A late 20-ish/early 30s woman with a passing resemblance to Jennifer Connelly sat down on the springless couch to my right, relieved that she found a spot to sit in the crowded coffee shop. She sunk all the way in like a turtle retreating into its shell, and I smiled and told her the couch already ate two people. She laughed while pulling out a laptop.
My laptop was in front of me, perched on my thighs. In between spurts of typing I reached to sip from a cup of dragon well green tea and to munch on toasted focacia with slices of brie. Because my balls weigh that of ten men, I am secure enough to write the previous sentence. Immediately, my thoughts drifted to meeting this woman and how I could best use my supranatural Lucifer-given talents to accomplish that.
I waited for ten minutes to pass. When a woman is forced by circumstance to loiter in your proximity, it’s best not to jump on her right away. A man must leave an impression that his interest in a nearby woman only piqued after his mind stopped being preoccupied by whatever he was doing before she arrived. So I continued typing while pretending her stimulating looks hadn’t yet registered in the cock-shaped part of my brain.
Finally, I delivered my opener.
“I’ve never seen someone so engrossed in their work. You writing the next great American novel?”
Standard operating procedure. I’ve used the line many times, although it felt fresher this go round. Perhaps I was inspired by my latent decision to toss caution to the wind with what was about to come.
She chuckled at my opener, and answered with the confident voice of a woman who is used to sparring with men.
“Not quite. More like the next great American Excel spreadsheet.”
A good-looking woman with a genuine sense of humor? Did I sell my soul to the devil in a dream? Oh wow, I’d better not screw this up. My game has to be super tight! No margin for error. Just dance with the script that brought me here. No need to improvise. Stay the course!
“Ooh. My Mom warned me about women who use Excel.”
“Oh, really?” she playfully parried. “And what did she warn you about?”
“They’re bad news. They can analyze a man and know what he’s all about in two seconds.”
“That sounds like a great gift to have!”
We chatted for five more minutes. She was slowly hooking. Eventually, the conversation found its way to a point where I could deliver the following line.
“Luckily for me, I’m totally inscrutable. For instance, I’m definitely not writing an Excel spreadsheet. So you can try not to be so obvious when you peer over my shoulder to see what I’m writing.”
“You certainly think highly of yourself.”
“I’m just a boy trying to figure it all out.”
“Is that what you’re writing about? Figuring it all out?”
“Sort of. I write a dating and relationship blog. Unfortunately, it’s pretty popular. So I have a lot of stalkers. Cost of doing business, I guess.”
“A dating blog?”
“And relationships.” I show her the front page of the Chateau.
“And you’re citizen renegade?”
“Among other names.”
“So, if you’re such an expert on dating, why are you still single?”
“The better question would be: Why *wouldn’t* I still be single?”
“Oh no, you sound like trouble.”
“Wow, the prison warden said the same thing to me.” She smiled and I let a few seconds of silence break the badinage.
I put forth my most serious face. “Hey, I have a confession to make…”
I love the ‘confession’ line. It’s like a mini insta-vulnerability game pebble that I can toss into almost any conversation to boost the girl’s intrigue. Plus, it makes girls a wee bit nervous, wondering if I’m going to confess to something really sordid that would make them too horny to control themselves.
“My blog is pretty controversial. I write about the dark side of human social dynamics as well. People with closed minds would probably not be able to understand. So if you find yourself curious, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I suppose now I’m going to have to take a look some time.”
“Hey, listen, I’ve got to run. But before I do I’d like to grab your number so our conversation doesn’t have to stop here for all eternity.”
This is my new number closing line. So far, I like it.
We exchanged numbers. The next day, I called her and set up a date that evening. No need to wait two days. She wasn’t an early 20s flakeriffic chick. The date went well, and we ended with a kiss. My blog was discussed, briefly, when she asked if I was really like my blog persona in real life. After I assured her I was (and make no mistake, it was assurance she secretly wanted), we went salsa dancing. A kiss to close the night, and I told her I had a good time. I didn’t set up a time for a second date. Never make plans for a future date while on a date. It reeks of urgency. Best to just tell the girl you must go, and you had a good time. Leave her stranded knee deep in the wonderment of her uncertainty.
I admit that using my blog as proof of status to pick up girls is cheesy. One of my goals in writing this post was to show just how powerful raw status game can be for a man. There was very little in the way of calculated technique-based game as is commonly understood used in this pickup. Instead, I relied on the crutch of high status within my endeavor of choice.
Cheesy, and effective.
She will probably read this blog post, so what I’m about to write may cost me, and her, a chance to see where this will lead. Or not. As I walked home from that first date, I asked myself if I really wanted to date the kind of girl who would be intrigued by what I write on this blog. If past experience is prologue…
But that is an answer for another time.