The Appearance War

Girls, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Are you ready for this? Hold on to your seat. Here it comes... Guys don't care what you're wearing! ...Shocking, I know.

Ok, let me clarify. Most guys are completely oblivious to the detail put into your appearance. We generally don't notice longer eyelashes, that your purse matches your shoes, or what color your nails are. Furthermore, baggy sweats, a baseball hat, and tennis shoes do little to dissuade a our interest. The long process of evolution has favored the guy who could identify an attractive girl at a distance, hidden among shrubs or trees, or in a crowded area. If you're hott, we'll notice (granted we have to be able to see your hip to waist ratio, facial symmetry, shiny hair, shiny eyes, and white teeth).

Despite our oblivion to finer details, you still go through the hours of preparation. Why? ...because in any group of guys, there is ONE alpha male, the leader, and you all want him. One of him, whole lot of you. To get his attention, you've got to be hottest girl in the room, and, suddenly, the details become important because cute, tight clothing, accessories, and color matching give you that slight advantage over a girl of equal beauty. He's more likely to spot and spend his time on the one who features her assets (even though he'd really take either one of you... if not both).

All that time spent on details is for competition with other girls. It's savage warfare for the attention of a few attractive guys.... The Appearance War.

An Old Man At Starbucks

I'm sitting in Starbucks working on a paper right now. Two tables away is an older man, sitting by himself drinking a tall coffee with the lid off. His blonde hair is parted on his left side, combed over to the right, and messy in the back where he couldn't see in the bathroom mirror. His bangs curve down to the leg of his glasses that sit atop a nose that has grown too big for his face. A big green winter coat drapes over his hunched over back worn into a curve from years of bad posture. He's wearing a green button down shirt with white pin stripes too big for his waist and tucked into forest green khaki's with cuffs at the bottom that sit just above brown velco loafers. He sits quietly watching college girls get their drink, walk by him, and leave.

I don't take him for a weird, old guy so much as lonely. I doubt a wife would let him dress in three different shades of green. While he does his best not to look awkward, something's missing... and he knows. I imagine that he always feels it. He wakes up every morning, showers, shaves, brushes his teeth, and combs the hair he could see. He reads the paper over grapenuts with slices of banana cut into it. He's quiet. All the while, that hole is there, and he's stressed to do something about it. The relief is this little excursion, this cup of coffee. It's his excuse, his reason, to simply be among people. I see him with hope as he puts on his brown velco loafers and his green coat. He ambles down the street to the Starbucks wondering what might happen today. He buys his tall coffee, and he waits. Nothing happens. He leaves.

I feel bad for him... Not for the bad outfit or his excursion, but for the waiting. I'm really no better. Everyone in here is compelled to give himself or herself even the possibility of something happening. I single this man out because, in what seems like sixty years, nothing happened for him. It never really happens for guys. We have to stand up, go out, and do it ourselves. We have to start the interaction, initiate the chemistry, and attract a girlfriend. This man never learned how. I wonder where he went, what he went back to. Is he happy?

Touch Nightclub.... No more?

On our way to KROBAR, my friends and I noticed that the doors for Touch were closed and the sign has been taken off the side of the building. The place looked dead.

We knew the incident that took place there had an effect on their business when they started Pennies from Heaven night, but we didn't think their business was suffering that much. And yet, a day or two ago, a flyer comes to me about some event that taking place there... and I'm confused.

Does anyone know if they're actually closed?

The Database

The Behavior. So a guy's standing with his buddies on the street and a girl comes walking by. With his peripheral vision, he'll first subconsciously make a snap decision on whether she's attractive or not. If she is, he'll briefly stop whatever he's doing turn and look at her coming towards his position then go back to what he was doing. As she gets closer, his mind is timing her, and, when she walks directly in front of him, he'll stop and glance at her side. As she's walking away, he'll time it again and turn to look at her back side.

