Out of it

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I’m high on cold medicine. Normally, as a pretty healthy non-smoking vegetarian, I tend to skirt around the cold and flu season with ease. But when I do catch the snap, it is usually pretty swift and severe. This is going to be some Christmas vacation.

I’m heading back to Pennsylvania to spend some time with the family. Christmas in L.A. doesn’t seem to have the same appeal as spending it among the snow-coated Pennsylvania landscape. Derek has a new girlfriend that he wants to show off, and the whole family seems rested, relaxed and ready to celebrate the holidays like a normal family. By the way, I’m flying Heather out to meet the folks. But don’t read too much into it. Just a last minute decision on my part. She told me she misses the snow, and I decided to bring her along for the ride.

On the pickup circuit, nothing much has changed. I’ve been reading and sarging. I don’t want to become a clone of these guys' principles, because some of them are pretty wack. But I do like the overarching ideas that are being presented. From that, I can customize openers on my own. Many of which I have already crafted.

I had my first attempt at peacocking on Thursday night. I crashed BBQjunkie’s holiday party in the Marina. I wore a black suit, red striped shirt, green sequined ascot and mustache (Magnum, remember?). I got five number closes that night. Oh, and I was nervous as shit, but eventually a young Japanese girl was wearing my sequined scarf and rubbing her hands down my freshly waxed chest (yes, I did it again, x-mas present from Daniel). I could have closed the deal completely, but in my mind, even getting her to that point was closure enough.

My SAT scores were in as of yesterday. They have them by Web or e-mail, or mailed on 12/30. As eager as I am to learn the results, I wanted that feeling of going to my mailbox and pulling out a letter and staring at it like I did when I first took it. There are not many times in life when you get that opportunity, so I wanted to make the anticipation last as long as possible.

Finally, I hope everyone has a great Holiday. I will be flying back to Vegas on 12/30 and meeting up with Jim and Alex and a few other friends for New Year’s.

Read the Rest

The Tao of Game

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

Socially, I bridge a bunch of different groups. The elites, the dregs, the misfits, the Hollywood types. Ever since high school, I have been able to chameleon among diverse cliques with ease. I realized that somewhere hidden within that aspect of my life lies the key to my future as a PUA. That my ability to fit in may just be the characteristic that makes me stand out. Because before I teach seduction, I must learn it.

I have a theory about game. That it is only developed organically when it is needed, in almost a Darwinian circumstance. For example, I’ve got a few attractive male friends who are smart, funny around men, but get them in front of women and they start talking about Blockbuster memberships, as if anyone is really interested.

Then, there are the short, balding or bespectacled friends who throw down game that is resolute, firm and riveting. These obviously represent both extremes of the spectrum. The average guy develops game for romantic survival. The handsome guy relies on his looks to attract.

I don't tend to quote too many people, but one I remembered from college seems to apply to this principle, and I'm not going to waste my time googling its originator. But the quote is this: "Who you are speaks so loudly, I can hardly hear what you're saying," or something like that. I think that truly applies here.

Alex falls into the category a bit. Alex’s game relies upon gently cutting down other people’s game to elevate his own. But, because of his appearance, it doesn’t really matter. He could walk up to a Perfect 1O model, mouth "tuna fish" in her ear and wake up next to her. Alex recognizes how developmentally-disabled his game truly is, and has turned it into a bit of a challenge for himself. And although he has never used anything "gilled" in his pickup attempts, he does throw down some intentional bad game to see if he can close with it. I would liken it to fishing with a fox for bait. He tests the waters for himself as he tests them for others.

Jim on the other hand never gave a second thought to his game. In college, he was in a glee club for God's sake. But as long as I've known him as a struggling guy behind-the-scenes, he didn’t even care about getting his stink on anyone. He had passive game. But as his public persona began to emerge with his flourishing career, he found that money and sex were the major upsides of a lifestyle with a 10-1 ratio of bad things to good. So, like any smart guy, he decided to take what he could get. He didn't need passive, anti or any other sort of game. He just needed to be a recognizable face.

