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  • Just because...

    USC lost to Oregon State. Now, are they the Ducks or the Beavers? I can never keep these things straight.

    I managed to navigate my first blizzard, driving-wise. There's nothing quite like driving on glass.

    Tennessee Titans Cornerback Adam 'Pacman' Jones has proven himself to have even less game than I. Dude, even the social proof of being an NFL player can't help you when you spit in a woman's face in a club. Let's call this one the Fuckup of the Day. Of course, he may top this with his performance in today's tilt against the Houston Texans, but we'll give him the benefit of his athleticism and technique.

    I also managed to run my first variation of The Cube. It's so much easier online, as you can take your time, interpretation-wise. Like I always say, baby steps.

    Heartfelt condolences to the family, friends and fans of NBA legend Red Auerbach on his tragic passing Saturday.


    Anyway, my personal interpretation of the Would You Sleep With Jesus/Do You Think Jesus Would Be Good in Bed? opener. Nope, don't recall wherefore it originated, otherwise I'd be happy to credit him. So many newsletters, websites and e-books, so few brain cells.

    Would You Sleep With Jesus?

    -Obviously, one rarely likes to open with a yes/no query. Most likely, she'll say no.


    Just think about this for a minute. It's, like, the 25th year and you're in a tavern (inn?) with some of your girlfriends. Suddenly, in rolls this kinda androgynous (in wardrobe and appearance) guy with this huge posse of like 12 or 13 guys. You check him out and think, ''Cute. nice goatee, but no. And what's with them sandals?'' And you're kinda creeped out by the sausage party.

    He sits down beside you at the bar and orders a water. You're thinking Loser. Then he offers you a taste. You're like, ''sure pal, like THAT'll happen.'' He nods and drinks it himself. A little sloppily. A trickle of liquid lingers on his lips. What the FUCK? It's wine. Okay, you're intrigued. Who wouldn't be?

    Then this hot woman who's kinda dressed like a hooker comes up from behind him and is all over him. He's having no part of it. Obviously there's more to this guy than meets the eye. Then she kneels in front of him right there at the bar and starts massaging his bare feet. This is no ordinary man. He has a certain power over the womenfolks. A power that you're kinda drawn to.

    Next he starts healing the lame and other wannabes and teaching them how to pull chicks (read:fish). He makes what started out as a dead night at the inn come to life. You're overwhelmed by all this social proof.

    When he offers to make you see God, what do you say?


    If she says no, no big. No sense of humor. Move on.

    If she says yes, then you neg her: ''OMG!!!!! I can't believe you'd sleep with Jesus. Blasphemer (or some such). So, do you think he'd be good in bed?''


    Yes, there are still some kinks to be worked out. Mostly that I'm having trouble conceiving where to proceed from the opener. One crisis at a time, though.




  • More crackpot theories

    Simply because it's my day off and I have some time before I repair to my local tattoo parlor to make a touchup appointment.


    I don't know how many of y'all have studied Mystery Method, but it's so far advanced from where I am and what I know that it's like expecting them damn monkeys to hammer out Shakespeare's complete works on the first attempt.


    Song of the Day: Jet- Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is. It was all too appropriate today, even before I cracked a tooth (curse you, chewing gum and poor brushing patterns!) about an hour and a half ago. Nope, it don't Hurt, but it IS annoying. Like. You know. Anyway, it's no big then that my friendly children's dentist can't fit me in until next Wednesday.


    There are 2 kinds of women: the kind you bring home to meet mom and the kind you bring to my house.


    I've been kicking around the idea of establishing my actual curve, rating women-wise, so y'all can see where I'm coming from when I say that an acquaintance is a 6-7; but, thus far, all I have is:

    0- the mom from What's Eating Gilbert Grape______________________________10- Kristen Bell (at least in the picture I'm currently using as wallpaper)___________11- Mandy Moore

    Anyway, stay tuned on that front. Bated breath and all the rest of it.


    Men pick, but women choose.


    The women simulator, oops, online dating, experiment continues apace. In the past few days, I've had a woman compliment my profile (link on lower right; advice welcomed), another ask for my digits (sure, and if I'm available, maybe I'll answer), a 3rd invite me out for drinks (I'm not sure I'm that easy, but we can exchange numbers and maybe set something up) and a 4th e-mail me after not hearing from me for a week or 2 (whence I asked her if, as someone who has an important leadership-type job, she sometimes just needs to be LEAD; to feel like a little girl again, instead of always having to be a strong, independent woman). I'm having fun with this. Everybody's practice now.

    I now have a new endgame in mind. Don't get me wrong, just looking for meaningless casual sex is admirable and y'all won't hear any complaints from me when it's offered (yes, I'm enlightened and emotionally literate, but I'm still a, you know, guy); but I'm fully committed to devaluing it now. I'm aiming for the stars, Nirvana, as it were.

    Pimp game. No, not in the sense of having chicks that I can turn out for my own financial gain and general amusement, That shit's just be wrong. And yes, this is WAY off in the distance, as I'm merely getting started (approach is proceeding, next we work on attraction) at this; but, as I was on my hands and knees this a.m., scrubbing my bathroom (no, life at Stately Deranged Manor ain't always champagne wishes and caviar dreams, sorry) floor, the bitchslap of epiphany struck.

