A half decent descent.

No real apologies for the lack of prompt updates. I don't want to write uninspired writing and you don't want to read it. So, you're welcome!

At any rate, this is one of the more exciting stories about my dating life. Sell 9/10ths of your seat.

It was a cold enough September Thursday when I met KP. My friend was making out with her friend, and we looked at them, looked at each other, laughed. We were at a bar that was immediately adjacent to a 24 hour golden griddle. When it was time to wrap up and leave, we invited the girls for 3am chocolate chip pancakes.

"Order us some, we'll be there in a minute" we were told.

Expressing disbelief in her sincerity, we exchanged numbers and I told her I would call her in 20 when she didn't show up. Twenty minutes later, I left her a voicemail that I vaguely recall mentioned how she seemed smart enough to want to ever talk to me again. I hung up without saying goodbye.

For the next four days we were in a marathon text conversation. Nothing of consequence, but we agreed to meet up the next Wednesday to get Thai food or Vietnamese food. Not terribly important.

After food we hit up a bar in the area and drank more than we should have, but all was well. En route to transit, we jumped a fence and played around in a preschool playground. Fastforward a few minutes and I noticed some UHAUL trucks in a parking lot. We climbed onto the cube, where KP noticed a fire escape on the back of a nearby building. Emboldened by alcohol, we resolved to climb. As we got off the UHAUL, she slipped and fell and bailed hard on her ass. While this should have been an omen, she left her purse on the ground to be rifled through by a raccoon that ate her lip balm, and we made our move on the structure.

We scaled a small wooden fence, and began our ascent of the fire escape, making use of equal parts fire escape and tin roof of fire escape. Not the most challenging of climbs, but still a task for the inebriated.

Atop the roof, the view was awesome and the wind was unchecked. For no particular reason, the roof also had puddles. We hurdled some puddles (steeplechase?), and sat atop what I'm going to assume were vents and or ducts.

Before we headed down, I called her phone to ensure that she hadn't dropped it on the roof. Like a true gentleman, I assured her that if she had forgotten it up here it is gone because I am not coming back for it. I heard no ring, we headed down. Halfway down, there was a section that was barred off and was the most difficult part of both the up and the down. I began to head down while she declared, "That's too hard for me, I'll find another way". In true movie timing and fashion, as soon as this was known to the world, the section of tin roof she was standing on gave way and she fell ten feet to the iron fire escape below.

KP assured me she was not dead, and was adamant that though she had hit her head, there was no reason for concern. Not being a doctor, and not being the one injured, I agreed to her request that I prop her head up while she lay there and shrugged off a second serious bail. The remainder of the descent was uneventful, though realistically climbing up and down a fire escape ought not have been eventful in the first place.

Having found her purse contents strewn about the parking lot, she gathered her personal effects as someone leaned out a window of the building and shouted. We left, and blended in to the hundreds, nay, thousands of others that were drunk on a side street at 4am on a Thursday.

KP could not find her phone. We headed home to sleep away the booze and deal with the morning later in the morning.

--Epilogue--

KP had lost her phone in the playground. It was returned to her, in time. Also, she had a fairly large gouge in the back of her head. As her head was in my lap, she bled onto my jeans. The bloodstain is there to this day, because I lack the laundry supplies and the interest in the work to get it out.

KP has talked to me perhaps twice since then. I had fun, and it was certainly a memorable time. Perhaps the excess of alcohol and the head trauma caused it to be not memorable for her, though I stand by my statement that she seems smart enough to ever talk to me again. Time will tell.

Also, this is not her.

'Ironic' is ironic because it is not ironic. Can we finally just all be on the same page?

Just a brief update.

I know I promised hot chicks but this just made me laugh and sort of confused.

Check picture below! Was asked a few questions, was told that this could remedy my problem.

Nothing silly about it in itself, though many of my female friends have told me that being cocky is exactly what I shouldn’t be doing.

The last time I was sent this many mixed signals, I quit. fackkkk.

If you're havin hull problems i feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems but a breach ain't one.

