a part of their femininity morphs into an accountant consumed with bottom line analysis and dreary practical concerns.  None of this stops me from approaching the pursuit of sex and love with anything less than fiery ardor.  When I see an attractive girl in a candle shop or across a club I remember how I felt when I watched that ribbon of hair tumble across the face of the girl sunning herself in her front lawn.  And all is good.

None of the dirty, crusty filth of life has any hold over me.  That memory stays with me for a reason.  It guides my way.  Recall your own sweet memories when you see a girl you want to meet and the feelings anchored with that will show in everything you do.  If your passions are strong enough you can drag an accountant away from her cash flow spreadsheets.

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Bailing on Dates

I don’t use tricks during dates like having my cell phone ring with an “emergency” call, saying I’m going to the bathroom and then escaping through the window, or telling my date “I think I’m falling in love with you” to give me an out in case it’s not going well.  It’s incompatible with being a man who doesn’t make excuses for his actions.  If a date is bombing I smile warmly and simply tell her “It was a pleasure meeting you.  Good luck with everything.”  No need to wait around hoping for sexual attraction to magically appear.  Walking off like this can even make a girl suddenly hot for you.  Don’t be surprised if you get a conciliatory call from her the next day.

Dating a lot of women gives you a sixth sense to know within minutes whether the girl is connecting with you.  If she’s not, cut the cord — time saved is time earned toward gaming new women.  I once walked away from a bad date and number closed another woman on the walk home.  There is no worse thing a man can do than to continue buying drinks and yapping for hours with a girl who is not warming up to him physically.

When a date is going particularly badly, or the girl is someone of especially poor character, I’ll get a dig in before walking off.  It’s petty, true, but it gives me pleasure to inflict cruelty on a deserving victim.  On a first date with a Desi girl she talked (unprompted) non-stop about her Indian ex-boyfriend and how her father didn’t like him and how he was overly ambitious in his career and yada yada.  After she finally came up for air I asked her a series of seemingly innocent questions about her values and her past relationships.  I then began to psychologically deconstruct her, picking apart her psyche and painting a picture of her personality.  I leaned back and waited for her reaction.  Offended, she snapped “I really don’t like you drawing conclusions about me.”
Pay dirt.
“But you make it so easy.”

Since single girls, like guys, act to hide their personality flaws when out on the town looking to hook up, and since it is hard to discern all of a person’s unsavory traits in fifteen minutes over gin and tonics in a dark lounge, I always try to insta-date the first night I meet a girl.  Bouncing with her from the club to the bar down the street to the pizza place or pool hall gives me a better opportunity to learn about her without putting in the extra effort to arrange a future date at a specified location.  This ultimately saves time and feels more natural.  Plus, same night multiple venue changing operates on the principle of time distortion, where you two feel like you’ve shared more time together getting to know each other in different environments than you actually have.

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Undercover Niceguy

In this Esquire article (with a very disturbing photo at the top), the author recounts his experience trying to set up his drop-dead gorgeous babysitter on a date.  For some inexplicable reason, she can’t seem to find a man on her own, so her host dad decides to help her out by impersonating her on an internet dating site and sifting through the e-suitors until he finds someone acceptable (to her, not to him, though the line is blurred).

Reading about his efforts, I can’t help but think what a milquetoast this guy is, as exemplified by what he imagines his hot nanny would look for in a guy.  It’s a classic case of beta projection.  But I suppose throughout history LJBF’ed betas have served as male cockblocks intercepting the natural desire of girls to hook up with the kinds of men who stomp all over betas.  If I were him, I’d be working the magic on my nanny, not working to get her banged by someone else.

The best part of the article is when the author has an email exchange with a guy who obviously has some knowledge of the Game.

One writes that he wants to know more about Michelle [the babysitter], but adds, “I can tell from your profile that sometimes you’re a handful.”

That’s annoying.

I respond: “What gives you the idea that I’m sometimes a handful?”

He responds: “I am so right!”