    After I wiped the blood off my lovely mug (epiphany wears brass knuckles some days), it all became crystal clear. I want to be able to have me a stable of attractive, willing, able-bodied women at my disposal for such situations. That, to I, is ultimate game. Someday.

    Or not. Whatever.


    Because I was feeling sort of froggy today, I tried out what I like to (think of as Christian (read:fool)-proof and) refer to as my Sheri (a solid 8) opener (does walking a casual acquaintance home late at night and, despite receptivity (hey, it's ME); merely shaking her hand and wishing her a pleasant evening qualify as a DHV or merely write one off as a (gasp!) nice guy?) on a 7-8 HB with DD breastesses, hundreds of guys e-mailing her each day, and 2 university degrees (working on a masters in forensic science).

    Nope, not looking to hook up with her (used to live here, now VERY LDR); merely congratulated her on hitting the genetic lottery, asked how frustrating it is when men don't take her seriously, and then asked her opinion. Women apparently love to have their opinions solicited by the menfolks. Who knew? She's objective, hot snatch on the hoof, and I'd be willing to bet she's seen everything the male animal has to offer. Plus, I love asking off the wall questions. Haven't checked my e-mail yet, reply-wise. Don't much care, either way, as, again, she's not my one-itis (looks, 8; personality, 9.5). Therefore, whatever happens, happens.


    Yesterday, I tried out something that's proven fairly effective of late on a new target 9a woman who's been kind of a flake as far as returning e-mails goes). Something along the lines of:

    Catchy Subject Line

    Blah blah blah some of us were talking yada yada yada and your name came up

    blah blah blah the consensus seems to be that you're


    And then you hit send.

    I fucking KNEW all those years I whiled away on that psychology minor would pay off. This also works on answering machines. Responses damn near guaranteed. Unfortunately, to this point, this woman either hasn't checked her mail, simply deleted it (all my sent yahoo e-mail arrives as being from c m), or has more self-esteem than the average bear. Or, perhaps, she simply recalls the complete pussy (once pining away for a woman for a year and a half like fucking Heathcliff or something) I used to be. Whatever and ever, amen. Not my crisis. Simply trying out some shit. Keeping what works. Discarding what don't.


    But I really need a mentor, someone whose techniques I can watch, study and emulate. I know a couple of guys what used to be PUAs, but are now tied down (and not The Good Kind) in LTRs. So, the search continues.

    And I still need that wingwoman. Desperately.



    The cliffhanger-type send e-mail worked, reply-wise. However, since she seems to have missed the point (and I'm fairly certain I had one), perhaps I overestimated her abilities as a psychology major. Or perhaps I simply need to return to ye old drawing board.

  • Women of the Day 10/23/06

    I know that there are (The) Rules to this and I'm fully committed to breaking each and every one of them.

    That, too, is how I roll nowadays. I'm also taking responsibility for everything that goes wrong in my life now. Rather than blaming Karma. Although I did name one of my fantasy sports teams Curbstomped by Karma. I just like the way it sounds.


    What the FUCK is Kevin Federline doing on Monday Night Raw? Are they going to ever have some actual, you know, wrestling on their wrestling program?

    And yes, I'd purchase HIS dating system, too, should he ever release one. I guarandamntee it'd sell better than his rap album.

    Cover of the Day: Britney Spears- My Prerogative. For the video, naturellement. Although the song's kinda appropriate of late hereabouts.


    As my next foray into the target-rich (even if our squad isn't) environment known as Tuesday night volleyball looms, I find myself getting all giddy-like. Anxiety and excitement are the same emotion, it's all in how you interpret it. Now that I'm doing my own thing and not really concerned about shit...folks are looking at me differently.

    Online dating proceeds.

    New headline possibility: I Hate You Already. I'm ALL about screening out the flakes, after all.


    Did anyone actually, you know, VOTE (real people, not vote mongering politicians) on this whole fascist non-smoking dealio here in Calgary. Because I don't recall an opportunity to do so.

    And folks wonder whyfore I fight for JUSTICE, dammit! If I had a heart, I suspect it'd be breaking right about now.


    I'm having an One-itis Look-Alike Contest. Please send in your photos to the address above. If memory serves, it's listed under About Me.

    And yes, I'm fully aware that very few of y'all actually know what she looks like. Send pictures anyway.


    Today's Dreams:

    - a trip to Las Vegas sans any USD

    - gasoline running $1.39/litre

    No wonder I never sleep very well.


    The list:


    1) Beryl Markham (in 1936, she was the first to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west.)


    2) Nina Malbasic (5'11'' Bosnian model. something about her simply works for me. maybe it's just because I really need to get Back to Basics; cease, desist and refrain  from getting in my own way and complicating things more than they already are.)


    3) Mimi MacPherson (Elle's less gifted and therefore much more pliable and therefore much more interesting, sister. check out her home video. let's us just say that she's a gamer.)


    4) Athena Massey (prolific and talented B-movie actress. possibly best known for her role in Termination Man and her damn near perfect breastesses.)


    5) Julie McCullough (memory lane time. Playmate from back in my formative years. caught her on a 90210 rerun and it was flashback time, just like when I got back from the Gulf.)


    Off to work. Perhaps. We'll see how driving goes tonight. There are nights when I feel completely sans control, like I'm about to crash into something. Intentionally on some level. Perhaps in my reptilian brain or some such.