The Database. Every guy, through the course of his life, needs to evaluate every attractive girl he sees against every other attractive girl. His subconscious mind snaps a front, side, and rear image of the girl, all of which get thrown in long term memory. I think the goal is to average out the body types of every attractive girl he ever sees as his ideal body type, his ideal mate. It's also what let's him see the smallest body part of a woman and know if she's a potential mate.

I can see how guys who developed this ability increased their chances of finding a girl with good genes, meaning it's a trait that got selected in our population.

Smoking Ban

Allegheny County Council voted to ban smoking in all public places last Tuesday, and I, for one, couldn't be happier. I lived most of my 21+ years in NY where the ban is statewide. It made the club/bar experience so much better. Aside from the obvious health benefits, I could come home without having to stuff my clothing into a biohazard bag. So here's to a lower dry cleaning bill. YAH!!!!

Under most circumstances, I'm all for more freedom. In fact, I think all recreational drugs should be legal. Roe vs. Wade precluded a right to privacy with respect to our bodies, so that if you want to destroy yours, that's your choice. As long as I don't have to inhale your second hand smoke, drive next to your intoxicated ass on the road, or pay for your recovery, you can do as you please. We all share the same air, though. One smoker imposes his choice to smoke on everyone else in the bar who's decided against it. It's common courtesy not to, but that just doesn't happen. So I welcome the ban. Smokers blaze on! Just not around me.

The Economics of Social Dynamics

Imagine you're a nightclub or bar owner. You need to get people to your venue who'll pay your cover charge and buy your alcohol. How do motivate 20-somethings to choose your place over every other Pittsburgh option?

The rule of thumb is that your average, sexually frustrated guy will spend the most money in any given night, and he's going to populate any place that lets him get drunk cheaply and stare at hott girls in hopes that one of them will bump into him and somehow wind up in his bed.

Cheap alcohol isn't a problem, but getting hott women to the venue is. In particular, an owner wants the kind of woman with the total package. She dresses to accentuate a body that only someone with a good personality should have, she puts herself on display confidently competing with every other girl for attention, but she carries herself with an attitude that makes the average guy tremble in fear, believing he's got not a single chance in hell of getting with her. Yet he'll bring his money back every week simply for the proximity possibility. Because of this, hott women are generally considered nightlife currency and as such are given special attention ... or are even paid to show up. Prive has at least one barback who stands around alone like she wants someone to talk to her when she's not collecting empty glasses.

I've noticed, though, that advertising in Pittsburgh is male oriented. It's usually, "Come see our hott bartenders and dancers, and get alcohol poisoning for a quarter." It does directly target the one's who'll spend their money on it; so I'm sure it's effective. But it got me thinking, how do you advertise a club to the women you want to show up?

Pittsburgh venues that attract the most women have one commonality: loud music and a dance floor. My assumption about this is that women want attention or at least more attention than any other girl is getting, but having to talk and interact with every stupid, drunk loser in the place gets annoying. Thus, the loud music drowns out most conversations that would normally start up with guys and the dance floor makes most guys too self-conscious to get out there with her (on her). It keeps most guys at a distance while still attracting their attention. Margarita Mama's even promotes this by only letting girls get up and dance on any structure in the place.

One thing is missing from the equation, though: single women are all looking for a strong, dominant, confident man, which is far more rare than a hott woman (count how many guys like that you see out at a club and how many hott girls you see there). Among all the bullshit guys, she's kinda hoping her superior ability to attraction attention will land a truly sought-after guy. And that drive will keep her coming back to a place.

By filling a club with socially powerful, strong, confident men, and attractive women will instinctively flock there to compete for attention, and they'll have a much better time doing it. But like I said, we're rare... and we know it.

The Recap. The strong, confident guys know how to give a girl a great time, motivating them to frequent a place where that happens. Following the hott women are throngs of average, sexually frustrated guys who'll spend their hard earned money on socially accepted, destructive habits, generously contributing to the venue's bottom line. And that is the economics of social dynamics.

Farewell Crazy Horse Saloon

I've never been to the place, but I'm sorry to see it go. If you're going to go down... in flames would be the way to do. At least you didn't end up like that bar in Rhode Island.

