Dating In The City: A Series

More wisdom from the dating trenches of this city full of glorious yuppie headcases.

Damian: So we’re talking on the phone a bit, things are going well, and I ask if she’s free. She says “I’m busy every day this week, but next week works.” Immediately, I lose all interest in her. I tell her “Yeah, sure, maybe. Hey, nice talking to you, take care.”

Me: “I’m busy every day this week”?!? What a turnoff.

Damian: Exactly. It’s not bad enough that she’s BUSY; she has to be BUSY EVERY DAY of the week. How many froo froo dog grooming classes can one girl attend? [Damian imitating nasally stuck-up bitch voice]: “I have a Pilates class Monday, a Zen meditation class Tuesday, a Blackberry addict anonymous class Wednesday, a Yoga class to firm up my buttocks on Thursday, a Professionals in the City $500 happy hour on Friday where I practice shooting down Herbs all night, volunteer missions at the local animal shelter on the weekend, and run run runs all week long to get my chubby ass shape for the marathons that ALL the girls are doing these days! It’s just perfect! My life is SO fulfilled! I love love LOVE being a woman on the go. So many fun distractions from my childlessness. Ooo, where did I leave my pink IPod?”

***

Here’s some advice, ladies. If a guy asks you out and you’re interested, don’t tell him you’re busy. That shit doesn’t work on us like it works on you. As you are women, I understand it’s hard to refrain from projecting your female desires onto men, but step outside of your solipsistic universes for one second and try to see it from a man’s point of view. We do not get aroused by “mystery”, or “playing hard to get”, or “scarcity”. We don’t want you more because you’re unavailable. We don’t fantasize about you constantly running away to do something secretive in the woods like that dork from Twilight, and then get all excited when you show up out of the blue with a sly grin on your face, leaning against our locker.

What does encourage our ardor for you is quite simple: You, available and naked (assuming you meet our minimum beauty threshold).

If you really are “busy” every day of the week, be extremely apologetic about it. Explain that you would love to see us right now, but you can’t because you’re already committed to a bunch of crap you really don’t want to do. Make us feel like your cooking classes and seminars and book club meetings are an annoying hindrance to seeing us (which they really should be). Acquiring the proper perspective in this way will not only keep us interested in seeing you, it will help screw your heads on right and remind yourselves what is most important in life — finding a man and falling in love.

Most likely, though, you are NOT that “busy”, and instead your week is burdened with a lot of make-work pointless female timesucks to fill the dull aching void of your lives. You would set yourself apart from so many women if you said “Sure, I can see you this evening if you’d like.”

At this nadir of modern American society, knowing what we know about how cosmopolitan women spend their prime years, when men hear “I’m busy every day this week”, we quickly and justifiably assume this means she does not value a chance to be rewarded with the pleasure of our company more than she values an amateur bartending seminar sponsored by a matchmaking company in the business of bringing single SWPL men and women together. If you cannot see the irony in that, you will be alone with your ludicrous standards at the age of 35.

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Dating In The City: A Series

Time for another colonoscopic glimpse into the fetid bowels of the urban dating scene. This city provides enough material for a book.

Damian: I had a second date with that cute 25 year old chick I was telling you about.

Me: Yeah? How’d this one go?

Damian: After we warmed up a bit, she started talking about the incredible amount of sex she had in high school and college. All the guys she banged and the crazy sex acts she performed, threesomes, public sex, etc. She said she’s pretty sure she was a nympho at age seventeen.

Me: Uh oh. Bad sign.

Damian: Right. That’s what I was thinking. As I’m getting more disgusted and aroused simultaneously, she leans in and tells me “Just to let you know, you shouldn’t bother making a move. You won’t get anywhere. I changed my ways. I’m not going to have sex until I’m married.”

Me: Unbelievable. Is every girl in this city a headcase? Maybe she converted to an orthodox religion or something.

Damian: No, she’s not religious. After she drops that bomb, I stared at her for a few seconds, flabbergasted. There was tension. Then I said “Are you fucking crazy? What makes you think you can pull this shit on a quality guy like myself?” I was pissed.

Me: Wow. So I guess that was it, eh?

Damian: Not yet. She starts tearing up a little. I stand up and tell her I’m going. She asks me if I’m going to get a drink. I say no, I’m leaving. She asks if I’m going home. I say no, I’m not going home, I’m going to a bar to meet up with friends, the night is still young.

Me: I love how she imagines you will go home, alone, with your tail tucked between your legs.

Damian: I put on my coat, wish her good luck on finding someone, and leave. I cross the street and look back… I can see the chairs we were sitting on through the window of the lounge, and she’s still sitting there, holding her drink. This broad drove an hour from out of town to meet me in the city, she clearly went out of her way, she was interested… so I have to ask what’s going through her mind when she tells me sex is off the table? She must be used to dating the herbliest of Herbs who meekly accepted her terms.

Me: The irony here is that she was probably never more turned on than right at that moment when you called her out on her shit. I bet that’s the first time she got wet since she became a born again virgin.

Damian: On the plus side I’m five for five getting girls to drive out of their way to meet me near my place.

