I went back to homecoming at one of my alma mater’s last weekend. It was a fucking blast. I just didn’t give two shits and a fuck. I flew on instinct.
I didn’t want to come back to Milwaukee on Sunday. I didn’t want to start the work week. I wanted to stay at my old university and get drunk and chase ass 24/7.
I was depressed during the four hour interstate drive back. Then my front driver side tire blew out.
I didn’t get excited. In fact I thought it was rather cool. It was liberating. I changed the tire while semis blew past me only a few feet away going 80 MPH. It was delightful.
I got about three hours of sleep that night. At work the next day I felt like Tyler Durden. Not the fake Tyler Durden from Real Social Dynamics but the real Tyler Durden from “Fight Club”. I wanted to photocopy the rules of Fight Club and leave them for my boss to see. Maybe even photocopy my ass and taint.
I started drinking energy drinks like water. Caffeine, taurine and high fructose corn syrup are my friends.
I knew I should make a post on this blog but I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to talk about “The Pickup Artist” or Neil Strauss’s new book. I didn’t want to create some post about overcoming a three letter acronym. I didn’t want to pepper the post with unrelated random pictures of hot girls in different stages of undress.
LMR … IOI … DHV … AFC … PUA … AMOG. Bitch please! Not even Steve Urkel or Doogie Howser would talk with that quantity of acronyms and obscure terminology.
I did not want to “sarge” with my “wings” and use time constraints and threaded canned material.
I don’t give a flying fuck what some girl thinks about tattoos or which sex lies more. I don’t want to give girls “best friends tests” or the “cube”. I rather stay home and masturbate if it comes to that.
I don’t want to set around and drink overpriced beer that comes in green bottles from countries I couldn’t even point out on a map and argue about who the greatest pick up artist in the world is even though none of us has ever met any of the ones we are trying to make our case for.
I want to drink a $1.89 forty of Colt .45 wrapped in a brown paper bag. I want to smoke cheap little cigars that look like poop-stained cigarettes.
Honestly, I just want to go out where I want to and talk to women that I want to about what I want to talk about. I don’t want to be pushed into “sets” by some self-proclaimed “guru”. I do not feel the need to prove my pick up abilities to some dude who prior to tonight I only knew by a forum name with some form of the word “cat” in it.
I do not want to read other PUA’s lay reports. Wow, you used the “cheating boyfriend opener” on a girl at Starbucks then “negged” her and defeated “LMR” to “F-Close” her. Good for you. You’re such a unique snowflake. Here’s some validation for you: whoopity shit! I so care about your your little sexual conquest. It’s called a Monday for most people.
I’ve always been good with women when I’ve been comfortable with them. Sometimes I still get approach anxiety. Sometimes I am not in the right mindset when I go out. I think I think too fucking much. I’m done thinking and I’m done caring.
I’m feeling different. A lot has changed in a week. Part of me is scared by my new attitude. Most of me feels promise of good things to come from my new attitude.
I will say there is bound to be some interesting posts in the immediate future.
You guys have all met me during a strange part of my life.
Now you must excuse me while I go out and burn my ying/yang coffee table.