So, from my vantage point, the most dangerous guys are the handsome ones that have defied nature and developed super game. Maybe they were pudgy in college or a geek in high school. Maybe they just overcome the odds of handsome guys. But they’re the ones to watch out for. Because regardless of how their game is developed, these guys can swoop the girl right off your arm before you even know it.

The most glaring example is Madison. His ability to seduce a woman is second to none. He connects with his appearance, and closes with astrology. He is dangerous to both men and woman, and will serve as a role model for me for this mission. I imagine Madison was not always as attractive as he is today. But I could be wrong.

So, to try to bring things home with a sweeping generalization; in most cases good game is inversely proportional to looks. And that's why the first thing I’m going to do is not give Cali an image makeover. No, I will first develop his game and later develop the wrapper for it. It will be a true measure of my skill as a wing and tutor. After Cali gets one or two F-closes under his belt, I will begin the physical transformation. And as Cali’s game blossoms even more, I will introduce new wings. Jim has asked to be a special guest wing, and maybe that would add some roleplaying fun. Heather even offered.

But for now, there will be only one wing for Cali, and that would be me. I'm testing myself as much as I am him.

By the way, I have a new name among the seduction community, Magnum, P.U.A. It came courtesy of the striped one. Oh, and I'm growing a mustache. If Flanders can become a PUA, anyone can.

Let the game begin.

Read the Rest

AFC

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Four: Re-take the SATs.

The Circle Bar was chock full of MAWs, wanna-be goth chicks, beach barbies and the occasional Ice Princess. But as interesting as I found the zestful surroundings, I wasn't on the lookout for a girl. I was out to meet a boy.

That's because I finally figured out the mission. Something that would make me comfortable and add an additional dimension to the happenings. And, no, I'm not trying to pick up guys. But I wouldn't rule that out for future missions. You've gotta keep your options open, right?

Have I lost you yet? Well, for those few that are still around, here's the essence of things. I do ok with the ladies. I don't really want to go into the reasons why, but suffice it to say that me picking up girls is different than a 40-year-old chubby guy with pocky skin and a receding hairline. It is also different than an AFC (Average Frustrated Chump), who is defined in "The Game" as "a stereotypical nice guy who has no pickup skills or understanding of what attracts woman; a man who tends to engage in supplicative and wimpy patterns of behavior around woman he has not yet slept with."

I am not an AFC. No matter how much of an inferiority complex I tend to give off, one thing's for sure; The powers in the universe have endeared me with many splendid offerings to prevent such a term ever being used in my reference.

So last night I went out to find that guy. Not the ugly, strange guy who creepily lurks in the corner and still wears leather blazers. No, I was looking for the caterpiller to eat holes through the lollipop and sausage and cheeseblock. the caterpillar that would one day blossom into the butterfly. I would be the lollipop and sausage. He would be my student and together we would create the chrysallis.

Ok, so maybe I'm being too metaphorical (and a little homoerotic) but the bottom line is this; I will read, absorb and train a student in the ways of seduction, ways that I need to learn myself. I will wing a man with all my might. I will transform a man through the ability to manipulate and seduce a woman.

This is not something that can be done overnight, so I am not holding myself to a arbitrary 30-day period. My goal is to train my student to get five F-closes (PUA term for screwing)in however long it takes.

Last night, I found the man among men. He was neither attractive, nor unattractive. He was average. I watched him operate, he was needy and approached the woman all wrong. Most of the time it was from behind and he tended to lurk a bit (big no-no's among pick-up artists). He was frustrated, and based on the body language of the women he approached, he was a chump. Fucking perfect.

I named him Cali. It seems all PUAs have a nickname or handle. There's Mystery, Neil Strauss as Style and Grimble. Cali was a great name, but I realized I needed one for myself. So, I'm hoping one of you could help me on this one. I need a PUA nickname.

So that's it, the mission in a nutshell. It all works out for the best. I will be teacher and wingman. It's all about Rob Lowe, bringing people together, right?

It's gonna be a great new year.

Read the Rest

Player

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Four: Re-take the SATs.

I’ve been wearing the same jeans for five days now. Seems a while back I thought I could paint my apartment myself. Well, I couldn’t. I mean I did, but it was really pretty half-assed. And since Alex has been living at my place for free, he decided to do me a solid and bring some real painters to the rescue. The only problem is that my closet got taped up with plastic on it last Friday, and the only clothes I have are a few t-shirts and a pair of thread-bare Abercrombie jeans.

