Futuristic Words

If you’re reading this, there’s an excellent chance you saw the Love Systems appearance on the Tyra Banks show last Friday. I don’t know how much I can add that Braddock and Savoy haven’t already discussed, but it was great seeing our company framed in such a positive light. I echo Braddock’s wish that Tyra had taken the time to delve into the Love Systems products and the boot camp experience in greater detail. We are doing missionary work, enriching the dating landscape by adding interesting men to women’s prospective evenings.

I will be in Orlando next weekend. 31 July – 2 August, with Tenmagnet and Cajun.

Two weeks later, 15-16 August, I will be at the Playboy Mansion with Cajun, dahunter, and Savoy at the Advanced Boot Camp.

I’m still working out my schedule after that, but stay tuned. There’s some exciting stuff in the works.

Well, folks, the time has come. This Friday, Love Systems will come under the blazing microscope of the media machine. This time, the scrutiny will come from this generation’s champion of dialectic inquisition, Ms. Tyra Lynne Banks. If you are sitting around your house with your hand shoved into a pint of ice cream this week and you’ve grown tired of Days of Our Lives (DAMN YOU, STEFANO!), take a half hour to see how well Savoy and Braddock withstand withering lashes of probing insight from the woman who dared to put on a fat suit and reveal to a shocked public that beautiful women are treated with more deference and kindness than fat women are. If that was your first encounter with that information, I hope you were sitting down. I’ll give you time to pick your jaw up from the keyboard.

Internal babble suggests that while Braddock and Savoy’s appearance didn’t seem to be a hate-fest, there is no telling how these things take shape during the editing process.

Speaking of media traffic, articles have surfaced on the web from the two journalists who sat in on our recent New York boot camp. (cf. the one where Future almost lost his copy of Blood Meridian) The first one, linked here, is actually rather flattering. The second one is a bit cheeky, but the author pretty much nailed her description of me when she called me an “excitable emo ginger” before she proceeded to malign my Standard Issue Direct Opener.

Adorable. I’ll retort with video before the Tyra Banks episode airs. Stay tuned. In the mean time I’ll whet your appetite with the opener in question:

“I couldn’t help but notice you from [across the park/ over there/ outside your window/ across the subway car/ wherever you were when you noticed her], and I knew that if I didn’t come talk to you I was going to be kicking myself, and I had to come find out if there was more to yout than meets the eye. Is there?”

(To be fair, Day Game Ninja Soul’s opener probably works more consistently, but we must all tune our game to ourselves. Daddy Future has a controversial personality and a somewhat, ahem, coarse sense of humor. I screen early, bitches.)

Finally, if you like pretty girls, you should go to Montreal.
Good.
God.
It is officially the neck-breakingest city in North America. I do not know why it is not talked about more, but I think the parents of Montreal need to be recognized for their clever and resourceful combinations of adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine. The human landscape of the second largest city in Canada is beyond belief. You can sit in the food court at the mall and in every direction is a creature who will put your salivary glands in overdrive. Sitting at the karaoke bar late at night? Check. Taking tickets at the movie theater? Check. Standing in tight, short shorts on every street corner? Check, check, check. I know it sounds like I’m overdoing it, but the density of hot (not cute. HOT) girls in Montreal was almost comedic. Then, get this: they’re Canadian. They speak French, they’re laid back, and they don’t treat you like their equivalent phenotypes in Los Angeles or New York or Chicago or Miami or Las Vegas would. If you are reading this blog and you have never been to Montreal, you need to unfuck yourself right-quick. I’d write more, but I have shit to do.

Three orders of business before I write a blog entry for realsies:

a.) The Columbia talk went very, very well. I am not sure if the next one will be open to the public, but this time it was standing room only, and we went over time by 15 minutes with questions from audience members. As I mentioned before, the nature of the talk was completely devoid of dating science, just Future ranting about good old-fashioned first impression making using his real name. Hopefully this isn’t the last one. I’d like to eventually a.) open the guest list and b.) be able to talk more openly about the seduction aspect of this since it’s a topic that would be of interest to anyone remotely interested in social psychology. Time will tell.

b.) I’ve arrived in Sydney. If you haven’t found Thursday yet, the world does not end. I will be at the Montreal Jazz Festival next week, where Tenmagnet, Cajun, and I will teach some lucky guys how to pick up some of the most beautiful women in the world in an outdoor venue piping great music all the livelong day. If you’re not planning to go, what the Hell is wrong with you?

c.) THE BIG ONE: I checked my e-mail when I touched down, and Savoy confirmed some exciting news: I will be one of the instructors at the Advanced Boot Camp at the Playboy Mansion on 15-16 August 2009. I’ll bring this up some more– expect a much longer mention when I am officially released back into the wild as a lead instructor for LS– but here’s the deal for now:

1.) Playboy Mansion. Duh.
2.) Don’t suck. You don’t have to have taken a boot camp, but we DO want to have the quality of guy who has taken a boot camp. Savoy will be teaching techniques for A-level game and how to do well with celebrities and models and such, but he can’t turn a tadpole into a frog into a prince overnight.
3.) There’s a myth that it’s impossible to pick up girls at the Playboy Mansion. Don’t believe the hype. If there’s anything working with Love Systems has taught me it’s that women are women wherever you go in the world. People are people. If you don’t feel up to the challenge of being measured against high value men by women who are accustomed to being treated a certain way for their beauty, well, see #2.
4.) Holy. Fucking. Shit: this is going to be so much fun!

