0 hours in NYC - Trip Report and Mini Data Sheet
10-28-2013, 02:40 AM
By an extraordinary series of personal events, chance, and good fortune, I found myself on a plane bound for NYC for two nights this October. My expectations were that I’d hit up some bars, meet some girls, get the bang, and go home happy. What transpired was tremendously more substantial, a true paradigm shift for this young up-and-coming G.
Sunday and Monday - hardly the best nights to explore a new city I had naively thought, but I decided to go in with an open mind and the motivation to experience as much high-end nightlife as possible. And to a personally overwhelming degree, much more so than I could have anticipated, I did precisely that.
Few days before my flight, I hit up a FOB Croatian girl I had met on Tinder that lives in Brooklyn, that I had connected with a few months prior. To my absolute surprise, she not only responded right away, but was eager to meet me. Perfect, I thought, all I’ve got to do is run fuck up avoidance game and I’ll get my nyc bang within hours of ever first having stepped foot in the city. What a player I could call myself then, I pondered. The plan was to meet at PhD at 930 for drinks. She showed up on time, but to my gut-wrenching disbelief, she had brought a friend. In a twist of fate, this friend would end up being the key to my most memorable NYC experience.
The good news was that her friend was taller and just as beautiful as her. Both had such long hair that it extended down to the tops of their asses. Both early 20’s, stylish clothing, feminine & fly, high heels, flawless nails make up and skin complexion. True 9’s through and through. PhD ended up being dead, but I figured we will do one drink here, and then her friend (who must have understood my intentions) would excuse herself, and I’d take my girl to either my hotel room or to another club. We were all having a good time, but the momentum was dying since I couldn’t physically engage my girl, due to the seating setup, her friends stubborn presence, and the lack of other players in the bar who could impromptu wing for me. All I needed was for a player to walk through the door, realize my predicament, and take the 2nd girl off my hands.
It didn’t happen. My G-in-shining-armor didn’t materialize, and when the friend said she had to get up early, I knew my chances of the bang were rapidly approaching zero. My girl raised hope by saying “I’d love to stay out and party but I work at 5am tomorrow. Let’s get together again tomorrow night.” She seemed genuine and eager to see me again, and since she had already unexpectedly come through and showed up, I thought the chances were reasonable I’d get her alone the next evening. I said goodnight to the girls, deep down knowing I would never see either of them again in my life. But I could not have been more wrong.
Frustrated but undeterred, I starting wandering the streets. It was midnight. The doorman at Dream recommended I check out The Standard, just a few blocks away. It too was dead, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a seedy looking roped off entrance to something. There were a couple girls in line, so on a whim I went over. The sign read “Le Bain.”
The doorman led me to an elevator, and when the doors opened on the 17th floor, I knew I was at the right place. DJ, big crowd, lots of dancing and stunning 360 views of the city. I had wandered into a 2-story dance club, complete with lounge area, dance floor, and open air rooftop deck. The crowd was average in looks and style, and about a 70/30 male/female ratio. Having had the wind taken out from under my wings the Croatian girl, the energy of Le Bain brought me back to life and I got to work.
I went to take a piss, and while waiting in line chatted up two girls. One was a cute Hungarian with a bubble butt, and the other an average white American girl. They liked me right away, and brought me up to the rooftop portion to hang out. I was making moves on the Hungarian, arm around her waist, on her ass, bouncing her down to the dance floor, over to the bar, back to the roof. Then her friend returned, and they left to go to the bathroom. When the Hungarian came back, she was cold and ignoring me. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she wasn’t into me any longer. Later I saw her making out with a weesh bro type.
So I made a move on her friend instead, who loved the newfound attention. She brought me by hand over to the couches and we sat down. I had my arm around her and was moments away from going for the make out - she was flirting with me like crazy - when I felt a fat roll on her waist. I stopped myself, and began scrutinizing her face and body, waiting for the flashing DJ lights to catch on her and provide some visual clues to what I was working with. Perhaps my eyes deceived me, or my expectations had been set too high with the Croatian , but I pulled the ripcord. I got up from the couch without saying anything, walked to the elevator, and left. Though I am certain I could have banged this girl, I told myself that I didn’t come to NYC to have sex with an average looking girl. I can do that anywhere. I called it a night, deciding to save my energy to fight another day.