The Proximity Head Jerk

I've noticed recently, when I walk up to a group of girls and start a conversation, a group of guys are inevitably within three to five feet of the girls and at least one of them snaps his head over to look at me as if a bomb just dropped on his apartment building.

I feel bad for the guy because it's so obvious that he and his friends where standing there hoping something would happen to facilitate him meeting the girls, and to have me come in means I got there first. He's SOL.

It happens with girls too who see another girl come up to talk to me and my buddies (yeah, it happens from time to time). The difference is that I'll usually go talk to the girl in waiting later. It doesn't necessarily kill her chances. Guys who stand there are shooting themselves in the foot showing that they don't have the balls to just go up to her.

Jam On Walnut

Some friends and I went to Shadyside's Jam on Walnut last night. We were hanging out on the sidewalk, listening to the bands play. Two of the Miller Lite girls, one blonde and one brunette, came walking down Walnut into the crowd around the stage and stopped in the street just in front of us. A guy in a plaid white jacket that was too big for him, jeans, and brown shoes walked up and started talking to the blonde one. It was one of those situations where you can just look at the interaction and know the guy has no chance with her... and knows it.

After he left, I went up to her and ask what he said suspecting it was something I could probably ridicule. She said she didn't know and couldn't understand him. Apparently he was foreign. I made some crack about the size of his sports coat and questioned the nerdy tablet PC she was carrying (I know... I'm one to talk, right?). She was collecting "Rules For Men" for the Miller Lite commercials. So I gave her the rule, "Never buy a drink for a girl you've just met," which got a smile from both of them. I asked them what rules other guys had been giving them knowing full well that they'd probably be stupid average guy rules or attempts at picking the girls up, but they didn't remember any. A guy as old as my mom, wearing a baseball hat came up and started talking to the brunette. I whispered to the blonde that we should get a rule from the guy; so I tap the guy on the shoulder, pull him over, and tell him that this girl needs a rule for her tablet. He writes, "All Miller Lite girls should hug any guy drinking Miller Lite," and of course he's drinking Miller Lite. I give it a minute before saying, "Glad I'm not drinking Miller Lite." Neither of them end up giving the guy a hug. I felt bad for the guy, but oh well. When he walked off, I asked them (since that one was pretty bad) what were the worst pick up lines they've heard doing their job, but, surprizingly, they said they don't really get many. The brunette said the worst was like, "You're pretty." How boring is that. I probably should have made fun of them for not being hott enough to get enough attention to hear one or two off-the-wall, stupid lines. Instead, I wanted to know if there was anything worth knowing about them; so I asked what they had going for them besides "being pretty." Found out that the blonde is a fifth grade teacher, but the brunette had little to say. Eventually, they had to get back to work in Doc's.

It was a good night.

An Interesting Interaction

I'm sitting in Panera here, working on a lecture for my class and people watching everyone walking in and out the door. A decently attractive brunette sits down at the table across from me, facing me and staring at me with a smile. Usually, once I notice the chick, she'll submisively look away as if she shouldn't be staring at some hott guy (a huge turn off for me), but this one didn't. She kept her eye contact as my furrowed brow met her gaze. I stared back at her trying to make her look away, and I counted in my head while she enjoyed a bread sample, "1... 2... 3..."

Me:	What's up.
Her:	(With bread in her mouth) Hi.
Me:	Do you always talk with food in your mouth?
Her:	(Taking another bite) What?
Me:	(Smiling) hmm.
Her:	(Trying to swallow, covering her mouth) I'm going to need a minute.
Me:	k
Her friend walks in at this point and sits right between us.
Her:	I'm talking to this guy!
Me:	Oh, you're both rude. I see.

At this point, she didn't attempt to continue the conversation; so I went back to my work. I really am just that indifferent. They later got up and left fairly quickly without even providing me the opportunity to ask for her number, which I was expecting them to do. It wasn't until she was half way out the door that she turned back with that half sad look on her face to see me the sly half of a grin spreading across my cheek. When her friend caught up to her, they continued out the door. That's too bad for her.