I love all your suggestions for the pick up angle. I’m the furthest thing from a PUA in the world. I think my game is anti-game at times. By not really pursuing, I tend to become the pursued, at least that's what I've come to learn about myself. My indifference to many hot women I meet is almost a mating call to them. But this is not part of my ploy. Most of the time I really don’t give a shit. At least I haven’t in the past. But maybe things will change.

The only thing I want to accomplish is to shake up my style and become the pursuer. I could be aloof and run my same old anti-game, but I’m not really putting myself out there. I need to leave a little more to chance, to actively pursue with the risk that I might not get it. I need to see if my powers of persuasion can pull without knowing I have it in the bag.

Can it? Can I be a pick-up artist? I don’t fucking know, but this is more about the risk than the reward. Remember, I’ve only slept with 11 chicks, and have probably turned down advances by at least that amount. And I don’t want to be a male slut or anything like Madison. Instead, I think I want to set some ground rules. I will kiss but probably not screw, get some digits, but probably not call. I’m really not sure. But I do need some boundaries or I will lose myself once again. And I don’t really feel like kissing another transvestite, at least in this lifetime.

Read the Rest

Accomplished

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Four: Re-take the SATs.

Air Supply was pumping in my car. It was Saturday afternoon and I had just completed what may be classified as one of the most simple tests in my life, the new SAT. And as I listened to the short guy with the tight designer jeans croon "I know all the rules and I know how to break them and I always know the name of the game," I thought maybe I'm finally learning them too. Madison was right about my inferiority complex, but maybe that was a first step for me. A flashpoint of self-actualization. And I finally realized that I am as good or better than other people, even if I sometimes act like I'm not. I am learning the game. I am becoming the Rob Lowe I always wanted to be. I am becoming him.

Syruppy music aside, I killed the test. I morphed into a hyper-intelligent caveman and ate it like a wild pig. Everyone in that classroom could feel my heat, could smell my presence, see the blood on my teeth and on my number 2 pencil. I was a man who was out to win. And although the outcome of this test had more of a bearing on my sex life than it did on my entire future, I was nonetheless hell bent on pure perfection. On December 19, I will find out just how successful I was.

Saturday night was a night of drunken debauchery, much like a coming-out party. I felt alive and stimulated. I had lost my virginity, had my first beer and took on everything else that night with a newfound fever. It was invigorating and awakening and was well worth the month-plus of seclusion from the outside world. I would do it again to recapture that feeling. But not anytime soon.

For my next mission, I am throwing around a few ideas. I truly enjoy those that have sex involved. Like I said before, I’ve been reading Neil Strauss’ bible on playerdom, “The game,” and may put those principles into practice. And before everyone gets all on me for Heather this and Heather that, we keep things casual. She could walk away at any moment, as could I. Our Saturday nights aren’t reserved for each other and there are no explicit or implicit calls for monogamy. In fact, the idea that other people are in play has come up without any conflict.

I’m thinking about some way to test out my pickup skills, but need a twist. Is there a number attached? What is my goal? Jim suggested I try to pick up chicks that only look like famous chicks, or ones that have mustaches, but I don’t know. I may have him wing me sometime around Christmas if I get desperate. But it all depends on how well I do as a PUA. Its really no testament to my skills if I have a famous guy wing me, but that may be a call-to-action to take things to a higher level.

So, I am taking suggestions. Anyone have any ideas for how to use this skill for a mission. Let me know.

Read the Rest

Tunnel Vision

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Four: Re-take the SATs.

I have officially alienated almost everyone in my life for this mission. It is amazing that the things that seemingly mean the least have a way of coming to the forefront of my occasion.

As much as I have gotten my shit together over the last few months, I have pissed it all away in this stupid challenge. This goofy little escapade has taken on a life of its own. I have preserved nothing of the last few months as I put blinders on to just about everything around me. I wonder if it is fate. If the gods wanted to build me up to bring me down. I have delusions from studying. I sometimes wonder if I am mentally ill, but wake up the next morning with an erection and no recollection.

