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Anatomy of a pickup

The setting is almost as important as the seduction itself.

Your moves lose momentum in a shitty setting. 

For example, you spend an evening putting your moves on a desirable member of the opposite sex. (Or same, we are progressive here.)

Pick the perfect setting:

In a sports bar, with a group of friends to relax with, bumping soundtrack in the background to lighten the mood and a game on the giant screen to give that illusion of an important event.

That is a strong play.

Here is the opposite.

Her grandma died, you are a distant friend of the family, and decide that her grief stricken behavior gives you the green light.

If you hesitated longer than a second about which one was perfect, you really need to pay attention. (If it was the funeral you are either brutally ignorant or playing a darker game than most.)

While the previous two examples were just a test, it gives you a perspective to appreciate the awkwardness of the following.

Its a taphouse/grill/sportsbar setting.

Both parties have had a few drinks. 

It is a festive setting.

All the signs are there.

  1. She is doing the hair flip WITH the giggle. Everything he says is hysterical. (I can hear the conversation, it is NOT hysterical.)
  2. She is emphasizing sentences with a touch to his arm, he is responding with leaning in to touch her left shoulder and speak into her right ear. It is not that loud.
  3. He has his wallet out and keeping the alcohol flowing. She discretely told her cock-blocking wing woman to take the night off. (She didn’t say that, but its more fun than saying she mouthed the word “GO” to her friend.)

The scene is set for a romantic evening. 

If it goes on too long, they both run the risk of getting too drunk.

For him, that means that she may drift past horny and enter an emotional state where she just cries and talks about her ex.

For her, that means he exits perpetual hard on state and enters what is known as “whiskey dick”. It means that the alcohol robs him of his erection at gunpoint, demanding a ransom of sleep and will not return it until then. (Alcohol seems friendly, but it is NOT a friend.)

However, it doesn’t look like that will be a problem.

Even over the noise of the crowd, I clearly heard “Would you like to go?” along with her immediate head bob.

There is no game of “Go talk” or “Check out my friend’s party” or even the completely ridiculous, but shockingly successful “You should hear the new speakers in my car”. (That is pulling out of a pretty successful playbook right there.)

So they go. 

I wish them well.

He risked a lot of embarrassment if she shut him down loudly and publicly.

She risked a crapload more just because the biggest danger to her is, well, him.

You always hope they are having a fun and lively sexual romp for the evening and might even be the beginning of something for them.

Or she might have smelled chloroform for the first time and he is feeding her into the trunk at this moment. (He better hope her dad isn’t Liam Neesen. Because he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you want. If you’re looking for ransom, I can tell you he doesn’t have money… but what he does have is a very particular set of skills. Over 10 years and that movie still rocks.)

So lets hope we see them having grand slam in the morning and talking about their second date.

(But just in case, I know somebody who claims they know Neesen’s publicist, thats a start..)

 
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Posted by on December 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The Turd Burglar

Usually, I get to Starbucks and then things happen.

But today, everything started without me. 

When I got to Starbucks, the police had been there for awhile. 

Nobody got hurt, but it was an odd little shit show for a brief period.

Now, I am not one to judge…..

Ok, even I can’t bullshit that one, I am nothing but judgement. 

I think I would be happier if I could add jury and executioner to the list. 

But let me continue. 

In my completely unbiased opinion, the tweaker piece of shit in the back of the patrol car was not a good looking guy before he discovered his deep and abiding love of meth.

Let’s call him El Diablo.

The broken table I am still trying to figure out.

The urine on the sidewalk is also a mystery. 

According to several people who responded to my inquiry of – “What the hell was that?”

  • El Diablo was briefly in line at the cashier and was “Gacking bad”. (Still Googling that one, no clue.)
  • El Diablo may or may not have had his dick hanging out. (The couple that told me this are split on this. She says no, he says yes. My opinion? Why is he checking out El Diablo’s package?)
  • El Diablo (Let’s jump the gun and just call him The Suspect, shall we?) anyway, the Suspect then knocked  over a display of expensive coffee beans, then began screaming and cursing until the police arrived. (Actually, it was just a display of coffee beans, they are all expensive. When was the last time someone said “I can’t believe how cheap coffee is these days.?”)
  • The Suspect, when officers were taking him to the car, stopped in one spot on the sidewalk, refused to move, then pissed himself. (This is one of the greatest protest moves ever. Kind of like a karmic “You can’t fire me, I quit!”)

Police officers are notoriously closed mouthed about what goes on when they are investigating something.

However, you catch the right cops on the right day…

I walked by two cops laughing quietly off to the side. 

“So I told him that if he has any drugs on him, its a felony to take them into the station. He immediately ponies up that he has a baggy up his ass. I ask why, and he says – I always keep my drugs in my ass, then I can’t be robbed!” (This sentence is just wrong. I keep looking at it to see if there is spelling or grammar issues. There are none, my mind is just balking at the content.)