Now the bastard has really pissed me off.

Of course he has.  You are a man.  You respond to cocky flirting from another man by rearing up, flattening your ears, and raising your fur.  A woman would respond much differently. 

I click on his profile. A John Turturro look-alike with a smug smile.

He sees “smug”; she would see “confident”.

His opening photo shows him with his arm around a pretty woman with large breasts, as if to say, “I hang around with hot, large-breasted women, so if you are a hot, large-breasted woman, you should also hang around with me.” He likes to “work hard and play harder.” He is “VERY spiritual.”

Social proof, knows how to have fun, and dabbles in the supernatural.  Well-established tactics in the player’s arsenal of seduction.  His nanny would not react to this the way he is.

Michelle is not a handful. In her profile, she says that she’s very open and will let you know when she’s upset. That makes her a handful?

Too funny.  The author, Jacobs, doesn’t realize it, but the suitor’s seduction tactic worked on him.  He’s qualifying himself here!

Anyhow, Jacobs is clueless.  He must be much older because he can’t grasp the nuance of the word “handful” in this context.  Letting a guy know when she’s upset is, in fact, a leading indicator of handfulness.  The suitor has used a qualification technique on the girl designed to put her on the defensive and convince her he has standards in the women he dates.

But I have a theory. I think the fucker is employing an underhanded strategy. I edited an article a couple of years ago about a book called The Game, by Neil Strauss.

A glowing review, I’m sure.  Note to aspiring authors of player manuals — don’t let a beta review your book.

It’s about a nebbishy guy who decides to become the world’s greatest pickup artist, and it became exceedingly popular with a certain type of single man. One major strategy Strauss talks about is to mildly insult a beautiful woman, lower her self-esteem, thus making her more vulnerable to your advances.

This is a common misperception.  The objective is not to lower the self-esteem of the girl but raise the value of the player relative to her and therefore make her lower her bitch shield and become more pliable for conversation.  Backhanded compliments tell the girl that he is a guy who isn’t dazzled by her beauty like all those other losers.

So I e-mail handful guy as Michelle: “Have you read the Game by Neil Strauss?”

He says, “What makes you ask me that?”

Yes! Busted.

Congratulations, Jacobs, you won a moral victory.  Now go back to limply boffing your dumpy ageing wife, said dumpiness no doubt accentuated and rubbed in your effete face by the constant comparisons to the hot unavailable babysitter prancing around your home.

I respond: “I was wondering if your first email was a neg.” A “neg” is pickup patois for the mild insult.

He shoots back: “No, it was playful teasing. And yes, I have read the book.”

Thus commences a flurry of e-mails arguing whether his line qualifies as a neg. Finally, he brings out his trump card: “Considering that I know most of the people in the book personally from before the book was released, I’m gonna have to disagree.”

The player loses his cool here.  Since he still thinks he’s talking to a girl, he shouldn’t have gotten defensive.  His best play would have been to casually acknowledge the Game as something his girl buddy told him about and then bounced the conversation to the related subject of dating and flirting.  In other words, act like it’s no big deal. 

Aha. I hit the sleazeball jackpot, a longtime pickup artist. I tell him I’m glad my womanly radar warned me against him.

Jacobs is giddy that he can stick it to a guy who symbolically represents every jerk he ever resented for getting the girl when he couldn’t.  Settle down, Beavis.

He says, “I was hoping online dating would introduce me to different girls than the ones I pick up and seduce in bars, clubs and starbucks. So far not.”

Bad move.  Too hostile.  This guy is not a player, he’s a struggling ex-beta.  There is much learning ahead for him.

It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt that I was going to get.

I write, “Just remember as you wade through the dating pool [his lame metaphor, by the way]: we women are not just here to be conquered as part of the game.”

Bitter beta resentment – it’s what’s for dinner!

I’m a magnet for scammers. Everyone wants down my pants. Michelle probably would have sniffed this guy out eventually, but I’m proud that I saved her from a date.