I started re-reading THE GAME last night. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Game:_Penetrating_the_Secret_Society_of_Pickup_Artists
Yes, re-reading, meaning I own the book and have read it before. If ever you needed empirical evidence that my lack of game is a chronic condition, this may be it.

An interesting quote I ran into in the first few chapters is this one: "A man has two primary drives in early adulthood: one towards power, success, and accomplishment; the other toward love, companionship, and sex. Half of life then was out of order. To go before them [the pickup group] was to stand up as a man and admit that i was only half a man."
It's a bit to bear, for certain, but essentially accurate.
Perhaps I'll endeavor to spend December undertaking the Stylelife challenge (another book that yeah, i own. say something). that would make for exciting blogging, that is for certain.

Also, last silly picture for now, subsequent pictures will be of attractive girls. if you can find some sort of common theme and help me clear up what my "type" is, i'll make you dinner.

Single write male,

Today, I signed up on www.okcupid.com to peruse. I could try and play it off like it was some sort of lark but you really wouldn’t believe me, so I will say i was hunting for three wives with whom to move to Utah.

While this turned out to be a two hour detour into time wastopolis, I did notice a few things:

1) I have very little in common with attractive girls that use okcupid. most of my results that elicited any sort of “yay” were approximately 50% compatability. fuck em.

2) Of the few attractive girls that i scored highly with, 75% (which was only like three, don’t let the liberal media control how you think and feel!) of them were some variety of east Asian. I have no idea what this means.

3) the one attractive white girl i scored highly with, i am already friends with. awwwww yeah.

Even the internet is weirdly complacent in my lovelessness. After so much time together, I would have expected it to show me some love.

For shits and also for giggles, if you could describe me in one story, leave it in a comment. I’m soliciting you, fuckers, so do it.

Wanna run a race with a man who can't lose? Train hard eat right lace up your shoes.

I've gotten some guff for my shoes entry.

Exciting! It's good to know that people are reading, and it's also good to help dispel some of these misconceptions of what people think I'm into. It's nice.

I just got back from the gym tonight, and raised my record on deadlifts by 30 pounds last night. We're going to talk about girls and weight lifting.

http://www.stumptuous.com/

look through this, please. If you're one of them girls that won't lift weights because you'll get 'big and bulky', you are 1) ignorant and 2) too stupid to be considered as a long term (read - more than three months) option.

This, of course, excludes anyone with a legitimate excuse to not lift weights. like you have no arms and are in a wheelchair. Not the 'squats hurt your knees', not the 'deadlifts will ruin your back', not the 'bench will get rid of your boobs', not the 'i lift five pound weights to tone', not the 'weights will make me into a man' crews. You're stupid. all of you. Just like the religious fundamentalists and their "barack HUSSEIN obama is the negro jew devil" crap, you're not going to be able to convince me that the above is wrong, because at least for my bigotry there is no significant body of evidence otherwise.

That said, we'll move from the vitriol and on to the vitriSWOLE.

I'm a believer in the idea that different people are into different stuff because of what the brain tells someone is useful for evolution and satisfactory propagation of your genes. It's why I'm not into cute but stupid girls - if the kid ends up wth my looks and her brains we're going to have to put the child in a straight jacket to keep it from trying to eat the dog's poop. But i digress.

I've told many if not all of the girls who have asked me to help them exercise and quit two days later that there is much more to being feminine than being weak and worthless and able to run away for days at a time. In addition to being both aesthetically and viscerally pleasing, it's good to know that if half a shit goes wrong, your lovely lady won't be calling on you to move a brick that fell in her way. It may be why I'm into older girls, in that they don't act like younger girls. Again I digress.

The fact of the matter is that fat is like curtains in your windows, and muscles are like the furnishings in your house. It's all fine and good to spend a lot of time opening the curtains but if you have no furniture, you're going to look like a model house that someone (ie me) will tour and then find a better one with a nice sofa and a big TV. Yes, in a way, i just called your ass a dishwasher.

