Post by badboy on Nov 23, 2006 17:29:02 GMT -5
I might be in the wrong place (as in the wrong message board). If I am, let me know and maybe i'll leave.
A Casual Encounter On A Thursday Night
To some men, beautiful women are an enigma. To me, they are cocaine, heroin, crystal-meth, marijuana, and tobacco all liquefied and topped off with 1800 Tequilla and Triple Sec to make a margarita that rivals glass in its smoothness; but, at the same time, is so potent that a one liter bottle of it could fuel a MAC-10 truck all the way across the United States. The bold move of talking to a strange but beautiful woman is a high I indulge in every single day: That foreign woman in Starbucks typing away on her laptop with a streak of blue in her hair which means she considers herself to be some sort of artist; that pair of cute girls sitting at a table in the bar drinking Amoretto Sours and looking like they’re not interested in anything going on around them; even the intoxicatingly beautiful woman reading an acting book in the train station with blond hair and lips that could turn dry ice into a puddle. Approaching unfamiliar women has become part of my identity. I have practically no fear nor shame because I go into every interaction with a beautiful woman as if I have no interest in the way she looks; as if I am the prize to be won; and with a warm vibe; these traits are why I am successful.
Armed with this confidence, I entered the bar with my friend, Zack. It was dark and crowded, just as a bar should be. Roxanne, by The Police, was playing on the sound system. The Orioles were beating the Yankees by two in the seventh inning. Johns Hopkins students were starting to move back to campus and were beginning to frequent the bars. I turned to Zack and commented about how it’s going to be a good night.
Two people got up and left two vacant stools at the bar. We did our civic duty and occupied these seats. I flagged down Josh, the bartender, and ask for a Killians and a tab. There are six beers on tap at this bar and my strategy is to start at the left, Killians, and move east: Passing through Budweiser, Bud Light, Bass, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and finally ending with Guinness.
After I received my first beer of the night, I turned around to absorb the scene. There were five guys playing Virtual Bowling to my left, and to my right, there were two tables filled with women who could only be Hopkins students. There were three of them at one table, and two at the other. I told Zack that I am going to go up to the three-girl-table and join them. He told me I was crazy and approaching strange women is a waste of time. As he explained this to me, three guys approached the girls and were blown off. Zack looked at me as if his opinion on the matter had just been confirmed, but the incident did nothing but strengthen my urge to meet them. I looked at the three guys who were now walking past our post. They looked like their dog had just been run over by a car in front of their eyes on Christmas day. I informed Zack that they failed because they were trying too hard to act cool and not just being themselves, and worst of all, they are still thinking about what happened. “Amateurs,” I muttered.
As I stood to approach their table, Zack asked me what I was going to tell them. I paused to think, “What I say, when I see them, is what I’ll say.” I replied, as I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “They want me to go talk to them. They just don’t know it yet.”
Beer in hand I stood at their table with all three of them looking at me the way I look at a car accident. I had nothing clever to say, so I ignored their beauty, smiled, looked one of them in the eye, and warmly said, “Hi, I’m Badboy.” I waited for them to respond with their automatic and courteous, “Hi,” which means “Who are you and why should I care?” I responded to their implied meaning by looking at the same girl directly in her eye. I confidently, but simply stated, “I’m here with my friend, and we would like to join you.” She immediately responded positively by inviting me to sit down next to her. After they all introduced themselves and I shook their hands, I signaled Zack to join us via hand wave.
When Zack was seated I introduced all of the girls to him as if I had known them for years, “Zack, this is Sarah, Rachel, and Megan.” I was sitting with Megan; she had one of the most beautiful sets of eyes I have ever seen, which is why I chose to talk to her in the first place.
I dominated the ensuing conversation, I did not do the most talking by any stretch of the imagination, I actually talked the least. I was not the one seeking approval; I was giving it out. When Zack or the girls spoke, they spoke to me. The confidence I was projecting enabled me to manage the group. They fed off of my energy because it was warm and positive. My vibe was contagious and the conversation was steered by my natural curiosity.
The three girls are graduate students going for their Master’s degree in education. The conversation flowed smoothly. We discussed their hometowns, our hometown, movies, books, music, traveling, and what has become inevitable in my conversations with women in bars: Sex.
Megan did most of the talking, and was therefore the one seeking my liking. She could feel my warmth and I could feel hers. She told me that I was “one of the coolest guys she had ever met.” I blushed and touched her arm just as I had been since the first few minutes of our interaction. Touching creates intimacy in a less than intimate setting. The warm vibe we were transmitting back and forth communicated a mutual yearning to be touched.