Monday night:
Naturally, when you sweat a beautiful girl, she is going to flake. And of course, the Croatian flaked on me Monday night, after having excitedly told me earlier in the day that she was coming into the city to see me that night. I was incredibly disappointed, both at her for flaking, but more so at myself for sweating her in the first place. I know I’m better than that.
Suited up, I started out at PhD at 1030pm: dead. Gansevoort rooftop: dead. The Standard: dead. Dos Caminos: dead. “Where the fuck do people party here on Monday night?” I knew there had to be a place. Just then, around midnight, a black towncar pulls up, and a couple model looking girls get out. Then another, this time with a custom suited G himself and two fly girls on his arms. He carried himself as if he were famous. Probably he was. I followed them.
They breezed by the bouncer and promoter at Catch. I was stopped in my tracks. They told me it was a guest list only event. They were turning people down left and right, all the while letting in a series of 9’s and 10’s and their male counterparts. I spotted a young hollywood celebrity, and a couple pro athletes making their way by me into the club. I knew this was the spot, I knew I had to get in. I knew I looked good enough to make the cut; without any connections it was the only thing I had going for me. I remembered a lesson I learned a long time ago: you can get into any place you want so long as you look like you belong there.
The Gods of Poon then threw me a bone: over my shoulder I heard a familiar voice. It was the Croatian girls friend, the one from Sunday night who had unceremoniously cock blocked me. What are the chances? I walk over, she is surprised to see me but gives me a hug, and is happy to chat with me for a second. Her group was quickly whisked in the door moments later, preventing me from tagging along with her.
Another 20 minutes pass, and I’m about to say fuck it. I call over the bouncer and promoter and ask them where can I get into tonight to have some fun. I had a positive attitude about it, and it was an honest question. The promoter gives me the once over and says “man, you can’t get in without a girl on the list. I can’t just be letting in single guys. But...where you from, how long you in town for. Only two nights? And you know this girl upstairs, you promise me that right? OK listen man, you’re in, have fun tonight.”
I don’t know if it was my suit, my attitude, the honest fact that I knew a fly girl already inside, or that the promoter saw in me an up-and-coming G that was looking to make sure his female guests had fun, not lower the value of his party, but he let me in out of the goodness of his heart. A class move, seeing as he turned away dozens of others that night.
When I get in, a feeling of overwhelming excitement hits me: I’m in a red hot club with the most beautiful people I’ve seen under one roof. The girls are all tall model types in heels and the guys all seem to have some level fame or wealth or connections and are wickedly well dressed. I had never seen this level of game/status among other men first hand. Perhaps this is normal for a lot of cats on this forum, but to me it was an eye opening experience.
This was the kind of place I had hoped to find in NYC; an upscale bumping party with a heavy girl ratio, and a young driving energetic vibe. It seemed like I was the only guy in the club flying solo, everyone else is getting bottle service or have girls on their arms already. I see the Croatian girls friend; she is surprised I got in, and we have a friendly chat for a minute before she returns to her group, never to be seen again.
I spot two girls alone at the bar; they both hook instantly. I don’t think anyone had been hitting on them all night, as the club ratio was girl heavy. I played my favorite game with them, guessing what country where they are from, and then giving them hints until they can guess where I am from. I am really good at this game.
One was from Romania, the other Ukraine. Things were going well, I had their full attention. But fuck me if I wasn’t stuck in the same situation as Sunday night: two girls hooking, and no wing to help me out. I flipped a coin in my head and picked the Ukrainian girl. The three of us danced, drank, and of course when I go to isolate the Ukrainian, she tells me “I have a boyfriend.” Goddamnit. Then she goes to the bathroom. I turn to the Romanian, who tells me that yes in fact Ukraine girl does have a man at home. Romanian is still receptive to me and no problem that I have my arm around her waist. But by this point I had played my hand and knew it was game over. “We are leaving soon. No we can’t go to another club we work tomorrow.”
I hang around to see what else I could glean from the players at work around me. At 4am I leave, feeling satisfied that I had witnessed things that will inform my style and game from here on out. I now understand the power of fame, the power of connections, the power of style. Of course we talk about all these things on the forum, but to see a top tier crowd at work was transformational for me. I now understand what GManifesto means when he harps on having places “on lock.” I now understand the role of cats like Christian McQueen and what they can do or not do for you based on any number of factors. I caught a glimpse of the best, and I want more of it.
