Failure.
It’s one word that encompasses the majority of human existence. I have been having trouble coming to terms with it. I will explain. Striving to be a better person, you acutely experience failure more than the average person because you lessen your tolerance of it; it is your enemy. You have the realization that so much of the normal human condition is characterized by failure, or in other cases, mediocrity. All people fail, but you only realize how much it happens when you become results-oriented. Such is the way of pick-up.
My first set of the night was this girl who had been eying my wing. Her name was Claire. 19, university student studying Marketing, brunette with a cute girl next door look. At least 5 glances at him that I was able to count (she was two tables away from us). Nothing was going to happen, and the wing wasn’t approaching. I had danced with another girl who was nice enough, or whatever. I get back to the table and the girl is eying us, which I will explain later.
She’s seated at the table with two decent looking friends. I’m trying to help my wing. Some old guy comes up to their table to hit on the group. I see the girl positioning, or maybe more accurately, her body language opening up to us, and closing on the old dude. Without any lack of reservation, I call out to her, “hey, come over here.” That was all it took. She bridges the gap, less than 10 feet and she’s standing in front of us at our table. I say, “take a seat.” She immediately tries to qualify it with something to the tune of, “I wasn’t planning on sitting.” I reply, “you’ve already decided you’re going to be with us, so I don’t even have to tell you what to do.” Part of me says that was me being in charge of the situation, and self-aware. She sits.
I’m actually doing this to help my wing, he would not act on this girl’s IOIs. The talk is situational, she was scared or more accurately creeped out by the older guy. I do the polite thing and introduce her to my wing. She’s not interested. I should have paid a lot more attention to the things unsaid. She was into me.
This is where I’m banging my head against the wall. She approached us, because I gave her plausible deniability. We get along well. She is asking me questions after I say stuff to her. She is paying exactly zero attention to my wing. I don’t know how long the interaction was, maybe 10 minutes.
I am coming off more confident these days. She says, “you like to be right don’t you?” I say, “yeah I do.” And I struggle on the second part of my response. It came out weak. I don’t remember what I said. She ends, saying, “I’ll be back later.” I fucked up. I fucked up a set that walked into my lap. I really fucked up.
I don’t know what I’m doing. It feels like amateur hour. For the whole week I don’t go out. Last night, night proceeding, I go out, and no sets happen. That was warmup. And here I am, fucking up the fourth quarter.
It’s sickening. It is the worst thing to have a woman say shit like that. I can take it all day from men, but to have a woman say that is ego-killing. Keeping in mind, I’ve had men tell me I’m stupid, I know nothing, I’m too young to have any perspective, etc. There may be truth to any of their criticisms of me, but the reason they don’t fundamentally hurt me is that maybe they do know more than me. In which case, they are just trying to help me become a better person, or to understand how to improve. Such criticisms I get from men, I have to believe are the result of good intentions. So I take them to heart and work on becoming better. I like to be right, and when I was younger I was called arrogant. I was fundamentally misunderstood. I can spot intelligence quickly, and to be called arrogant is people just not understanding how I work as a person. I can get along with anyone, but when shit like this is said, it hurts. I don’t like to be right, per se, I just want to know the truth, or, to arrive it. And so when I know it, and people are spouting bullshit, I am quick to correct people. I guess that’s my weakness.
Not all sets are created equally. This one burned my subconscious. It got under my skin in a way that no set has done since I started getting into approaching again. After a lot of personal pain about my failures, I decided I was going to do something about my failures.
I left the venue thereafter, and went to my car and pounded the steering wheel in anger. Anger that is a long time coming. Anger that I messed up again. Anger that I can’t create a cinematic experience for a girl (which to be honest is completely unrealistic and extremely hurtful for it to be expected of us by society at large, and women in particular), or be James Bond with a quick witticism that makes her pull off her clothes. It doesn’t work like that, that’s what I’m convinced of. Anger that the softball I get thrown doesn’t land with the bat.
I have work to do. And more failure, inevitably. As I told my wing before I drove home, “better luck next week.”
I work on improving my life, holistically speaking every day, and I can tell you ever day, the one thing not falling in place is women. While this is trying my patience, I am convinced tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life, and whatever that may bring with it. I sit here with a match on Bumble that I got while driving home and she already sent me a message. I have 0 expectations but I’ll take any consolation prize I can get.