I liked Megan. She was cute, intelligent, confident, genuine, and had a great sense of humor (she got all of my jokes). Together, we got up and went to the bar. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She squeezed my hand with surprising affection. I looked deep into her eyes and kissed her.
We spent forty-five minutes together sitting at the bar. We bought each other drinks, shared stories, and laughed at each other’s quirkiness. I ingested every word she spoke. She held my arm so closely it suggested worship, especially when I caught eyes with the other table of women who were trapped by the three guys from earlier. We kissed and made our way back to the table with fresh drinks for our friends.
Without me to guide it, the conversation had turned to a negative topic: Sarah’s ex-boyfriend. That was not good. I quickly glanced at Zack. He looked like he wanted to leave. I interrupted Sarah, “Hey Rachel. Do you have an ex-boyfriend? How ‘bout you, Megan? Zack? Any ex’s?” They all nodded. “I have my fair share. Here’s some advice: Take it one day at a time. Like today, what are you doing today, like right now? You’re sitting in a bar with people you’ve never met before having fun, right? Right. He’s probably doing nothing. That means you win. But if you think about him or talk about him, you loose. Cheers to winning.” The clink of our glasses bordered on being poetic. Zack was happy again. Sarah and Rachel were looking confused as to what just transpired, but they were happy all the same.
By last call Megan was drunk, too drunk. Intoxicated to the point that I could not, in good conscience, take her to my house even though she was already set on the idea. We said goodnight and planned on seeing each other again.
As Zack and I walked home, he asked me how I was able to approach the girls the way I did. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “By being myself and not caring if they blew me off.” He shook his head in disbelief. If they did not want us to join them it would not have fazed me in the slightest; I would have found some other group of girls to hang out with. My confidence stemmed from the knowledge that I knew that I did not need to impress them; they have yet to impress me with anything other than the way they look.
The three guys before me failed because they were seeking approval and permission from the girls whereas I acted as if I did not need or care about their permission. My success had very little to do with how I look or what I said. It was based entirely on my vibe. I projected confidence and warmth. I looked at the situation as an opportunity to meet an interesting person, not to pick up a hot girl. I made the bold choice to approach a stranger, and I met an amazing woman in the process. Nothing will stop me from doing it again.
A Casual Encounter On A Thursday Night
To some men, beautiful women are an enigma. To me, they are cocaine, heroin, crystal-meth, marijuana, and tobacco all liquefied and topped off with 1800 Tequilla and Triple Sec to make a margarita that rivals glass in its smoothness; but, at the same time, is so potent that a one liter bottle of it could fuel a MAC-10 truck all the way across the United States. The bold move of talking to a strange but beautiful woman is a high I indulge in every single day: That foreign woman in Starbucks typing away on her laptop with a streak of blue in her hair which means she considers herself to be some sort of artist; that pair of cute girls sitting at a table in the bar drinking Amoretto Sours and looking like they’re not interested in anything going on around them; even the intoxicatingly beautiful woman reading an acting book in the train station with blond hair and lips that could turn dry ice into a puddle. Approaching unfamiliar women has become part of my identity. I have practically no fear nor shame because I go into every interaction with a beautiful woman as if I have no interest in the way she looks; as if I am the prize to be won; and with a warm vibe; these traits are why I am successful.
Armed with this confidence, I entered the bar with my friend, Zack. It was dark and crowded, just as a bar should be. Roxanne, by The Police, was playing on the sound system. The Orioles were beating the Yankees by two in the seventh inning. Johns Hopkins students were starting to move back to campus and were beginning to frequent the bars. I turned to Zack and commented about how it’s going to be a good night.
Two people got up and left two vacant stools at the bar. We did our civic duty and occupied these seats. I flagged down Josh, the bartender, and ask for a Killians and a tab. There are six beers on tap at this bar and my strategy is to start at the left, Killians, and move east: Passing through Budweiser, Bud Light, Bass, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and finally ending with Guinness.
After I received my first beer of the night, I turned around to absorb the scene. There were five guys playing Virtual Bowling to my left, and to my right, there were two tables filled with women who could only be Hopkins students. There were three of them at one table, and two at the other. I told Zack that I am going to go up to the three-girl-table and join them. He told me I was crazy and approaching strange women is a waste of time. As he explained this to me, three guys approached the girls and were blown off. Zack looked at me as if his opinion on the matter had just been confirmed, but the incident did nothing but strengthen my urge to meet them. I looked at the three guys who were now walking past our post. They looked like their dog had just been run over by a car in front of their eyes on Christmas day. I informed Zack that they failed because they were trying too hard to act cool and not just being themselves, and worst of all, they are still thinking about what happened. “Amateurs,” I muttered.