I've been smiling for the last few minutes about the extra bite she took while talking to me. I don't know many girls who have that kind of playful confidence...

The Sewer

The city is cleaning out the sewer outside my building today. It's disgusting. There's a cloud of shit-smelling fowlness outside of which I'll spare you a description. I assume it's necessary, though, to prevent a nastier clog from backing up into the street (eww). So vacuum away, guys.

I've been on my self-improvement project for about a year and half now. In reality, my entire life has been, is, and will continue to be a self-improvement project and personal journey, but it was only recently that I started figuring out that I can honestly and truthfully act, do, and be whatever I want. Moreover, my life had been a certain experience, a situation in which I developed, and, in true human form, I adapted to my situation to gain as much benefit and avoid as much pain as possible. I unknowingly took the perspective that I had to accept whatever the world gave me and however people treated me, failing to realize that I, in fact, had any power to affect my environment... the unfortunate affect of overbearing parents.

The last year and a half has shown me that my adaptation also partly involves a reaction of my environment to me; so much so that it almost entirely depends upon me. I can develop the strength to take whatever the world throws my way, I can develop the confidence to go after anything I want and effortlessly roll with change, I can make choices to include or exclude aspects of my environment, and I can acquire the wisdom to know what all that should be. I have so much influence that I can make my environment whatever I need it to be.

The difficulty is fear, doubt, anger, disbelief, and poor decision making. These used to be clogging up my mind, and some are still stuck in there: fear of approaching a girl, believing she didn't want to be approached, doubting that I'm worth her attention, deciding to stay in on a Saturday night. All thoughts that would run through my head and more or less control my life. It's been my own sewer clogged with shit. And like the people traversing the sidewalk outside my building, I went about my business not knowing a whole mess of crap was clogging up the works on a much deeper level and only visible when it would back up to the surface or remenants of its smell would fill the air of my enviroment.

I want to say that I've cleaned out my psyche, that I'm actualized, but that's not yet entirely the case. Fear still rises in certain situations, anger and sadness happen from time to time, and I decide to take on more projects than I should. Consciousness of it, though, is what got me this far. It'll eventually get me where I want to be as this blog will one day reflect.

Religion

During a bible study in which I participate every so often with some other grad students, one of them brought my attention to the following passage:

You have heard that it was said, 'Do not commit adultery.' But now I tell you: whoever looks at a woman and lusts after her is guilty of committing adultery with her in his heart.

--Matthew 5:27-29

I've heard the passage before, but my mind took particular notice of it this time and has been wrestling with it ever since. Does this only apply to a married man? Why is it necessarily wrong?

My Personal Experience, girls love a sexually aware guy. Its essential. To be even considered has boyfriend material (if that's what I wanted it), the girl still has to be sexually interested. Furthermore, her interest is entirely subconscious; for the most part, she can't explain it and can't control it. I've asked... she just FEELS it. It's an elegant system, really. Her attraction responds to social cues and a certain communication pattern that demonstrate the guy is strong, confident, dominant, and in control of himself.

Instead, should I be ashamed of this, be all anxious and afraid of a girl who I want to talk to because I think she's hott. It's a sin, right? Would then acting on that feeling also be wrong?

If the attraction needs to happen first and it's adulterous sin to feel attraction, the process of initiating a relationship, of making any girl feel attraction, is also adulterous, which then begs the question, "what's the non-adulterous way to start an interaction?"

While I'm always conscious of the possibility that I could be using my reason against the truth and that humans can find a reason to backup whatever they want to be true, all I know is that this process--making a girl laugh, smile, playfully hit me, get that look in her eye, all with my confidence, poise, and control of the situation--has brought me to feeling closer to God than anything I've done up to this point in my life. It's an intoxicating rush to get that fun, vibrant, sexually charged interaction going with a woman, and it definitely seems to be more interesting for her.