On the way back to the dream, I try to hit up 1 Oak, Avenue, and the Electric Room, but I’m turned down at the door at each and too tired to stick it out this time. I go to bed with my dick in my hand but armed with a new perspective on The Game, which is more valuable than any one night stand could have been.
-----
DATA SHEET:
Hotels:
Dream Downtown - a dope spot. Rooms are trendy, excellent walkability to all the bars and clubs in the Meatpacking District. Rooftop bar, PhD, is a good spot. Perhaps more action on weekend nights. Lobby bar is slick, and the Electric Room is downstairs. There is even a natural juice bar in the lobby, great for curing hangovers and getting in vitamins after a night of drinking. I paid $750 for 2 nights here.
It’s also adjacent to Chelsea Market - good place to get a quick bite during the day. Mix of tourists and locals.
Bars/Clubs:
PhD: 12th floor rooftop lounge. Good date setup; couches abound, cozy lighting. Dead on Sunday/Monday, but the Croatian girls told me it gets going weekend nights when there is a live DJ.
Electric Room: A below ground after hours club at the Dream Hotel. I was here until 4am Sunday night and the place was still bumping. Tough to get in Monday night. Layout was setup for bottle service groups, not for posting up and spitting game at the bar. Girls dancing on top of couches. It’s a scene place, lots of good looking people. I think the move is to get here after 2am.
Gansevoort: Rooftop lounge. Trendy setup, but quiet on Sunday/Monday nights, at least before midnight. Great date spot.
Le Bain: Dance club on 17th floor and rooftop lounge on 18th. No cover. Door was easy on Sunday night. Lower end crowd than other places in the Meatpacking District, but the crowd itself was sizable and people were dancing and partying, so I had fun. Jeans and a blazer a better fit here than going for the full suit. Pick up at the main bar or on the dance floor, then move the girl upstairs to the lounge area, or behind the dance floor to the couches. The bathroom is coed; you could probably bang a girl in one of the stalls. Vodka soda price: $15
The Standard: Cool setup but just never drew me in.
Catch: Evidently the place to be on Monday nights in the city. Door was next to impossible, but worth the effort. Either bring a fly girl or two if you are not on the guest list, figure out how to get on the list, or call on your lucky stars like I did to get in. Celebrity sightings. Girls are model quality. The best club experience I had on my trip. Vodka soda price: $18
SoHo: Cool neighborhood. Great place to find a boutique and pick up a new piece or two for your wardrobe. Beautiful women shopping all over the place.
Sunday and Monday - hardly the best nights to explore a new city I had naively thought, but I decided to go in with an open mind and the motivation to experience as much high-end nightlife as possible. And to a personally overwhelming degree, much more so than I could have anticipated, I did precisely that.
Few days before my flight, I hit up a FOB Croatian girl I had met on Tinder that lives in Brooklyn, that I had connected with a few months prior. To my absolute surprise, she not only responded right away, but was eager to meet me. Perfect, I thought, all I’ve got to do is run fuck up avoidance game and I’ll get my nyc bang within hours of ever first having stepped foot in the city. What a player I could call myself then, I pondered. The plan was to meet at PhD at 930 for drinks. She showed up on time, but to my gut-wrenching disbelief, she had brought a friend. In a twist of fate, this friend would end up being the key to my most memorable NYC experience.
The good news was that her friend was taller and just as beautiful as her. Both had such long hair that it extended down to the tops of their asses. Both early 20’s, stylish clothing, feminine & fly, high heels, flawless nails make up and skin complexion. True 9’s through and through. PhD ended up being dead, but I figured we will do one drink here, and then her friend (who must have understood my intentions) would excuse herself, and I’d take my girl to either my hotel room or to another club. We were all having a good time, but the momentum was dying since I couldn’t physically engage my girl, due to the seating setup, her friends stubborn presence, and the lack of other players in the bar who could impromptu wing for me. All I needed was for a player to walk through the door, realize my predicament, and take the 2nd girl off my hands.
It didn’t happen. My G-in-shining-armor didn’t materialize, and when the friend said she had to get up early, I knew my chances of the bang were rapidly approaching zero. My girl raised hope by saying “I’d love to stay out and party but I work at 5am tomorrow. Let’s get together again tomorrow night.” She seemed genuine and eager to see me again, and since she had already unexpectedly come through and showed up, I thought the chances were reasonable I’d get her alone the next evening. I said goodnight to the girls, deep down knowing I would never see either of them again in my life. But I could not have been more wrong.