As I stood to approach their table, Zack asked me what I was going to tell them. I paused to think, “What I say, when I see them, is what I’ll say.” I replied, as I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “They want me to go talk to them. They just don’t know it yet.”
Beer in hand I stood at their table with all three of them looking at me the way I look at a car accident. I had nothing clever to say, so I ignored their beauty, smiled, looked one of them in the eye, and warmly said, “Hi, I’m Badboy.” I waited for them to respond with their automatic and courteous, “Hi,” which means “Who are you and why should I care?” I responded to their implied meaning by looking at the same girl directly in her eye. I confidently, but simply stated, “I’m here with my friend, and we would like to join you.” She immediately responded positively by inviting me to sit down next to her. After they all introduced themselves and I shook their hands, I signaled Zack to join us via hand wave.
When Zack was seated I introduced all of the girls to him as if I had known them for years, “Zack, this is Sarah, Rachel, and Megan.” I was sitting with Megan; she had one of the most beautiful sets of eyes I have ever seen, which is why I chose to talk to her in the first place.
I dominated the ensuing conversation, I did not do the most talking by any stretch of the imagination, I actually talked the least. I was not the one seeking approval; I was giving it out. When Zack or the girls spoke, they spoke to me. The confidence I was projecting enabled me to manage the group. They fed off of my energy because it was warm and positive. My vibe was contagious and the conversation was steered by my natural curiosity.
The three girls are graduate students going for their Master’s degree in education. The conversation flowed smoothly. We discussed their hometowns, our hometown, movies, books, music, traveling, and what has become inevitable in my conversations with women in bars: Sex.
Megan did most of the talking, and was therefore the one seeking my liking. She could feel my warmth and I could feel hers. She told me that I was “one of the coolest guys she had ever met.” I blushed and touched her arm just as I had been since the first few minutes of our interaction. Touching creates intimacy in a less than intimate setting. The warm vibe we were transmitting back and forth communicated a mutual yearning to be touched.
I liked Megan. She was cute, intelligent, confident, genuine, and had a great sense of humor (she got all of my jokes). Together, we got up and went to the bar. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She squeezed my hand with surprising affection. I looked deep into her eyes and kissed her.
We spent forty-five minutes together sitting at the bar. We bought each other drinks, shared stories, and laughed at each other’s quirkiness. I ingested every word she spoke. She held my arm so closely it suggested worship, especially when I caught eyes with the other table of women who were trapped by the three guys from earlier. We kissed and made our way back to the table with fresh drinks for our friends.
Without me to guide it, the conversation had turned to a negative topic: Sarah’s ex-boyfriend. That was not good. I quickly glanced at Zack. He looked like he wanted to leave. I interrupted Sarah, “Hey Rachel. Do you have an ex-boyfriend? How ‘bout you, Megan? Zack? Any ex’s?” They all nodded. “I have my fair share. Here’s some advice: Take it one day at a time. Like today, what are you doing today, like right now? You’re sitting in a bar with people you’ve never met before having fun, right? Right. He’s probably doing nothing. That means you win. But if you think about him or talk about him, you loose. Cheers to winning.” The clink of our glasses bordered on being poetic. Zack was happy again. Sarah and Rachel were looking confused as to what just transpired, but they were happy all the same.
By last call Megan was drunk, too drunk. Intoxicated to the point that I could not, in good conscience, take her to my house even though she was already set on the idea. We said goodnight and planned on seeing each other again.
As Zack and I walked home, he asked me how I was able to approach the girls the way I did. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “By being myself and not caring if they blew me off.” He shook his head in disbelief. If they did not want us to join them it would not have fazed me in the slightest; I would have found some other group of girls to hang out with. My confidence stemmed from the knowledge that I knew that I did not need to impress them; they have yet to impress me with anything other than the way they look.
The three guys before me failed because they were seeking approval and permission from the girls whereas I acted as if I did not need or care about their permission. My success had very little to do with how I look or what I said. It was based entirely on my vibe. I projected confidence and warmth. I looked at the situation as an opportunity to meet an interesting person, not to pick up a hot girl. I made the bold choice to approach a stranger, and I met an amazing woman in the process. Nothing will stop me from doing it again.