Hot Nurse Happy Hour

Peter's Pub in Oakland advertised a Hot Nurse Happy Hour this past weekend with the Heineken girls promoting some new Heineken thing (I'm not getting paid to advertise for them... so I won't do it). Clearly, this caught my attention, and it seemed like the perfect beginning to my friend, J's, last night in Pittsburgh. So I peeled some friends from my department off of their compute screens and took our asses out for the night... early. If you're going to promote a Hot Nurse event, though, the staff has to play the part, or, at least the Heineken girls should have. We were told that the typical nurse's shift ended at after the happy hour, preventing actual nurses from attending. I wasn't expecting a medical degree from any of the girls there... but it would have been a bonus...

Regardless, I claimed us a table, we started ordering drinks and food, and I noticed a Heineken girl hovering within five feet of our table. When she noticed that the waitress brought us all Heinekens, she came over and passed out souvenirs that no one ever really wants or uses, but they sit in my apartment because they seem too good or possibly useful to become space in a landfill. So I refused to which she replied that she'd be back with t-shirts.

I questioned her on the absence of anyone dressed as a nurse. She told me that she personally handed out flyers at the hospital trying to get people to come. I said that she failed. In doing so, I was attempting to demonstrate that I'm not going to kiss her ass like every other guy in the bar, but I think it'd have been better if I could do that and make her laugh at the same time. In either case, she was confident enough to roll with it. The difficulty of the situation was that she and the rest of the girls were surrounded by three relatively older guys each for most of the evening, and every time I saw it, I don't think any of them were laughing or smiling at all. I had a little tinge of pity for them, but they could have come talk to us if they wanted interesting conversation.

Eventually, the girl came back with t-shirts, which she gave to J and another of my guy friends. I said, "If you find one in my size...," while pointing to myself. With a little disappointment, she said, "We only have XL." I got a overly dramatic, annoyed look on my face and said, "...Well, I'll take your shirt then." She said ok and pretended to lift it over her head. At this point, she more or less walked away, but there was the general feeling that the conversation had ended. While somewhat funny, by saying that, I think I lumped myself into the group of every other guy who want to get her clothes off. It would have been far better to somehow steer the conversation so that I could joke about her coming on to me.

Although, as we were walking out to enjoy the rest of our evening passed her and the three guys vying for her attention, I definitely noticed a "damn it, he's leaving" vibe. I probably could have just stopped, pulled out my pen and pad, and handed it to her right in front of those guys. That definitely would showed some balls... but she should have stayed and talked a little longer.

Arousal and Fear

Some friend and I were hanging out at the Z Lounge, South Side, not too long ago. My friend is a DJ who used to spin House music there. Few people typically dance there, but we didn't care. While making our own good time, I noticed a girl watching us(me) out of the corner of my eye. I immediately motioned "come here" with my hand before slowly turning my head to look at her. Her face dropped.... she came over and started dancing. We talked a little, and somehow got on the topic of dancing. I said something like, "I like taking the opposite hand when I spin a girl because..." and I took her hand to slowly spin her around one saying, "it leads to easy to...," as she spun another half turn as I put my hand on her side and pressed myself into her back.

I noticed her head drop a little, her eyes close, and all her attention focus inward, all signs that her emotions were swelling up inside her, but, in this moment I discovered something about myself. This reaction is strikingly similar to someone getting angry, which invokes a certain amount of fear in me. It comes from upbringing, the parents yelling at me thing. Anyway, here I was with this girl... actually a little afraid that she was now angry at me. I was conscious of my reaction, and I immediate had to stop and write down my revelation. I think that's where I lost her. She was fun, but her and her friend eventually left for Halo.

What do I want

The demands on my time this year have stretched me to my limits, so much so that I was looking forward to a nice leisurely summer. But, as it turns out, that's not going to happen. I've had to ask myself if these commitments are worth my time, if they're going to help me get where I want to be, which then naturally begs the question of "where do I want to be?"