Frustrated but undeterred, I starting wandering the streets. It was midnight. The doorman at Dream recommended I check out The Standard, just a few blocks away. It too was dead, but out of the corner of my eye I saw a seedy looking roped off entrance to something. There were a couple girls in line, so on a whim I went over. The sign read “Le Bain.”
The doorman led me to an elevator, and when the doors opened on the 17th floor, I knew I was at the right place. DJ, big crowd, lots of dancing and stunning 360 views of the city. I had wandered into a 2-story dance club, complete with lounge area, dance floor, and open air rooftop deck. The crowd was average in looks and style, and about a 70/30 male/female ratio. Having had the wind taken out from under my wings the Croatian girl, the energy of Le Bain brought me back to life and I got to work.
I went to take a piss, and while waiting in line chatted up two girls. One was a cute Hungarian with a bubble butt, and the other an average white American girl. They liked me right away, and brought me up to the rooftop portion to hang out. I was making moves on the Hungarian, arm around her waist, on her ass, bouncing her down to the dance floor, over to the bar, back to the roof. Then her friend returned, and they left to go to the bathroom. When the Hungarian came back, she was cold and ignoring me. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she wasn’t into me any longer. Later I saw her making out with a weesh bro type.
So I made a move on her friend instead, who loved the newfound attention. She brought me by hand over to the couches and we sat down. I had my arm around her and was moments away from going for the make out - she was flirting with me like crazy - when I felt a fat roll on her waist. I stopped myself, and began scrutinizing her face and body, waiting for the flashing DJ lights to catch on her and provide some visual clues to what I was working with. Perhaps my eyes deceived me, or my expectations had been set too high with the Croatian , but I pulled the ripcord. I got up from the couch without saying anything, walked to the elevator, and left. Though I am certain I could have banged this girl, I told myself that I didn’t come to NYC to have sex with an average looking girl. I can do that anywhere. I called it a night, deciding to save my energy to fight another day.
Monday night:
Naturally, when you sweat a beautiful girl, she is going to flake. And of course, the Croatian flaked on me Monday night, after having excitedly told me earlier in the day that she was coming into the city to see me that night. I was incredibly disappointed, both at her for flaking, but more so at myself for sweating her in the first place. I know I’m better than that.
Suited up, I started out at PhD at 1030pm: dead. Gansevoort rooftop: dead. The Standard: dead. Dos Caminos: dead. “Where the fuck do people party here on Monday night?” I knew there had to be a place. Just then, around midnight, a black towncar pulls up, and a couple model looking girls get out. Then another, this time with a custom suited G himself and two fly girls on his arms. He carried himself as if he were famous. Probably he was. I followed them.
They breezed by the bouncer and promoter at Catch. I was stopped in my tracks. They told me it was a guest list only event. They were turning people down left and right, all the while letting in a series of 9’s and 10’s and their male counterparts. I spotted a young hollywood celebrity, and a couple pro athletes making their way by me into the club. I knew this was the spot, I knew I had to get in. I knew I looked good enough to make the cut; without any connections it was the only thing I had going for me. I remembered a lesson I learned a long time ago: you can get into any place you want so long as you look like you belong there.
The Gods of Poon then threw me a bone: over my shoulder I heard a familiar voice. It was the Croatian girls friend, the one from Sunday night who had unceremoniously cock blocked me. What are the chances? I walk over, she is surprised to see me but gives me a hug, and is happy to chat with me for a second. Her group was quickly whisked in the door moments later, preventing me from tagging along with her.
Another 20 minutes pass, and I’m about to say fuck it. I call over the bouncer and promoter and ask them where can I get into tonight to have some fun. I had a positive attitude about it, and it was an honest question. The promoter gives me the once over and says “man, you can’t get in without a girl on the list. I can’t just be letting in single guys. But...where you from, how long you in town for. Only two nights? And you know this girl upstairs, you promise me that right? OK listen man, you’re in, have fun tonight.”
I don’t know if it was my suit, my attitude, the honest fact that I knew a fly girl already inside, or that the promoter saw in me an up-and-coming G that was looking to make sure his female guests had fun, not lower the value of his party, but he let me in out of the goodness of his heart. A class move, seeing as he turned away dozens of others that night.
When I get in, a feeling of overwhelming excitement hits me: I’m in a red hot club with the most beautiful people I’ve seen under one roof. The girls are all tall model types in heels and the guys all seem to have some level fame or wealth or connections and are wickedly well dressed. I had never seen this level of game/status among other men first hand. Perhaps this is normal for a lot of cats on this forum, but to me it was an eye opening experience.
