November 2006

I am surrounded by a table filled with women. All of them beautiful with glimmering eyes and inviting smiles. All of them potential conquests.

I am sitting back in my chair, relaxed and confident. I don’t speak often; it is not necessary as I let my eyes do the talking. My gaze slowly moves around the table from one beauty to the next. Each one its own affair. Each one its own little plot. I look deep into their eyes and caress their souls. I know I have overcome them when their bodies go limp, melting into their chairs. It thrills me to know that I have given them pleasure; that I have given them the hope of romance.

The band is playing now. I gesture for one of my beauties to meet me on the floor. We dance. Not too fast and not too slow. I dazzle her with my footwork. She dazzles me with her exuberance.

My attention is averted when I see another beauty. She is a stunning woman. There is an air of boldness around her. She moves gracefully like a princess. Her dance is seductive. She attracts the gaze of every chump in the bar, but they are no match for her. She is too skilled. She is too powerful. She is a temptress.

My temptress is accompanied by an older fellow. He has the look of a rich man but the mind of a fool. I can see it in his mannerisms, he is clumsy and awkward. Worst of all he is needy. He will never know the joy of giving a woman pleasure. He only exists to take for himself. He is not deserving of my sweet princess.

I continue to dance with my previous beauty, but my greed for love leaves me thinking only of the princess. Finally, I see an opportunity. The fool excuses himself to the restroom. I quickly seat my beauty and approach my target.

I come from the side and gently touch the back of her shoulder. She turns and looks into my eyes as if she has been waiting for this moment her whole life. I do not worry about what to say, the words aren’t important, it is the way they are conveyed that makes it seductive. I give her a backhanded compliment about her dancing abilities. She is taken aback, not used to this type of treatment. I entice her into some playful banter. She giggles at my brand of humor.

Enough of this talk. I only seek victory. I embrace the hand of my sweet and twirl her around. She allows me to move her body around the dance floor in the most elegant of ways. Our bodies synchronize. We are one. The world disappears. It is only us who exist. It is only us who inhabit this small area of floor.

I lock eyes with my siren. I have embraced her soul. Her powers are rendered useless. I pull her in close to me so that our noses touch. Our lips touch. Time stops. It is a simple kiss yet it is filled with passion. I can tell from her eyes that her heart is mine.

From the corner of my eye I see the fool approaching. I break unity from my sweet. He introduces himself. I have no knowledge of what he may have seen. Never the less, I befriend him. He is intimidated by my confidence. He knows that I am alpha to his beta. He supplicates and offers to buy me a drink which I accept only so that I can be alone with my love.

The fool proves not to be a complete idiot as he insists on keeping a watchful eye over us. It is no matter though for my eyes allow me to touch her body in ways that the fool will never understand. She knows what I am doing to her and she readily returns the favor.

The fool returns with my drink as if to bribe me from my intentions. It does not work. Seeing this, he only has one option, to get the princess as far away from me as possible. And so the fool and the princess retreat from the bar.

As she is being dragged away she looks back at me with her intoxicating gaze. She knows she will never see me again. I accept this knowing that we have already touched each other’s souls. It is over. I return to my table of beauties.

Saturday night started off to be very promising as we gathered our troops together for a night of going down in flames. I was dressed in a snazzy new outfit which was composed of older pieces of clothing that have been sitting idle in my closet. We had a plan to hit up a live show at a small venue near Boston University, likely to be filled with hot babes ripe for the picking.

As soon as I stepped out the door, the plan had changed. I was to meet one of my friends at the local tavern where he insisted on getting dinner and drinks to pre-game. I was reluctant, wanting to stick to the original plan, but soon gave in with his promise of being quick. So, I met him and my other wing, Stick, at the local watering hole.

Two 22oz. beers later we were entrenched in a darts game with no hope of getting to the show. We decided it best just to stick to the local bars in an attempt to not waste time on logistics. We finished our darts game and after being at the first bar for over three hours (with no attractive targets) decided to hit the next venue.

A quick jaunt down the street finds us at our next watering hole. This place, though slightly better in terms of females than the last was still disappointingly barren. The only thing to do were make conversation amongst ourselves and drink our beers.

We decided to finally hop in a cab and head closer towards one of the nearest college bars where there were sure to be some HBs. The next bar was far superior in quantity and quality of women, it was time to game. I opened several sets of HBs and rotated my time between the three sets. Eventually, I was blown out of two of these sets. The third, a two set, with HBboobs was looking quite promising.

Unfortunately, by the time I started showing signs of a solid pick up artist I had already consumed copious amounts of booze. I am not sure what ended up transpiring with HBboobs because the fire water has burnt this part of my memory from existence. From what I was told the next morning, I ended up mumbling some sort of incoherent drivel in an attempt to get the girl’s phone number only to be shot down with a look of disgust. Apparently, we had also went to yet another bar, in which I preceded to try to fight a guy three times my size. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed and I was not pummeled into the ground (thank-you wingmen). Somehow I ended up in my bed only to awake to a floor covered in potato chips.

So what went wrong with this night? Clearly, my over eagerness to drink got the better of me and my game suffered severely for it. Recently, I have been toning down my drinking so that I may be wittier in my bar conversations, however tonight was just shameful. If I truly want to be a man capable of sweeping women off their feet, It’ll be necessary that I not become an intoxicated fool.

Last night I got a call for a Thursday night out. The occasion was that my friend from NYC was in town doing some work so naturally we had to get the old crew together. It ended up being a weird sarging night with some high points and some very pathetic low points. Here is what transpired.

We decided to hit up a small bar downtown. It is usually a hoping place with many many fine women. With this decision, I thought I should take advantage of doing some pick up artist practice that night before meeting up with my friends.

