Futuristic Words

Let us consider skin and whispers. Next weekend I’ll be back in my home state to teach a comprehensive bootcamp and the very first Love Systems Breakthrough Comfort course since August 20, 2007! (Sinn has taught it a few times since then, but I imagine his version and mine have take significant departures.) Since the course is on Monday at noon, I will be hammering on the presentation until Monday at 1100 to make it just-so. To my great joy, I’ve received extremely positive reactions from the women to whom I’ve described the course. Some Love Systems students want to make the beast with two backs with as many different partners as possible ad nauseum/ ad infinitum (whichever  comes first). For the most part, though, guys want to find That One Special Girl** but do so on their own terms and do so after they’ve attained some confidence that they’re not settling. Yes, yes, realistically they probably want to verify that said O.S.P.G. will occasionally agree to take off her clothes and travel a highway to ecstasy with another or multiple other Slightly Less Special Girls. That would fall more into Savoy’s Relationship Management course and, if it’s really important to you, should be a component of your qualification process. Breakthrough Comfort tends to function better when employed on a single woman due to the nature of the connection that develops.

Before that, of course, I will be teaching a workshop to the soundtrack of the Atlantic Ocean. Outside in New York, water is in the air, although it’s less drizzling and less pouring. The droplets are tiny and seem to fall in strips, so it looks like someone added film grain to this particular Saturday. It’s finally grown chilly, and real cold will be here soon. The summer was short and merciful. I suspect the winter will be punishing. As New Yorkers who don’t check the weather or hope against nature massage their triceps and swanky jackets make their glorious return to the night scene, it pleases me endlessly that I will be sweltering for the next week. Yes, dammit, I am  pleased to swelter! I could only be more pleased if I returned to New York to find that winter had come in earnest and I would again have to rub the salt from my boots and, as my ears singe from the bitter cold, know I am indeed alive because the moment hurts. People move to Los Angeles and San Diego to avoid such temperature extremes. Life is hard enough on its own. Mundis ex igne factus est.

If you’re reading this after wandering over from the LSi or you received an e-mail from me because you live in the Miami area, don’t delay. Take this workshop. Head over to our reviews and see for yourself: a Love Systems boot camp is a life changing experience. Fear of approach, fear of rejection, fear of holding yourself accountable for the quality of the women (of the other HUMANS) in your life. We address all these and show what’s possible, all in the course of three days and two nights. It’s going to be a blast.

ADDENDUM: I really like Windows Live Writer for writing and publishing blog posts. With a dropdown you can publish to any of your various online writing spaces—I also have a personal blog for nerd issues and comedy, as well as a private journal—and Writer cleverly displays the your blog’s page formatting, so you can see how any given post will show up on the page, WYSIWYG style.* For some people this might be immaterial, but I’m a big fan of working through a unified interface. Switching from Blogger to WordPress and composing in Notepad in case I don’t have access to the Intertubes is a pineapple in my ass. Writer is the best solution I’ve found for doing all my online writing in one place. Some of you might bristle

*—Protip: This is an initialism, not an acronym. An acronym is pronounced as a word. Scuba and laser are acronyms. If it’s pronounced “poo-uh”, PUA is an acronym. IOI, HMMWV, and WYSIWYG are initialisms. All of the above are different types of abbreviations. This language message is brought to you by the Don’t Be a Fucking Idiot Foundation For a Better Life. You’re welcome. (source, Garner’s Modern American Usage)

I have returned to Los Angeles. En route to my hotel, I was struck by how much I didn’t remember from when I lived here in 2006. The city sprawls, and every neighborhood takes on a new theme of people and landscape. I don’t see how I could not remember the deserted-looking oil derricks, but there they were, flanking me, as we cruised up La Brea.

As my old neighborhood, West Hollywood, settled into view, as the street names for my vet, my grocery store, my workplace, and more passed by, I was struck with a fusion of nostalgia and longing and contempt. The people here do not have the glassy look I ascribe to them in my memories. Perhaps that sense will return when I speak with a smattering of idiots tonight. Then again, I am returning to this city with my empathy reforged, so there’s a chance I will adore Los Angeles come Monday morning.

I am excited beyond words about the Playboy Mansion. When I had the opportunity to speak with porn actresses, I probably hit on them less than I should have. Some of them told me flat out it was time to make a move. I was far more interested in asking questions like, “What does intimacy mean to you?” So much for keeping it light! Nevertheless, I received a skadillion interesting answers, and I learned that Kayden Kross is waaaay smarter than your average bear.

When I’m hitting on a girl, my style tends to be a breakneck race to peel away the barriers of bullshit that separate people from other people. Life is too short, and anyone can surprise you if you give them the opportunity and make them feel comfortable enough to reveal real information. This has drawbacks, of course, as I discovered when I went on my no-phone-numbers spree earlier this year. For whatever reason, truly getting to know a girl can shift you away from the realm of sexual competition and into the realm of a real contender for her affections. One of the girls I met in Sydney demonstrated this hilariously. I was talking about my family after we left the bootcamp venue, and I asked her about brothers and sisters. “I don’t think you need to know all that,” she said. The subtext, of course, is that I was a fling. She liked me and trusted me, certainly, since we were walking around Sydney arm-in-arm in an hour past God’s bedtime, but everything had been light and breezy to that point, so my very typical attempts to dig to the real core of her were rebuffed. I laughed and threw an ice cube at her before I changed the subject.

The way comfort defines an interaction is beautiful and frustrating. A girl will sleep with some fun, cute guy the night she meets him. She will not do the same with a real contender for her affections.

And so it will be at the Mansion. On the one hand, I am but a man of flesh and blood, and I am confident this experience will result in two evenings of priapism. Of course I want to meet a buxome bunny and sex her behind the cabana. On the other hand, I am definitely harboring hopes that there will be some hilarious girl who looks like a rocket to the moon and, yes, she’d love a shot, but really she a.) just wants to go home and level her alt in World of Warcraft b.) is right in the middle of this book called Infinite Jest, and it’s kind of been haunting her, and she wishes she could put some clothes on and cuddle up with the pages c.) thinks I look like I’m a scrub in Soul Calibur, and she’ll gladly take me on. Or to just meet someone whose human tide overtakes my any assumption about Los Angeles or the Playboy Mansion. Going into any situation with zero expectations and infinite hope (i.e. living, functioning dreams) is always my ideal mental state, but this place weighs on my spirit, and the Playboy Mansion seems an awful lot like a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Here’s to dreams.