This was the kind of place I had hoped to find in NYC; an upscale bumping party with a heavy girl ratio, and a young driving energetic vibe. It seemed like I was the only guy in the club flying solo, everyone else is getting bottle service or have girls on their arms already. I see the Croatian girls friend; she is surprised I got in, and we have a friendly chat for a minute before she returns to her group, never to be seen again.
I spot two girls alone at the bar; they both hook instantly. I don’t think anyone had been hitting on them all night, as the club ratio was girl heavy. I played my favorite game with them, guessing what country where they are from, and then giving them hints until they can guess where I am from. I am really good at this game.
One was from Romania, the other Ukraine. Things were going well, I had their full attention. But fuck me if I wasn’t stuck in the same situation as Sunday night: two girls hooking, and no wing to help me out. I flipped a coin in my head and picked the Ukrainian girl. The three of us danced, drank, and of course when I go to isolate the Ukrainian, she tells me “I have a boyfriend.” Goddamnit. Then she goes to the bathroom. I turn to the Romanian, who tells me that yes in fact Ukraine girl does have a man at home. Romanian is still receptive to me and no problem that I have my arm around her waist. But by this point I had played my hand and knew it was game over. “We are leaving soon. No we can’t go to another club we work tomorrow.”
I hang around to see what else I could glean from the players at work around me. At 4am I leave, feeling satisfied that I had witnessed things that will inform my style and game from here on out. I now understand the power of fame, the power of connections, the power of style. Of course we talk about all these things on the forum, but to see a top tier crowd at work was transformational for me. I now understand what GManifesto means when he harps on having places “on lock.” I now understand the role of cats like Christian McQueen and what they can do or not do for you based on any number of factors. I caught a glimpse of the best, and I want more of it.
On the way back to the dream, I try to hit up 1 Oak, Avenue, and the Electric Room, but I’m turned down at the door at each and too tired to stick it out this time. I go to bed with my dick in my hand but armed with a new perspective on The Game, which is more valuable than any one night stand could have been.
-----
DATA SHEET:
Hotels:
Dream Downtown - a dope spot. Rooms are trendy, excellent walkability to all the bars and clubs in the Meatpacking District. Rooftop bar, PhD, is a good spot. Perhaps more action on weekend nights. Lobby bar is slick, and the Electric Room is downstairs. There is even a natural juice bar in the lobby, great for curing hangovers and getting in vitamins after a night of drinking. I paid $750 for 2 nights here.
It’s also adjacent to Chelsea Market - good place to get a quick bite during the day. Mix of tourists and locals.
Bars/Clubs:
PhD: 12th floor rooftop lounge. Good date setup; couches abound, cozy lighting. Dead on Sunday/Monday, but the Croatian girls told me it gets going weekend nights when there is a live DJ.
Electric Room: A below ground after hours club at the Dream Hotel. I was here until 4am Sunday night and the place was still bumping. Tough to get in Monday night. Layout was setup for bottle service groups, not for posting up and spitting game at the bar. Girls dancing on top of couches. It’s a scene place, lots of good looking people. I think the move is to get here after 2am.
Gansevoort: Rooftop lounge. Trendy setup, but quiet on Sunday/Monday nights, at least before midnight. Great date spot.
Le Bain: Dance club on 17th floor and rooftop lounge on 18th. No cover. Door was easy on Sunday night. Lower end crowd than other places in the Meatpacking District, but the crowd itself was sizable and people were dancing and partying, so I had fun. Jeans and a blazer a better fit here than going for the full suit. Pick up at the main bar or on the dance floor, then move the girl upstairs to the lounge area, or behind the dance floor to the couches. The bathroom is coed; you could probably bang a girl in one of the stalls. Vodka soda price: $15
The Standard: Cool setup but just never drew me in.
Catch: Evidently the place to be on Monday nights in the city. Door was next to impossible, but worth the effort. Either bring a fly girl or two if you are not on the guest list, figure out how to get on the list, or call on your lucky stars like I did to get in. Celebrity sightings. Girls are model quality. The best club experience I had on my trip. Vodka soda price: $18
SoHo: Cool neighborhood. Great place to find a boutique and pick up a new piece or two for your wardrobe. Beautiful women shopping all over the place.