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Dating In The City: A Series

Zeets: Hey man, I just got this email from the chick I had a date with last night. Check it out.

Hello. Just a quick e-mail to tell you sorry, but I’m just not interested. Thank you for that show of immaturity in my car yesterday, it solidified my decision.

I wish you the best of luck in finding someone.

–L.

Me: What show of immaturity is she talking about?

Zeets: I stuck out my tongue and flicked it in and out like a snake. How is that immature? A new post?

Me: Yes, a new post.

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I Got My First Craigslist Missed Connection

LXXXXXX XXXX Fri 10pm – m4m (staircase to sidewalk)

---

Reply to: XXXXXXXXXXXX@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-10-11, 9:16AM EDT

you walked down to the sidewalk from the west bldg, made eye contact, then went back inside your bldg….second staircase. you had a hat on and i was dog walking.

---

I got excited until I noticed it was from a dude. 😯

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Secrets

A while back, I was sitting in my favorite bar savoring a delicious bison burger and a beer which I imagined was the best beer in the world because it had a long German name. It was a slow Sunday afternoon and the bar was nearly empty. Across the bar, about fifteen feet away, a leggy blonde walked in and settled on one of the stools, chatting up the bartender. She noticed me noticing her, and a flicker of nervousness froze her face momentarily. I had banged this girl on two separate nights many months ago. After the second banging, we (her? me? it’s unclear) cut off all contact. This was the first we had seen of each other since then.

A minute later, a guy came in and sat down next to Blondie. He leaned in to give her a kiss and she perceptibly flinched away from his approaching puckered lips. She looked annoyed. He smiled at her doofily while her face was turned the opposite way, then ordered a meal and talked about the game on the TV with another bartender. Every so often, I caught Blondie glancing in my direction. I made sure she knew I caught her.

I remember her mentioning something about a boyfriend she was planning to move in with when we hooked up, but like any well-bred devil-may-care alpha, I breezily dismissed it. An abstract concept. Not my moral crisis. The choice to cheat or not rested entirely with her. And now, here was the flesh and blood boyfriend, sitting mere feet from a man whose dick had penetrated his girlfriend’s wet pussy while he was setting aside separate dresser drawers for her panties, happily oblivious and looking very much like a normal dude.

I wanted fun. Feeling like a cenobite summoned by a fire and brimstone hellgod of the underworld to dispense the cruel justice of a sadist who loves to watch his victims squirm, I walked around the bar and stood next to her boyfriend pretending to get closer to the TV. Blondie wasn’t there; she had gone to the bathroom.

Me: Hey man, I don’t think the Skins can take Pittsburgh. Too much depth. [My inner voice: Your girlfriend’s pussy has depth.]

Him: What? It’s only the half. Pittsburgh falls apart late in the game.

[more sports small talk]

Me: This place is pretty good on a Sunday for watching the game. No drunk college kids. So you and your girlfriend come here a lot? [I saw your girlfriend’s labia.]

Him: Oh yeah, she’s a regular here, so I come once in a while when I’m in town.

Me: Yeah, I’m a regular too. I pretty much know everybody here, but I’ve only seen her around once or twice. So you’re from out of town? I respect someone who can make a long distance relationship work during these times. [I held your girlfriend’s long legs up pointing straight at the ceiling as I pounded her into submission]

Him: I’m planning to move into DC. We’re getting a place together. The long distance thing is tough, but you do what you have to to make it work.

Me: Yup. Number one thing: trust. Long distance can work if you can trust the girl. [She let me fuck her without a condom. I don’t know if I pulled out in time.]

Him: [looking over his shoulder at the women’s bathroom door] And if she can trust me!

Me: You know it! [She has blonde pubes.] Anyhow, if you’ve found a girl like that, hold on to her. I can tell you, those types are rare. [She sucked my cock like it was her last.]

[Blondie exits the bathroom and walks up next to the boyfriend, slowly taking a seat. Her face has gone ghostly white as she sees me talking to her boyfriend. I smile and wink.]

Me: Hey, what’s up. Nice to meet another regular. We were just chatting about the Skins’ chances for making it to the show this year. [Did your clitoris just quiver?]

Her: [eyes wide] Um, hi there. [her voice sounds artificially chirpy.]

If I had a hidden camera I would have taken a picture of her face right at that moment. The expression of fear, shock, shame, and even the blush of arousal was priceless. I detected a hint of nipple hardening. The hamster on her brain wheel was spinning frantically.

Me: Well, anyhow, I’m gonna get back to my food. I don’t want somebody else to eat it while I’m away. Nice to talk with you guys. [I shot a white hot load across the bow of her chest. A blob landed on the pillow next to her head. The pillow you have pressed your face into while sleeping.]

***

Tyler Durden has written about the Secret Society. One where nearly all the attractive women, their best gay boyfriends, and a small number of alpha players share the bounty of glorious pussy. It is an organically emerged society no one talks about, or even recognizes as such. But exist it does, in practice if not in formality. Sluts are left to be sluts. Fidelity is an anachronism; a false morality for those ignorati outside the secret society. Everyone lives for good feelings. People who cause bad feelings are excommunicated. Everyone is cool. No one is beta. No one judges, no one pretends to care. The spice must flow. These are the rules.