Then the other cop’s reply made my day.

“Except by the turd burglar!” 

Oh my God.

I almost pissed the sidewalk myself.

Take him away boys.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Hate and mimosas

There is hope for the world.

And its called Football.

Not European Football, not that I have anything against the LGBT community, I am a big supporter.

But Are you ready for some football?

It is Sunday and I am in a sports bar near the beach.

The place is packed and the NFL is on every wall.

And we are all Americans here.

There is a comradery among football fans that seems to be ignoring what the media tells us is impossible.

I just saw two Detroit Lions fans, total strangers of different races, embrace over a touchdown.

The fact that their team sucks is irrelevant to these men, they are tied together by their devotion to a team of ne’er-do wells who are mostly convicted felons.

Moving on.

There is a lot of smack talk, but, due to the setting, it is all but ignored.

Like the first hour of snow, it doesn’t stick.

However, like a decent snow storm, if it goes on for too long, it will not only stick, it will start to pile up.

The snow analogy might be a good one.

Because when it gets REALLY bad, these bastards will start eating people.

And that is when it all goes to suck.

Speaking of suck, my beloved Chicago Bears are currently losing their ass to that gang of thugs from Detroit.

Being a Bear’s fan is a lot like being in an abusive relationship.

You get hurt a lot, they are always sorry, and you hope for a better future.

In other words, its been a rough season.

Between the ambience of a great sports bar and the advent of online gambling, Sundays during Football season could not get any better.

And then you add mimosas.

Not something I would normally look for, the mimosa.

But, they are flowing like water and I love to go with the flow.

Champagne has the evil tendency to get you drunk quicker, its the bubbles, I am told.

It also makes the room loader, which makes me have to speak louder just to be heard above the din.

Plus, its a lot of fun.

And then, Myra came in.

Myra is not happy to discover she is in a sports bar.

I can see her confusion.

I mean, that REALLY FUCKING BIG sign out front that clearly states “Sports bar” can be misleading.

Top 3 Myra comments:

  1. “Is all the noise really necessary?” (Its a sports bar, you dipshit.)
  2. “Every TV is showing a different game, that seems so confusing. (This is a general sports bar, not a specific team bar. That is a fine point that I feel Myra is incapable of understanding.)
  3. “I am not really into sports.” (YOU ARE IN A FUCKING SPORTS BAR.)

So, beside frowning at everyone, Myra has been been making little comments to her neighbors.

And then it hits me.

Myra is sober.

There is nothing more irritating to a sober person, than a bar full of inebriated people.

Time for a social experiment.

I call the waitress over and have her take a tray of mimosas to Myra’s table.

She is not allowed to say who they are from.

This is not the high end move it sounds like, the mimosa special makes them ridiculously cheap.

After a little fluster and questioning of the waitress, the mimosas are accepted.

Myra and her table toast the room in a sign of good faith.

And the rest goes like clockwork.

They order the next round a few minutes later, alcohol being like potato chips, you can’t have just one.

In short order, Myra has stopped bitching and has become a rowdy personality.

Turns out she loves the Cowboys, predictable, but a good sign.

So, here are the results of my little experiment.

Alcohol can solve most problems.

The results don’t lie.

Are you ready for some football?

(And a few mimosas?)

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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People fear change for a reason.

First day of the 2016 and the blog is late.

Off to a great start.

Blame it on management.

They refuse to give me holiday pay and I don’t work for free.

There are two holes in that little plot line.

First of all, I am management.

Second of all, I do this for free. (Or at least for such a small amount that it qualifies for “Labor of love” status.)

I could play the sickness card, I have had one of the worse little bouts of sinus/asthma/respiratory sickness than I have had in over a decade.

Here is why that card can’t be played.

I don’t drive a bus for a living.

Blog writing can be done sitting up in bed. (I know this because many of them have been done in just that fashion.)

So what excuses are left?

I got nothing.

Default to Holiday laziness.

It was actually kind of nice to not have to go out for New Years eve for once.

I am getting too old for unrestricted partying.

Some of the greatest nights of my life have been on New Years.

Some of the worse as well.

Top 3 best:

  1. An Epic evening of trying to show a friend from out of state how awesome Southern California is. We went out, got in a fight, found a party at random, took over that party, drank all their liquor, fondled their women and existed a Gods for a small period of time. The friend referred to that as the greatest night ever.
  2. Asked a women to marry me and she said yes.
  3. Spent a scandalous evening having sex in a bed/jacuzzi/couch with an amazing woman that I broke up with soon after, but what a memory.