I think few people in the world really take the time to consider what they want and actually determine to get it. The major decisions--college, major, job, city, house--are faced by everyone, but few distinguish one option from another, assign preference and value, and seek to build a complete and fulfilled life.

My Lifestyle

Upon a modest review so far, the life I want to live starts and ends with relationships. Currently, the most time-consuming and demanding is my relationship with my career: the monster that is Grad School. That's the thing about work; it takes up all the time you're willing to devote to it. So clearly, I must start making choices that allow more time for other facets of my life. I want a relationship with my career that essentially sustains the rest of my life without consuming it. I'm not a 9-5 code monkey.

Next, the relationship with my friends. I want around me, at all times, strong, confident, interesting people, who repeatedly add value to my life in whatever context. Everyone is instantly, unabashedly my friend if they can add value to my life. And I am a center, a hub, a source in my social network. The strong, lasting connections with a few good friends last a lifetime, coloring and enriching my life.

In dating, I want to explore as many opportunities as possible with the few short years I've been given in which to do it. The mid-twenties come and go so quickly, and with them wane the youthful passion with which we can explore and meet new people. With this opportunity of a life, I want to meet and create healthy, vibrant, sexual, lasting relationships with incredible women. And, amidst these options, the one truly exception woman will emerge, naturally fading the others into the background; so that I may know beyond any all doubts that I found her. I cannot be like so many guys who stick with the first girl to come along, fearing that if they don't go all out for this one, nothing will come in the future. So, until I'm certain, I have no moral objection to explore as many relationships as possible with the little time in which I have to explore them so long as I am honest, respectful, and true.

Beggars In Pittsburgh

As I was sitting in Caribou Coffee today, a young kid walking through the door made eye contact with me. He was obviously one of the many beggars that accost me throughout the day in my travels around Pittsburgh. These kids, though, operate a particular con whereby they ask for donations for their little league team, referencing a crumpled flyer in their hands to legitimize their proposition. Before this particular kid could pitch me his scam, though, the barista (can I call them baristas at Caribou?) noticed and immediately asked him to leave.

This got me thinking about all the beggars who approach me since I've moved to Pittsburgh and how I respond to them. The most common are those curled up in the shade on the side of Forbes avenue who ask if I have any spare change, but there are two that really stick out in my mind.

The first is the guy I see from time to time outside Giant Eagle who asks "Can you help a guy get a meal?" He asks as if he just channeled all his desperation, pain, and anxiety into those few words, as if life has sucked every ounce of energy from him and this simple phrase is the mustering of the last little hope he has. With such anguish, I can't help but feel bad for him. So I give him a dollar or two from time to time, but I can't afford to subsidize his lifestyle. I notice though, that I feel worse when I give in to his request. He seemingly leverages my pity, manipulating me to give him a dollar... and I feel used.

The second is one of these kids who approached me in Panera with a flyer for his "sports team." He actually sat down at my table telling me how most people tell him how five dollars is a lot of money but that he'll take five and below. He seemed happy, though; energetic and almost enthusiastic. I happily gave him five since I didn't have anything less, and yet this was a blatent lie and manipulation.

The guy was honest and seemingly so desperate that he probably needed the money more... maybe, but I felt less manipulated and used by the lying ten year old. The difference was their attitude. Why am I more willing to give money to someone who seems not to need it?

What dawned on me is that women are approached like this all the time by guys who are essentially trying to get sex or a relationship from her and that they react in pretty much the same way. Guys who act as if they don't need the sex or relationship from this particular woman are the ones who usually get it whereas the nervous, insecure guys who place so much emotional importance on this one woman are flat out rejected... or become her friends.