Then a real sadistic prick comes along. A gatecrasher. A puppetmaster. The rules were made to be broken, he says. And he does. Gleefully.

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Girls And Politics

What do you do when a girl you are gaming brings up the subject of politics? Politics and religion are conversational buzzkills, no doubt, but sometimes when a girl is getting to know you she’ll be curious where you stand on political and religious matters. Usually, these are weird, emotionally unbalanced, nerdy girls who think that compatibility means you’re voting for her candidate.

One option is glib evasiveness. “Who am I voting for? I’m writing in Ron Jeremy. He’s a self-made man who knows that actions speak louder than words. That’s what this country needs right now — hard and fast.” If your date is a normal girl she’ll grasp your subcommunication and laugh a little while you change the subject.

Some guys who consider themselves inner game gurus would tell you to stay true to yourself and answer girls candidly when they ask questions about your politics. In this way, you screen out girls whose beliefs violate your manly principles. How noble. This strategy fails when EVERY girl of fuckable age shares the same political ideology. Here in DC, if you aren’t a flaming liberal, you’ll wind up screening out all your dates and living like a celibate hermit. (9% voted for Bush in the last election. 1% of those were girls. 1% of those girls were unmarried.) But at least you and your hand will have the satisfaction of sticking by your principles. This is lipstick on a pig game; the outcome sucks but you dressed it up real purty for yourself.

What I find peculiar about people who live in DC, and particularly the single girls of this fine City in the Abyss, is their oblivious penchant to assume you share their politics and think exactly like them. For a bunch of SWPLs that speak so eloquently of diversity and tolerance they have a hard time putting their principles into practice. It’s dehumanizing groupthink, but that’s always been a key ingredient of any quasi-religious revival. The upside is that you don’t get asked your politics too often, since they are assumed. Until election years roll around…

During the last fevered election, I had a number of dates who pressed me for my political beliefs. The matter was of utmost importance to them, or so they claimed. I used to evade. But that sometimes sounded wishy-washy. I tried blatantly lying to the girls I didn’t want as long term prospects. That worked, but then I had to deal with listening to them drone on and on about some pet lefty cause like the superiority of Europe over America or the evils of the wrong kind of white people. I got my revenge the morning after when I turned to look at her, brushed aside a wisp of hair, and tenderly whispered in her ear “By the way, remember that conversation about politics we were having yesterday? Well, I’m a huge fan of the Second Amendment. I love guns.” You never saw such a Hallmark moment.

Finally, I switched to telling them the truth, no hedging or excusing.

“I’m a libertine capitalist. I understand the limits that human nature places on ideology. Politics is not a religion substitute for me, so it doesn’t have much importance in my life. I don’t even vote.”

The trick here is I’ve avoided the typical political platitudes, code words, and shibboleths that would trigger her inquisition reflex. I’ve been truthful in a disarmingly eccentric way; one that naturally leads the discussion away from political posturing into more fruitful avenues of discussion. The phrase “human nature” can lead straight into a conversation about “social dynamics”, and then onto “girls have dirtier minds than guys”. Now we’re cooking with gas!

If a girl asks which party you are registered with, tell her “Independent”. If you’re Republican, you telling her that carries too much baggage, true or not. Chicks dig mavericks. If you’re to the right of Genghis Khan, you don’t have to worry about disagreeing with her — most girls get turned on when a guy is unafraid to say what he means — but you don’t want to be argumentative, either. Arguing will kill the sexytime mood right quick. State your beliefs with conviction, then segue into a different topic. Don’t linger on politics like some Daily Kos junkie arguing the minutiae of what is ultimately bullshit in the grand scheme of things. Keep it vague and philosophically Zen-like. If she insists on knowing more about your opinion of preemptive warfare or the Fairness Doctrine, just hold up your hand and announce you are changing the subject because politics bores you, and it’s a horrible way to get to know someone.

Telling a DC replicant woman you don’t vote is like telling her you led a coup in the Congo to overthrow the local despot. She will be flabbergasted… and intrigued. Such a reaction is only possible when your god is your political party.

Them and us, always and forever…

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Mash Note To Chi Cha Lounge

Dear beloved Chi Cha
this ode is for you
if your lounge was music
it would be a Bachian fugue
many a lady whore
have i lured
to the glow of your blood red boudoir
appletini-stained sofas
hookah smoke swirled above us
drinks that hurt my bank account
greasy doorman checks us out
through it all you stayed my place
where i took my ladywhores for dates
staff smiled knowingly at my whore parade
and ran bets which dates i laid
Chi Cha you set the mood right
pussy opened up in your amber light
i gave you much in drink money
and you paid me back in liquored honeys

but then you went and fucked it up
you thought you weren’t douche enough
so you had people wait in a line
when clearly no one was inside
this policy is cheese
when it’s in NYC
but here in DC
it’ll kill your revenue stream
and so i’ve noticed lately
not many patrons i see
here’s a suggestion from me
toss the pseudo-Victorian love seats
and add a Wii.

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