Top 3 worst:

  1. While drunk and belligerent, I was held by the police on unspecified charges in Hermosa Beach, CA.  I was released in time for breakfast without being given any specific reason why.
  2. I was given back an engagement ring on New Years.
  3. This one is tough to describe without discussing things I don’t discuss here. I had a moment of clarity on New Years Eve and realized that a major part of my life was ending and it was terrifying.

But it is 2016 now.

Lots of things will happen this year.

Both good and bad.

But what kind of year was 2015?

Brutal and Beautiful.

It started off brutal.

Jobs ended, relationships ended (Some abruptly), close relatives died.

And then it got better.

New activities happened, new jobs materialized, new relationships are in the works.

Should be a good year.

Right up until something decides to take a shit on the goodness.

Here is the difference between goodness and badness.

When things are good, the goodness does not seem to go after the badness.

When bad happens?

Its almost like revenge prison sex.

Like bad is taking something way too personally and is out to get goodness.

Should be an interesting year.

Despite my vicious and somewhat cruel nature, I wish you all well in this year.

As long as it does not get in the way of my own happiness.

Some of you get that, and some of you are convinced I am kidding.

Whatever works for you.

Take care, and if all hell breaks loose and you need help?

Don’t call me. (Unless you are a blood relative or at least married into the clan.)

 
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Posted by on January 1, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Karma is now my personal hitman.

High school reunions are always a dicey thing, at best.

However, and this comes from crashing several high school reunions for years that I did not graduate in, but there may be a reason why some of us never stayed in touch.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some people I really enjoyed seeing. People that only life and circumstance has kept from hanging out with.

And then there are some that, 10 seconds after you start talking to them, you realize why you last saw or thought about them was in high school itself.

As a last minute thing, I recently went to a reunion for a year I did not graduate in.

Here is why it was last minute. Although I clicked on the “Going” button on Facebook, I was not planning on going, I was just tired of it sitting in the Invites section, staring at me.

It was in a beach city bar that I once got wildly drunk in and almost beaten to death. Call me superstitious but I am a big believer in bad vibes.

However, I found myself walking thru the front door.

And it was fine, I ran into a few people that totally reminded me of why that was one of the best periods of my life.

I also ran into a few that make me sooooo happy we were not closer back then.

A bitch rarely ages well, and there is a special brand of fugly that happens to the “Uber” bitches of our youth.

 Before you go all feminist on me, the primary bitch in my mind is a guy.

Several others were, in fact, women. That being said, I am kind of blind, sexism wise, on the subject of dislike.

Here are my top 5 reasons for dislike overheard at the reunion:

1. “She and I have hated each other since high school. She’s a slut”. (Translation- My boyfriend back then slept with her because I was holding out. I am incapable of blaming him.)

2. “She has hated me since high school, I don’t know why.” (Translation- I knowingly slept with her boyfriend back in school and I am incapable of blaming myself.)

3. “That chick is crazy.” (Translation- I cheated on my girlfriend with her in highschool and I am incapable of blaming myself.)

(Side note: Are you beginning to pick up on the Peyton Place/Jerry Springer drama here?)

4. “I hated you in high school.” (Translation- During the most insecure time in my life, you scarred me for life.)

5. “You were hysterical in high school.” (Translation- I took a lot of voyeristic pleasure in watching you torment others.)

And the only one I regret not hanging out with is the one I tormented. Its for the better, I was a rotten friend back then.

Now, here is the section of the blog were I get into the exciting part.

Just about every woman I went to high school with are at an intoxicating peak of hotness.

Its incredible what happens to a woman after she is done being a scared kid.

There is a level of confidence that only time can give but under the right circumstances, it can hit like a sensual meth for the libido.

Like a kid in a candy store.

But everybody, man or woman alike, breaks up into 3 catagories.

The first category is those friends who hit nirvana at some point, either married or not. They are worth a fortune, don’t talk about their money and seem genuinely happy.

Fuck em. I distrust these people on an instinctive level.

The second group is those who have kind of gone a different route. They have fucked up a lot since high school, but this seems to be the age that they get it together. They are innocent, like children, without that negative connotation.  They are warriors, fighting for every inch to regain ground they lost. More power to them.

The third group are my people. The functionally damaged. We are married or divorced and not wildly happy about one. If the career is high end, the relationship reads like a horror movie. If the career has had some rough turns, the relationship usually sucked in the past and they are on a better road. But the baggage is there, and the stories are better.

These are people who need to unwind.

And, sometimes, you find a little peace in the chaos. A little ray of sunshine among the dark. Some woman age well and then there are the ones that kill it. Always an odd thing to suddenly be overwhelmed by the earthy sensuality of a woman who is empowered and knows what she wants.

Enough said.

In all, I am glad I went, ran into some old friends, saw some old trash I once knew, and met one or two new friends.

And who doesn’t need some new friends?