Michelle thanks you by flaunting her luscious goods in front of your ineffectual feeble manhood.

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Date 2 Location Reviews

First dates should almost always be simple affairs over drinks or tea.  No dinners, no nights out on the town, no extravagant expenditures.  You want to keep expectations at bay and create a comfortable zone of unzipped-lipped, nimble-tongued, playful jive.  The two of you are reading each other like schematics to the bank vault and external logistics only gets in the way of those lingering looks and wily wordplay.

Second dates open up to more creative interpretation.   If the first date has gone well, (but not so well that you closed the deal), the second date should amp the attraction with a mix of venues and locations that help build a foundation of shared experiences.  You want to be in motion with her; give your bodies more room for expression and your senses more opportunities for stimulation.  With that in mind, here are my reviews of some common Date 2 locations in DC.

Lincoln Memorial at Night

Cheesy, trite, and very effective.  You don’t have to blow away your date with originality if the ambience is perfect as is.  And the Lincoln Memorial, on the steps at midnight under a summer moon, shrouded in the glow of the reflecting pool, sets an unbeatable mood for encouraging closeness.  After the early night drinks, surprise her with a car trip to the Lincoln.  There’s plenty of parking nearby late at night.

Sculpture Garden Ice Skating

Unless your date can do triple sow cows and the Blades of Glory “crotch scissors”, skating with her means you’ll have plenty of chances to demonstrate your male protector role by holding her when she stumbles or letting her grab onto your arm for support as she struggles to find her balance.  The crowd will always work in your favor; whether the rink is filled with canoodling couples that enhance the romantic mood or kids skating recklessly around you that provide an energetic boost and lots of humorous material, you can’t go wrong here.  In the summer, there is an outdoor jazz festival at the sculpture garden.  Drinks at the patio bar are overpriced.

Billiards or Darts

Playing pool with her means lots of good-natured teasing.  Plus, most girls are not good at pool and will need you to show them how to properly hold the stick and shoot.  You can only do this from behind.  That is intimate body contact on the sly.  The best places are small basement-level pool halls that double as dive bars.  Bedrock Billiards and Kokopoolis come to mind.  Stay away from auditorium sized pool halls, as they are too impersonal.  Also, don’t bother with tiny bars that have only one pool table — what usually winds up happening is that other guys wait around to play next and you and your date get jostled all night by drunks trying to navigate the tight spaces between the table and the walls.  Cautionary note:  If your date is a shark (there seem to be an inordinate amount of DC girls who know how to shoot stick) then be sure not to let the ego-bruising show.  Just tell her you let her win this time.

The Pleasure Palace

If your date is one of those freaky chicks you picked up at DC9, take her to this sex toy shop on Conn Ave in Dupont.  Pretend to be walking down the street to a different location when you two just happened upon this dirty little place and oh, wow, wouldn’t it be cool to see what kinds of creepy things they sell in here!  Once inside, act like you never saw this stuff before.  [Examining glow in the dark clit tickler]  “What the heck is this?  Do you stir pasta with it??”  Don’t loiter, it’ll start to seem skeevy.  If she was really into it, take her across the street to the gay Lambda bookstore next to Kramerbooks for a good laugh.  While browsing the educational material, ask her, “Do lesbians really do this?”  This will smoke her out as a possible bisexual.  Tailor your game accordingly.

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She Eats Her Peas One at a Time

Women don’t have to be the only ones to enjoy the fine art of pigeonholing the opposite sex based on superficial attributes like his choice in cologne, the color of the buttons on his striped shirt, or whether his fly is undone.  Now men, too, can peer into the soul of prospective mates using the flimsiest criteria.  At least some of the idiosyncrasies I look for have the imprimatur of science behind them.

Is her index finger longer than her ring finger?

