The Art of Approach

On to the MASF nitty-gritty. Again, if you haven't heard of this stuff before, and are interested, I refer you to www.fastseduction.com.

I CANNOT APPROACH WITHOUT A WINGMAN.

When I do approach I am rather good at it. I've got the entire thong story a la Future memorized, and I can tell it like a fucking Greek bard. I'm naturally cocky/funny. I've mentioned my smarts, my eloquency, and my looks.

But I can't do it without someone else being there. And that person must either be in the game, or at least a certain bare minimum of "coolness."

Interestingly enough, they just sort of have to be within proximity of me to get me opening sets. They could be a 100 ft away in their own set, and that's enough for me. I think it has to do with changed incentives: after the sarge (that's an approach, folks), I can talk to him about what happened, and whether the outcome was good or bad for me (rejection vs. number or whatever), he'll spin it positively. Approaching is always a positive in "the community."

But though, as mentioned, I've got a mall about a freaking block away, chock-full of sun-bleached SD honeys, I cannot approach there.

My problem: if I ask my friend to go out with me to sarge, it comes off as needy, and lowers my value in his eyes, I believe. He's rarely up for it, and when he is, I feel very pressured and outcome-oriented...i.e., we have to get x numbers NOW, or else I'll never get the chance to expand my social circle. This leads to a bad frame and some bad approaches.

What I need: a stable wing whose similarly motivated...of course, it'd be still better if I could motivate myself to do this shit on my own...more on how hard that is later!

Take Two

Ain't equilibrium a bitch?

We slave away at our jobs or at school (so that we can get better jobs), but according to the statistics, we'll never really be any happier for it. There is no correlation between wealth and happiness above a subsistince income level. The man who earns $30,000 tends to be as happy as he that pulls in $300,000. It works with things other than wealth, and the other way too: paraplegics tend to describe themself, a couple years post-trauma, as being no better or worse off than before succumbing to the wheelchair.

I used to be a bit soft, but now my body is in the process of being transformed into a physical specimen. I have worked out for perhaps three weeks now, and have seen stupendous results. My triceps scream at you out of my shirt. But the initial rush I used to get after coming home from the gym, that feeling of "I've done something positive today, no matter what,"--the one that made me smile at the girls in the cafeteria and ask them if they're day was going as well as mine--is gone. Indeed, I've entered a sort of dynamic equilibrium in which going to the gym each day is the norm, and not working out, even if it's simply to take a requisite rest day, leaves me feeling low.

There are other conclusions to be drawn from this state of emotional equilibrium our body seems to always be seeking. Even if I succeed past my wildest dreams to become a bona fide PUA (pick-up artist), the thrill of a threesome with a pair of vegas showgirls will give me the same thrill as a kiss from a drunken party girl might today. And yet, I can't help but strive for that mastery of "the game," in the same way I can't help but try to earn a high-paying job. I know these things are futile. I know I must seek acceptance and happiness from within (though I have no idea how to go about it).

Perhaps it is the little triumphs that string together to form a fulfilling life. A kiss here, a BJ there, the ability to "open" half of all sets you enter, then nearly all of them (see www.fastseduction.com for explanation of terms), the ability to go out each night knowing you'll come home with a hottie in tow, and so on. Each step is another bump in your utility level. But don't fantasize that there's some upward trajectory of hapiness levels that occur as you progress in the social sphere, or the financial sphere, or any other one. That's how I justify my attmpts at material and social growth, anyway.

My equilibrium is low. I have a negative outlook on things. I'm very scared that if I reach social respectability let alone PUA-dom, that I'll be like the many rockstars that equilibrate, get depressed, and strung out on drugs. For though I don't have a drug problem, happiness has evaded me for some time...

Introductions

I begin this, my first blog at what feels very much like a lull in my life. No--no one in the family died recently, my health is good--indeed, i'm quite fit having recently embarked on a weightlifting campaign--and I've got a terrific paid internship with a company that seems to care about me. It's summer in San Diego, and, home from a well-reputed college where I'm pursuing an economics degree, I am pleasantly situated by a bustling, sun-soaked, open-air mall.

I've yet to venture into that mall this summer, however, which is something like a microcosm of my current situation, and my life up to this point for that matter. I am what you might term a loner. For I desperately seek the company of others, but I spend almost all my time alone.

This blog is not a friend, though it pays attention while I pour out my soul, which is all I ask for and need.

I am not your typical loner. Though I wear glasses, they have stylish frames. The eyes onto which they filter the world are penetratingly blue. Wisps of multi-tonal hair--browns, and blondes, and in-betweens--hang down about their edges. My nose is perfectly proportioned. My lips are purt and remarkably curvy. My chin is a bit weak, but all in all my features make up a very pleasant ensemble--people tell me I look like Christian Bale. I tell them I've got a few inches on him. (I'm 6'3".)

I mention all this not to brag. Indeed I do so as a preemptive contrast to what is to come. For despite my youth and good looks, my fairly ridiculous intelligence, my fluency and eloquence in the language, my humor (I suppose you'll have to trust me on this one for now), and a thousand other things which should be helping me rocket through the social sphere like I was Han Solo and it was the space-time continuum, I am very much alone. My friends are few. I've never had a girlfriend. I am, for all intensive purposes (<--which is evidently a corruption of "all intents and purposes," which I like less), a virgin. I've got everything going for me, except the ability to relate to people. This blog, as I envision it, will serve a number of useful purposes: practically for me, I hope that it will allow me to see myself progressing, like a workout chart detailing increasing weights and reps each session. I imagine it also to show just how arbitrary my moods can be, so that I can logically treat them as flights of fancy in the future; e.g., though I am rather down right now, I expect to be happier and more optimistic tomorrow or the next day--for no real reason at all. This blog will also serve to document my thoughts on people and society and related matters in general, so that they don't flutter off and between the grates of memory, never to be heard from again. I should finally hope that the prospect of readers will spur me on to challenge myself more in this struggle for social competency, and that in turn, my (I pray) upward climb will encourage yours. I have personally been inspired by many such stories, usually told within the bowels of www.fastseduction.com, which I believe takes the right sort of approach to conquering social fear.