In all, everyone seemed to have a good time, some more than others. Some, like the poor unfortunate that was being fed into the back of the police car as I was leaving.

Turns out she was the one who hated me, way back when.

I hate you too, sweetie. (And yes, I did laugh)

 
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Posted by on September 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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No shooting till I get my coffee.

“I paid for that fucking cup, and I can have whatever I want in my cup, bitch!”

Ok, so I added the “bitch” part, but I really feel like it was implied.

I am not sure if the guy who is hassling the cashier at this particular Starbucks is homeless, but I am sure he is drunk.

And so does the cop sitting in the back.

You can tell by the seated body language.

A little bit of tension that was not there before, right hand unconsciously moves closer to the holstered side arm.

I suddenly became interested in something a foot further back in the cooler case, this puts me further away from the drunk and more importantly, out of the line of fire if the officer “handles” it.

It seems the issue the drunk has his smelly panties in a twist over is that, since he bought a $2 cup of house drink, he can drink half of that, then demand that they refill it with a cappuccino.

It doesn’t work that way.

Thats like Ordering a hamburger, eating have and telling them to give you a hotdog because you bought the wrapper.

“Personally, I hate cappuccino.”

Enter the policeman, big smile on his face, confusing opener.

This guy is a pro.

While gun play or a dive tackle would have made the morning a WHOLE lot more exciting, I am satisfied with the officer walking the drunk off.

You see, I haven’t gotten my coffee yet and mayhem would delay getting it.

And I just can’t have that.

The java monkey is an impatient mistress.

The drunk and the cop are sitting at a small table, chatting amiably.

The manager has sent over a cappuccino, free of charge.

Isn’t that just so FUCKING cute?

I hate the holidays.

If Thanksgiving was not last week, they’d be cleaning up the blood at this point.

I finally get my coffee properly creamed and sugared and I begin to feel better about all this.

Maybe its ok that the cop didn’t come on like a shark with blood in the water.

Lack of caffeine does that to me.

Five minutes later, I am in a different place, physically and java-wise.

I have decided to enjoy my coffee at the beach.

The air is crisp and cold, but the rising sun is warm.

Winter in Southern California.

Winter here is different than anywhere else.

Most people have winter’s that kill the unprepared.

Worst case scenario here?

You are temporarily cold and/or wet.

But never for long.

Winter is a slightly cooler summer with a less rare chance of rain.

And we like it that way.

Property values in Southern California are sky high and rents are never cheap.

Mornings like this are why that is.

It would be perfect if, while sipping my coffee and staring out at the ocean, if a pod of dolphins were to swim by, a flying V of geese were to fly by, something.

Instead a seagull shit on the railing and the spatter got on my arm.

Nature is vicious at times.

At least the coffee is hot.

 
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Posted by on December 6, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Peeing is tough enough.

I don’t like being mad-dogged at the urinal.

Let me pee in peace.

There is kind of an unspoken etiquette at the men’s room urinals.

It is a lot like being in prison.

For the most part, guys are convinced that a possible prison rape seen could happen at any moment.

Its a tense atmosphere for most guys. Except the guys that are in the men’s room, looking for love.

Me? I don’t need any new friends.

That being said, could you look lovingly into someone elses eyes for 2 minutes?

No offense. This is a don’t ask, don’t tell. I don’t ask because I don’t want to be told.

Let me set the scene.

There are four stand up urinals against the wall, with the door on the right.

If I take the one 2nd from the left, that leaves one between me and the wall and two between me and the door.

If you come in, please take the one furthest from me, it causes the least trouble.

If you take the one next to me, on my right with the door, you will interrupt my urinating as I wonder if there is an attack coming.

And god forbid you take the one between me and the wall. At this point, I am done urinating and I KNOW you have an agenda.

And I don’t need to have my urinating interrupted. I am at that age where any issue with the flow has me worrying about my prostate. You have to watch that sucker like a hawk.

Back to the urinal.

I realize how all of this sounds. There are some of you screeching “Homophobe!”

And?

I think a little fear is good for you.

So is guilt.

Keeps you on your toes, your head in the game.

I was raised Catholic, so the whole fear and guilt thing goes with it and I get that.

We keep getting away from the urinal and I am starting to think that it is an ok thing.

Urinals smell horrible.

Ladies don’t realize how bad men’s rooms are.

I always refer to them as the Monkey Hut.

Like at the zoo.

Shit on the walls is unpleasant, but not all that unexpected.

Men will pee on the seat, on the floor, the wall.

You name it.

I once read a news article about a man who had never used a public toilet. He spent a huge amount of time travelling from work to home to use the bathroom.

The more I think about that one, the more I think that it would be awesome.

It would be clean.

It would smell nice.

And no one would maddog you mid-pee.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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