Friday at The Matrix

My first night at The Matrix was not too long ago despite being in Pittsburgh for almost 9 months now. My friend, let's just call him Bob, was having his birthday party. Standing at the bar getting our first few rounds of drinks and waiting for others to show up, I noticed fairly attractive girl talking to a couple of guys. I recognized her from somewhere. When the guys left, I went over and here's the basic conversation:

Me:	Hi! Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.
Her:	Huh. No. I don't think so. You don't look familiar.
Me:	(Looking around the room behind her) hmm. What's your name?
Her:	X.
Me:	(My eyes snap back to hers) (pause) ...Facebook?
Her:	I am on facebook.
Me:	Yeah. That's it. I friended you on facebook.
Her:	(laughing)So what's your name?
Me:	PJ
Her:	k. So wait, are you that guy who sent me those messages?
Me:	You mean all two of them? Yeah.
Her:	So you don't think I'm a fun girl?
Me:	You gonna prove me wrong?
Her:	(laughing) Maybe I should stop talking to you then.
Me:	(turning away slowly) Alright.
Her:	I'm kidding.
Me:	(turning back with a sly smile)
Her:	(slying) I'm a fun a girl
Me:	(pausing... looking away)Yeah, well. I'm unconvinced.
Her:	(staring at me almost shocked)

I doubt that was a bad thing to say, but I could've done better with something like, "sure, sure, that's what they all say when they're trying to get in my pants."

Me:	(Tapping my friend on the shoulder) This is my friend, Bob. It's his birthday today.
Her:	Hi!
Bob:	Hey.
Me:	I think Bob needs a birthday kiss.
Her:	(smiling)Ok. come here.
Me:	((Bob turned back around) whispering in her ear) I'm trying to hook him up tonight. That's my goal.
Her:	uh huh.
Me:	(still whispering) You've got to help me out with that, ok?
Her:	(smiling) Ok.
Me:	(after a pause) You know, I've got like 300 friends on facebook.
Her:	I've got like 200 or something
Me:	Yeah? Well for me to recognize you... that says something.
Her:	Well, I'm flattered.
Me:	(seemingly sarcastic)Yeah, well you should be!
Her:	Ok, well we're going to the bathroom. See ya.
Me:	Later.

In retrospect, it was the "out of everyone I know, you stand out" thing that really turned her off from me... and fast. It implied that, while I don't know her at all, I already considered her something special or that I was trying to convince her that I was someone she should get to know, neither of which I really intended. It was interesting, though, to watch the good feelings just drain out of her face... like instantly. So, clearly, I screwed up a bit. However, contrary to what I implied, I still doubt she's all that interesting.

We spent the rest of the night in the 80's room, in which I decided I was going to prevent that typical self-conscious feeling from taking over me. As I started just having a good time screaming along with my friends to Bon Jovi, dancing, jumping, laughing, and taking stupid pictures, my friends and the people we were with let go too, which made for a killer atmosphere. And that's when everyone else around us started noticing. Groups of girls danced next to us, some jumping in with us; others walked by... a couple times; and the sad ones sitting alone at the bar watched (although, they didn't join us even when waving them in).

The attractive thing seemed to be the really good energy we put off combined with the vibe that I just didn't care what anyone else thought; I was going to have my good time and the hell with everyone else. Good emotions are infectious, and like gravity they pull everyone around. We're all looking for something fun and exciting, but are we afraid to fun and exciting ourselves?

Me? ... no more.

Pittsburgh At Night

When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself, on the shore of Walden Pond...

Hahaha... no. For those of you who don't know, I'm quoting the opening sentence from Walden by Henry David Thoreau. What really follows will be my reflection on a 20-something single life in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,... and I'm anything but living alone in a city of half a million people. Not unlike Thoreau, though, my goal is to discover what it takes to have a successful single life, to have, more importantly, a successful life in general, to transcend the mundane into something spectacular. What does it mean to live?

Strange, I know, to equate successful dating with a successful life. But is it really that shortsighted? Consider evolution, the process of adaption and natural selection, where members of the species who display the best traits (the best adaptations), the ones most likely to ensure our survival, are selected by members of the opposite gender for procreation. Women, then, desire a man who demonstrates that he can best ensure his and his families survival, i.e. a successful man, one who accomplishes his goals. Therefore, everything in life--every choice, every thought, every emotion, every endeavor--builds, contributes to, a successful life that ultimately makes me more attractive to women.