I left for the bar early with the intent of sarging for a good half hour to an hour before my friends would arrive. When I showed up the place was indeed filled with beautiful women, however, it was also filled with tons of dudes as well. No matter, most of the guys seemed pretty AFCish anyways.

I walked in dressed in my stylish Thursday night garb feeling confident, walking tall and smiling at anything that crossed my path.

OK, time for the first set, 3, 2, 1, go. I approach the corner of the bar where there is a woman sitting by herself with two green drinks sitting in front of her. She is neither pretty nor ugly but it’s not important I had to get this first one out of the way. The other drink in front of her indicated that she was not alone, I had to work fast. Shit, I get interrupted by the bartender who asks if I want a drink. I quickly say I’ll have a Sam’s. I turn towards the woman about to deliver my “ecto-cooler” opener when a dude swoops in from nowhere to divide me from my target.

I decide not to let the dude deter my plan. I address the two of them at once, “Hey, that’s a weird drink, what is it?” The man answers that it is a midori sour. I say to them, “It looks kind of like ecto-cooler koolaid! Do you remember that drink?” He replies that he does remember it then turns to ignore me. The woman who’s face had not cracked a smile the whole night had brightened up at my comments. She was clearly ready to be entertained as her male friend was doing a terrible job. The man who probably new my intentions quickly squashed the woman’s fun by dragging her to another location in the bar. The set had blown out.

For some reason this first set had put me out of state. My confidence was starting to slide. I was rattled for some reason and my plan to open a bunch of sets no longer seemed doable. I sat down near the bar, drank my beer and wasted several perfect opportunities to approach. I did not open any other sets until my friends arrived.

Luckily, I have such great friends, that as soon as they entered asked me why I wasn’t already hitting on the ladies. I give them some poor excuse that they won’t accept. They reassure me that I am “the man” and tell me to start approaching. This is just what I needed, a little nudge in the right direction.

I immediately grab the first hot waitress (HBlegs) walking by and say that my friends need some drinks. She takes their orders and asks for mine in which I calmly reply, “I’ll have a Shirely Temple please.” The look on her face was priceless, she was stunned.

HBlegs: Are you serious?!
Savage: yea
HBlegs: really? you want a Shirley Temple?
Savage: yes
HBlegs: you realize there is no alcohol in it?
Savage: oh well, maybe you can spice it up a bit for me
HBlegs: what do you mean? add alcohol to it?
Savage: use your imagination. surprise me.
HBlegs: ok (she leaves with a big grin on her face)

As HBlegs is leaving my friends crack up laughing at my antics. She comes back rather quickly, about five minutes later with our drinks. She approaches with the same grin on her that she had left with.

HBlegs: ok, here is your Shirley Temple
Savage: ah yes, it looks tasty
HBlegs: that will be six dollars
Savage: What! Six dollars for a Shirley Temple! (said smiling and in a playful way)
HBlegs: well, the price goes up when you add vodka
Savage: jeeeesh, maybe we should have left the vodka out then
HBlegs: no, trust me it’s more fun this way:)

I pay her and she leaves still grinning.

I was very pleased with my interaction with HBlegs as it would set the stage for flirting with her the rest of the night.

Now, in a much better state, me and my buddies hit the dance floor. We attempted to dance with the many hot sultry females. I made it a point to always be dancing while on the dance floor. It was important for me not to become a lurker (a guy who just stands on the outside of the dance floor staring and drooling). I ended up dancing with only one girl who at first seemed into it but for some reason her attitude changed and she left.

I was disappointed in myself. My dance game is normally pretty good and can usually hook at least several females into some sort of seductive dancing. The only thing that kept me from falling into a pit of despair was having fun with my friends and the frequent visits by HBlegs asking if I was ready for another Shirley Temple:)

Towards the end of the night, I had one last encounter with HBlegs. She had just served me my final Shirley Temple when I persuaded her dance with me. She did.

Savage: hey, how about we got out for Shirley Temples sometime when your not working?
HBlegs: (smiles) your cute (and she leaves)

Not quite the outcome I had wanted but at least the night wasn’t a complete disaster. My friends were tired and so was I. We left the bar and I got a ride home from my buddy.

Though there was some good vibing with HBlegs, I really did need to open more sets. Gaming waitresses is kind of a wussy way to sarge. They are paid to interact and be friendly with the customers so it is obviously much easier to interact with them. I’ll be going out again tonight. Enough of this bullshit. It is time to man up and go down in flames.

If there is one element in the pick up artist world that I feel creates the most attraction, I would say it is the ability to tell good stories. I just recently began reading the memoirs of Casanova, The History of My Life, and though I am only 100 pages into it (out of 7,000) it has quickly become clear to me that one of Casanova’s main appeals is that not only did he have great stories but he was great at telling them too. So, how does one even get great stories to begin with? Simple, go on adventures and try new things.

This weekend I had some great opportunities to add to my collection of stories. The first thing was going to a Guns N’ Roses concert. I was on the floor in front of the stage rocking out to one of the greatest 80s bands in history. The whole concert was about as intense as you could get and I savored every bit of it. I didn’t even get home until 3:30 in the morning.

The next day, after struggling through work, I was off to my buddy’s lake house in upstate New York, where me and some old high school friends would have the time of our lives. One of the key story moments of this trip was when we decided to go run naked into the freezing cold lake in the darkness of night. In the process of jumping into the lake I twisted my ankle which later swelled up to the size of a football. Now, if that is not good story material, I don’t know what is. All I have to do now is be able to tell it in an engaging and entertaining way.