To put it into more relatable terms, I will definitely listen to a girl who looks like she can lift her own weight talk about her cat.

The time warp, let's do it again.

Here’s the plan.

I’m gonna admit that in most of elementary school and most of high school I was pretty socially retarded. You’ll accept that I am giving myself plenty of “do nothing like how you did any of that, ever again” and we’ll count that as me not soliciting the feedback you would have given me anyway.

That said, I’m also going to gloss over a lot of stories because let’s be honest sometimes (and yes, sometimes) succeeding with girls isn’t exciting enough to be ON THE INTERNET. I wouldn’t want my tales of moderate intrigue clogging up the internet for the bloggers that want to talk about conspiracy theories. I’m such a gentleman.

After all that build up, let’s move on to something totally not a story.

After some moderate discussion, I’m moving on to my talk about girls and their shoes. Be advised that, regardless of what I say below and how it comes across, I’m not some sort of shoe or foot fetishist. Be also advised that a hundred percent of it is total subectivity and a good three quarters of it will likely fly directly into the face of fashion and good taste.

Why is this important? Shoes tell a lot about a person. I’m not really able to provide concrete examples, BUT a girl who is going to think crocs are acceptable footwear ever is not on anywhere near the same page as me - or she’s 50 in which case it’s a moot point. To recap, this is not a fact based issue, so feel free to disagree but feel less free to talk to me about your feelings.

The Awful. (-1) - Essentially, a girl needs to be my friend before i see her wear these for her to stand a chance.

-anything with a large heel. Want your legs to look great? go to the gym.

-Crocs and Uggs. make you look like your mom dresses you.

The Acceptable.(0) -

-Ballerina flats. They look like canoes for your feet, but they’re so damned ubiquitous that if i ruled them out i would be a catheter away from my dick being just for show.

-Running shoes. they’re part of the TOTAL NERD dress code for dudes, so it’s only fair to hate on girls for the same reason - unless you’re in a place where you need to be able to run at any given time, or are legitimately wearing them for proper foot support.

-Flip flops. Enh. shoes hold in a lot of heat which is why i sweat a lot (ladies, one at a time!). some are obviously better than others, but don’t be surprised if you wear them to a dance club and they break (no i won’t carry you and no you can’t have my shoes).

-Wedges, stilettos (in a formal environment). Wedges ain’t too bad and stilettos at weddings are tolerable.

-Crappy or gaudy sneakers. “a shoe is just a shoe, whatever” crowd fits here.

The pretty sweet. (+1)-

-Awesome sneakers. Attention getting, not attention seeking. the subjectivest part of my rating scale!

-Pumas. You know the ones i mean. and if you don’t, think of the ones that sometimes have half the shoe cut away and look dumb. the full one.

-Birks. Can’t explain, but I dig em.

-Skate shoes. The best option.

The long and the long of it is that I put a lot of thought into my shoes and I expect a girl who is on my level to do the same. Since I’ve got a bit of vacant real estate in the area, we can call it an ideological difference.

Hey, we’ve all got our idiosyncrasies.

On the 8th day, god made the platypus and declared 'I've lost my edge'

It was second grade.

We’d just been seated and scattered in Mrs Macdonald’s class, and it was time to learn. Along the side of the rows and columns of seats, there was a girl. It was the type of seat that would have a 5 if second grade were minesweeper.

“How does it feel to be the only girl on this side of the class?”

‘I dunno.’

We were friends, somehow.

SA was a weird Italian girl with weird Italian friends with weird Italian last names. I didn’t really know what girls were, but i suppose her indifference enticed me.

We hung our coats near each other and said HI.

I wanted her. I didn’t know what for or what about, as those pieces and those urges were years from awakening. I suppose to play mario kart.

Over the course of the year, she asked for my phone number and kept losing it. I always asked, but she never explained why she wanted it so badly but couldn’t keep tabs on it.

One day she called me, as part of a dare. I didn’t have time to talk, or I might have invited her over to play some mario kart. I was good at mario kart. I was awful with girls.

Seventeen years later, little has changed.