| I got pretty. I look damned fine in a new red shirt and some awesome black jeans picked up at the International Clothier's 80% off Boxing Week sale. My nails are freshly painted. I'm wearing my fish necklace, and my bone ring, and my heart-covered bracelet. And yet it is 10:00 on New Years Eve, and I am at a computer writing a field report.
I went out. Come 8:00, on the button, I was out the door and standing at Chapters. The store was closed, but I figured people might not have caught my post in the Canada forum and shown up anyway. I stood for fifteen minutes to various looks of confusion (I was wearing my horns), and then moved on the The One. The One was requesting I pay them $40 for entrance. I don't pay $40 for shoes.
At half that price, I got into Bar Wild and proceeded to have the most incredibly dull night I've had since I started pick-up. I've been on a break recently. I've apparently glorified the memory of excitement from my earlier career, because I'd forgotten the utter tedium that comes of waiting for a party to start. I'd gotten in early; I expected it to be a bit slow, but come on people. It's fucking New Years.
Anyway, because the cover fee stole all my drinking money, all I could afford was pop. So I sucked back on some pop and saw a three set walk in. I figured I'd give them some time before I approached; let them get settled first. They were the first women in the bar. To approach them immediately would make me look like a vulture. Not cool at all.
So I waited some more as Bar Wild became a huge sausage fest. A couple of mixed sets walked in. Nothing to write home about. And then a pretty two set came into proximity, an 8 and a 9, and I felt obliged to open them.
I can't remember what was said. I can't remember if I'd used any routines or not. I honestly did not care where that interaction went. All I cared about was that I had spent $20 on a night of sitting by myself drinking pop.
It's not even that my frame was bad. The interaction had a great vibe. I started strong. I opened the obstacle, and then the target got defensive (I thought that was cute, the target coming to the obstacle's rescue like that), and where I saw a perfect chance for recovery, I just... Left. I didn't care.
Maybe this is strange, but I would much rather have sat with Mocha and Shaft all night than approached even that single set. There's no excitement in the chase for me. I don't get butterflies when I think about approaching a beautiful woman. I get butterflies when I think about approaching a beautiful woman with my friends to back me up.
I used to like flying solo. It's been a long time since I've had to, with a steady wing and a terrific pivot within driving distance. I've stopped wanting to. When I was looking forward to tonight, it was for hanging out with you guys (whoever wanted to come out). It wasn't for picking up random chicks in a bar.
I don't think I'll be flying solo anymore. I'd rather hang out with my friends and enjoy an occasional interaction than have a bunch of meaningless interactions with no friends in sight.
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Repent now and save 50% on your next divine judgment.
-Monkey's Little Brother, Spud
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CHAT