It’s one word that encompasses the majority of human existence. I have been having trouble coming to terms with it. I will explain. Striving to be a better person, you acutely experience failure more than the average person because you lessen your tolerance of it; it is your enemy. You have the realization that so much of the normal human condition is characterized by failure, or in other cases, mediocrity. All people fail, but you only realize how much it happens when you become results-oriented. Such is the way of pick-up.
My first set of the night was this girl who had been eying my wing. Her name was Claire. 19, university student studying Marketing, brunette with a cute girl next door look. At least 5 glances at him that I was able to count (she was two tables away from us). Nothing was going to happen, and the wing wasn’t approaching. I had danced with another girl who was nice enough, or whatever. I get back to the table and the girl is eying us, which I will explain later.
She’s seated at the table with two decent looking friends. I’m trying to help my wing. Some old guy comes up to their table to hit on the group. I see the girl positioning, or maybe more accurately, her body language opening up to us, and closing on the old dude. Without any lack of reservation, I call out to her, “hey, come over here.” That was all it took. She bridges the gap, less than 10 feet and she’s standing in front of us at our table. I say, “take a seat.” She immediately tries to qualify it with something to the tune of, “I wasn’t planning on sitting.” I reply, “you’ve already decided you’re going to be with us, so I don’t even have to tell you what to do.” Part of me says that was me being in charge of the situation, and self-aware. She sits.
I’m actually doing this to help my wing, he would not act on this girl’s IOIs. The talk is situational, she was scared or more accurately creeped out by the older guy. I do the polite thing and introduce her to my wing. She’s not interested. I should have paid a lot more attention to the things unsaid. She was into me.
This is where I’m banging my head against the wall. She approached us, because I gave her plausible deniability. We get along well. She is asking me questions after I say stuff to her. She is paying exactly zero attention to my wing. I don’t know how long the interaction was, maybe 10 minutes.
I am coming off more confident these days. She says, “you like to be right don’t you?” I say, “yeah I do.” And I struggle on the second part of my response. It came out weak. I don’t remember what I said. She ends, saying, “I’ll be back later.” I fucked up. I fucked up a set that walked into my lap. I really fucked up.
I don’t know what I’m doing. It feels like amateur hour. For the whole week I don’t go out. Last night, night proceeding, I go out, and no sets happen. That was warmup. And here I am, fucking up the fourth quarter.
It’s sickening. It is the worst thing to have a woman say shit like that. I can take it all day from men, but to have a woman say that is ego-killing. Keeping in mind, I’ve had men tell me I’m stupid, I know nothing, I’m too young to have any perspective, etc. There may be truth to any of their criticisms of me, but the reason they don’t fundamentally hurt me is that maybe they do know more than me. In which case, they are just trying to help me become a better person, or to understand how to improve. Such criticisms I get from men, I have to believe are the result of good intentions. So I take them to heart and work on becoming better. I like to be right, and when I was younger I was called arrogant. I was fundamentally misunderstood. I can spot intelligence quickly, and to be called arrogant is people just not understanding how I work as a person. I can get along with anyone, but when shit like this is said, it hurts. I don’t like to be right, per se, I just want to know the truth, or, to arrive it. And so when I know it, and people are spouting bullshit, I am quick to correct people. I guess that’s my weakness.
Not all sets are created equally. This one burned my subconscious. It got under my skin in a way that no set has done since I started getting into approaching again. After a lot of personal pain about my failures, I decided I was going to do something about my failures.
I left the venue thereafter, and went to my car and pounded the steering wheel in anger. Anger that is a long time coming. Anger that I messed up again. Anger that I can’t create a cinematic experience for a girl (which to be honest is completely unrealistic and extremely hurtful for it to be expected of us by society at large, and women in particular), or be James Bond with a quick witticism that makes her pull off her clothes. It doesn’t work like that, that’s what I’m convinced of. Anger that the softball I get thrown doesn’t land with the bat.
I have work to do. And more failure, inevitably. As I told my wing before I drove home, “better luck next week.”
I work on improving my life, holistically speaking every day, and I can tell you ever day, the one thing not falling in place is women. While this is trying my patience, I am convinced tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life, and whatever that may bring with it. I sit here with a match on Bumble that I got while driving home and she already sent me a message. I have 0 expectations but I’ll take any consolation prize I can get.