Alex is taking this whole thing much less seriously. Truthfully, it doesn’t surprise me. And you know what, he will probably do as good or better than me. It is something I have come to terms with in my 30 years of friendly competition. Alex is an Ivy league boy, and as great as UCLA is, it really cannot compete with Columbia. I have a few friends who have gone to Ivy League Schools, one who graduated with an English degree who is helping me quite a bit. But mostly we’ve been communicating by e-mail because of our schedules. That’s ok by me, since my social life has been nonexistent for the past month anyway.

I’m not a hugely competitive guy, but I do get tunnel vision whenever I set my mind to something. I want to know it inside and out. I want to take it apart and smash it and try to put it back together. I want to find out everything I can about whatever captures my interest. It is unbridled and often comes at the expense of other things in my life. And sometimes, nothing else matters.

The test is this Saturday. The practice test went extremely well, but that only pushed me harder. I know my selves well enough to allow the person inside who is pushing ahead to do his thing. It took me years to recognize that, but once I did all the pieces seemed to fall into place, at least inside my head. Outside of my conscious, my life is haphazard and delusional. I need the connection of friends to help me chart my course. I need Saturday to be over. Because Rob Lowe has definitely become a self-serving little jackass during the course of this mission, and I think I owe the people in my life an apology once this is over.

The other thing strange about this mission is how internalized it has become. There is no tangible tasks worth writing about, instead it is a deliberate retreat into my inner being, one that hasn’t been easy to share. I made a point in every other mission to bring everyone along. This time everyone was left at the station. Doesn’t make for a good read.

Jim’s been reading my blog lately. He’s a pretty smart dude and was the one that enlightened me to the above epiphany. And he said it with the grace of the soft-spoken IM.

Lowe ur blog sucks ths month. Give us shotgun.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the next day it sank in. I wasn’t allowing the reader into the world, to ride alongside me on my silly little adventures. Instead I was excluding them. It seemed to make sense even in the nebulous context of a shorthand IM.

I didn’t bother to call him until after I understood the meaning. Because he’s a guy that will die with a riddle. If you don’t get it, you don’t deserve to. I’ve learned that the hard way. I picked up the phone, ready to take my lumps.

“Hey it’s Rob,” I said.

"That's the only reason I picked it up. Well, because that porno mustache picture comes up whenever you call. I love that picture."

"Ok, do you really want to talk about pictures again, because I have a few comments about that."

"Uncle."

"Yea, that's what I thought. Do you have a minute to talk?" I asked.

“Actually, I’m on-set,” he said.

“It’s 10 pm dude, and you call me a workaholic. Call me back.”

“No it’s fine, let’s talk. I just need to hide," he said, whispering, "It's sort of a rule not to talk on the cell phone...”

“You fucking nerd, my god, you're the teacher's pet." I said interrupting, "Anyway, I get what you were saying on the IM about the shotgun. It made sense.”

“Lowe, you know you need to tell me, you can’t trick me with that shit.”

“I wasn’t. I know you wanted me to bring people along for the ride, not leave them on the outside.”

“Yea, that’s part of it. It was an easy one. I figured your brain was shit anyway with those logic problems. Are you ready for Saturday?”

“I guess.”

“You win this and I’ll meet you in Vegas for the victory party. It’s cold as hell here.”

“Sounds like a plan. But its cold there too.”

“Whatever Lowe, I’ll see you at Christmas. Make me proud with those gay SATs.”

“This is the lamest conversation we’ve ever had. I'm embarrassed to have you as a friend.”

“More embarrassment to come. Oh, and tell Alex I hate him. And let me know if he gets a girlfriend. I'd like to fuck her,” he said jokingly.

“You're a great friend. Seriously though, that fucker hasn’t been studying a bit. He totally lost interest.”

“Yea, he’s a shithead. Let’s get him drunk when I get home.”

“Fuck him, get me drunk.”

“Ok, I really have to go.”

“Yea, me too.”

I went to the balcony and grabbed a beer. This was an exile, even though it was self-imposed. I could smell the freedom of Saturday. I could smell the escape.

I could smell the night.

Read the Rest