More later on The Most Fun You’re Going to Have This Year as the date approaches. If I’ve already sold you, go to the Love Systems website now!

Okay. Now for the meat:

I do not have the organizational ability, memory, logistical skill, or lifestyle to handle the volume of women in my life. It’s a good place to be, although it’s tiring and results in communications and behaviors that are not really worth my time. Complaining about this would be like complaining that a bank won’t take my money because they don’t accept deposits that large. Yes, my love life has real and shitty problems, but it’s not the sort of trouble that generates sympathy from someone listening.

After my last relationship ended, I was annihilated. After teaching Breakthrough Comfort recently, a student asked me how to gently massage the aches in the heart that come from love ripped asunder. I told him I’d let him know if I ever found out. To my knowledge the only solution is time. Sure, the SUISC will encourage you to Go Fuck Ten Other Women, and that might help stanch the wound, but it doesn’t do much to grab hold of the psychic furniture that belonged to Her and move it to the attic space reserved for lovers lost to the past. It doesn’t help the feeling of incompleteness as you lie alone in the bed next to someone whose name you only just learned. As far as I know, the only help you’ll get patching up your wounded heart is from a second hand ticking through the silence of yet more lonely nights. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, and for months my melancholia was repellent to women. I took the disintegration of my relationship personally, deemed myself a failure because of the wasted effort time, energy, and emotion that I poured into my time with her. That sense of failure made me repellent to myself. It was almost like a massive Scotsman had broken in and taken away my ability to handle myself around the women I was talking to.

Months later, I was having a fine time with girls of little consequence, but every few weeks I would meet a  girl I genuinely liked and I find myself making unfortunate mistakes, mistakes that culminated eventually in me howling in the Friend Zone with three ecstatically beautiful women. None of these situations are hopeless– if you take Breakthrough Comfort, you’ll understand why the Friend Zone is not really a threat if you think long-term and maintain your integrity– but all three of these exceptional situations shared a common problem: I showed too much interest too quickly. Ironically, I was talking with several exes about the issue (not in a conference call), and each one mentioned either at length or in passing that certain otherwise eligible guys had committed the same crime and received the same waning interest. When the universe speaks, I listen.

(Isn’t it maddening when you make mistakes and you know better? I don’t mean in a calculated way but in the sense of just saying things you know are ridiculous or that you don’t even know why the words are coming out of your mouth– a situation that happens to typically coincide with tactically poor choices. The mouth opens and the words come out as if propelled outside any human volition, and you watch the movie as if from the other side of a mirror.)

Much of the impetus for this lay in my memories of some remarkable women. I reviewed the experiences– thank God for blogs and journals– and I found that my mind had distorted the facts. I was looking at the past through the lens of romance, seeing events during which I was fitter and funner, where the girls were more immediately attracted, where the love was an assumption from the beginning, not a slowly boiling miasma of feeings. While romance is certainly not the enemy of pragmatism, it is easily her rival. I reviewed my notes from times before, and the truth slowly took shape. When meeting my former girlfriends everything was not hunky-dory right off the bat. In reality, my dance card was full every time I met any girl important to me since I discovered the SUISC, and that legitimate abundance gave me the distance I needed to stymie my occasionally too-intense romantic inclinations when I meet a really special woman.

After my mojo returned and I started teaching again, I slowly started seeing the world again from a stance of abundance. In the past week, four women have voiced sharp vocal objections to my lack of attention. The girls in question are lovely and interesting and charming and sweet. In each case, my failure to communicate has been due to legitimate logistical difficulty or laziness on my part, not a lack of interest. Although the girls initially started their calls with vitriol or annoyance or passive-aggression, it wasn’t very hard to bend my mind to the notion that for all their pissy vim, they were mostly saying, “I like you, and I thought you liked me, and when you didn’t call, I was hurt and confused.”Options >>

There are a handful of ways to look at the change, all of which revolve around the means to cultivate a strong center and an internal sense of abundance. As usual, they devolve into the tactical versus the ethical, the path toward love and long-term relationship happiness and How to Get the Girl. Stay tuned.