If so, she’s a girly girl.  Normal in most respects.  I won’t expect surprises from her.  If, otoh, her ring finger is longer she will probably be more assertive, less coy, hornier, more logical, and slower to fall in love.  She will have likely played a team sport at some point in her life.  She may dress like a tomboy.  She’ll employ an array of head games, but with an emphasis on the aggressive part of passive-aggressive.  Odds are she plays guitar, that most manly of instruments (long ring fingers make fretting easier).

Does she have lots of dark forearm hair?

Girls with this have more circulating testosterone.  They will be more likely to sleep with you by date 3.  Although forearm hair on a girl is unattractive, rejoice when you see it, because it means the moment of sexual congress is nigh.

Is her heart line broken?

Read her palm.  It’s an integral part of any man’s pickup routine.  Even the most intelligent and educated girl will suspend her disbelief when the subject turns to the paranormal.  Does she have a lot of hatch marks on her heart line?  Hatches, or interruptions, in the heart line mean you are one lover amongst many.  Don kevlar condoms.

Which finger does she accessorize with ring(s)?

Excluding wedding bands and dowries in the shape of diamond engagement rings, the ancient Greeks had a system of associating each finger with a god.  The finger she puts her ring on represents the god to whom she pays homage.  You’ll see a lot of DC women wearing their rings on their index fingers, the finger of Zeus, symbolizing leadership, control, and power.  Expect a woman with an index finger ring to enjoy sex on top, demonstrating her subjugation of you, a mere mortal.  She may even choke you a little… watch for icepicks.  A ring on her middle finger, representing Dionysus, means she’s a jump-up-on-the-bar, lookatme chick.

Does she have a large trashy tattoo anywhere near an erogenous zone?

Slut.

Does she sport one small tattoo not of a butterfly or Chinese symbol?

She’s a good girl with a healthy libido yearning for some harmless excitement.  Don’t make the mistake of assuming she’s a slut.  She’s just waiting for you to think that.  Her benign tattoo smokes out the judgemental pricks (narrator excluded).

Does she carry a small purse?

She’s practical!  She’s down to earth!  She has the right values!  The small purse says so many positive things about a woman — it’s only big enough to hold the essentials, like cell, lipstick, gum; it’s easy to carry so she’ll focus more on your conversation than on how best to maneuver a monster purse into a comfortable yet showy position; and it doesn’t insist upon itself that the world recognize her fashion savvy.  Introduce her to Mom.

Does she carry a humongous designer handbag?

Opposite of above.  Her god is materialism, her goal is status, her groin is gonorrific.  Feel free to crush her heart as callously as possible.  It’s dominate or be dominated when you tangle with a giant-purse-carrying wench.

Is she a redhead?

Naughty nympho.  Sex with her will be amazing.  Sign her waiver absolving her of any culpability for damages incurred as a result of the future depraved acts she will put you through.  Think I’m glibly stereotyping redheads?  Check this out:

From the 19th century Cesare Lombroso reports the hair color frequencies of whorish Women Offenders Against Chastity:

                     Criminal    Normal

Fair-haired           26%      12%
Dark-haired          26%      20%
Red-haired            48%      0%
Chestnut haired    41%      68%

Stereotypes don’t materialize out of thin air, you know.  Once your sultry redhead has corrupted your tender heart, pop the question:

“Did you steal my wallet?” 

Is she a blonde?

She might be dumb…

Of the 50 subjects with learning disabilities, 10 (20%) were blond. In contrast, 121 of 1067 subjects without learning disabilities were blond (11%)… subjects with learning disabilities were nearly twice as likely to be blond compared with non-LD subjects…. These results raise the possibility that melanin may be involved both in the development of motor dominance and independently in the devilment of neural systems which, when maldeveloped, result in learning disabilities. (Schachter, Ransel & Geschwind (1987) Associations of Handedness with hair color and learning disabilities Neuropsychologia 25: pp. 275)

…but more likely she’s just got a big bloated head from all the guys slobbering over her.  Show her off to your friends while satisfying your cravings for hot, wet, sheet-twisting boom boom with the ponytailed brunette you met at a crafts fair.

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