Correcting The Maria Mistakes

Sometimes it takes a while to look back and realize your actions. The trip across the country allowed for that. During the long hours of driving, it came to me that I could of scored with her if it wasn’t for these things. And these mistakes are not girl specific, they are things that many make and many never learn from.


Maria was cute, skinny, blonde and quirky in a way that was endearing. Coming out of the separation, I was weak and vulnerable. Reading my Twitter showed how up and down I was. From cold to flutter, swerving like Jack Bauer. When I made my first move during the party, I thought I was set in Riverside. Going to get a cute girlfriend that I liked, all was left was the job. No need to waste money on going out and gaming. A girl and my heart. It clouded my judgment severely and I lost my precognition (being able to calculate future probabilities with girls accurately).

Nice Guy Syndrome

I’d only been working on game seriously for a few months. While things like my approach on Maria, extremely aggressive, gave me an early lead, I started to wane quickly. I became overly nice, polite, quick friend zone material. It started with helping her to an early vet appointment, then the dead end of the birthday date. It became more of pandering than gaming. I fell back into thinking if I was nice, if I did “the right thing”, she’d open up her legs. Wrong, of course. I lost my direct touch while swimming in an ocean of betaness.

Beta Switch

I approached her after saying a quick hello at the bar when she came up asking for something strong. I overheard her conversation with the guy she was sitting with. The guy was pure beta. Nothing interesting. I swooped in like Superman saving Lois Lane from Lex Loser. I took hold of the conversation, I demoted the guy by offering him to buy drinks off of my tab and I engaged her while promoting myself. It was my best approach up to that day. Its probably still my best. It was epic. Then, with NGS, I reversed the tactic. This led to losing focus and led to the biggest mistake…

Missing the Pivotal Moment

“I haven’t had sex in 3 months.”

Now, this is what we wait for. Bringing sex into the conversation. We should it, but when she does it, its a good sign. We were standing outside, alone, smoking, away from her family. She wanted me to come outside. Like a cunt, I was trying to ingratiate myself to her family and friends. My mind was far from game. During our conversation, she said “I haven’t had sex in 3 months.” And I said…

Drum roll, please!

“Lucky you. Its been 6 for me.”

A better line would be “We’ll have to remedy that.” or just move in, grab her hair, kiss her and say nothing.

This is why we have to focus. This is why when you’re out its has to be your passion. I thought game was a 24/7 hobby. My conclusion from all this is that its not. Quest has talked about losing the feel (or overgaming). It happened to me too. I tried too hard and I lost my way.

I’m a quick learner, so I have applied these revelations to my current pursuit. I’m cocky, I’m sexual, I’m in the lead and keeping the tempo at a good, upward pace.

And I’m only in top gear when I need to be.

Lessons learned.

Level Up

Yesterday was productive. Job search, cleaning, reading writing. Went out for a cheap breakfast, talked to a guy who’s son is in TV, did more, then went out for lunch at Panera Bread. Maybe I’d go see a movie

As I sit there, finishing my food, I hear, “Hey you!”

I look up and there’s Maria, hair dyed to a brunette from the platinum blonde I had seen only a few weeks before. I liked the blonde.

“Oh, hey,” the nice in her voice put me off.

“How are you?”

“Doing good, and you?” It felt pretty strange.

“Looks like I’ll be moving to Orange County.”

“Oh, really?”

She goes on to tell me about her sister, the cute older one. She got hit by a drunk driver and got ejected. The seat belt broke.

“Oooo,” I said, making faces as sympathetic as I could.

The last time I saw Maria it was weeks ago, after being told I was stalking somebody. Somebody knew my name, came up to me, asked if I was Jordan and said stop stalking inaudible. I said I didn’t know inaudible. Oh, okay, and the chick left. I go outside to talk to the 7 blonde I was chatting up before she was pulled away. Maria was there, looking awkward. I ended up deleting her number. I was rightly pissed. No one knew who said I was stalking, and only two people there knew my name before the bitch rolled up: Maria and the 7. Maria was friends with the 7. I put 2 and 2 together.

She had to go back to work. I heard “Engage, Maverick! Engage!” go off in my head. I gave her my number, again. I don’t expect a single text or call. But, for some reason, if this flake does, I’ll be right back around to where I was when I got here, except with not a single fucking care. I could ask her about the stalker accusation. How that bitch got my name. But if we end up going out before she leaves, I won’t say a word. There’s no reason. Maria isn’t in my heart anymore, despite her good qualities. She’s a target, through and through, and that’s it.

Level up.

There is No Spoon

“We’re stuck at the kissing stage.”

“Ever think she could be waiting for you to set the pace?”

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh shit.

Oh wow.

Christ, have I been so deep in my own mess that I didn’t see that?

Yup. Stuck deep like dick in a vacuum.

Recognizing the problem is the first step in curing it.

When I care, I worry; when I worry, I panic; when I panic, I get anxiety; when I get anxiety…

Clearing my head has become both a job in itself and something that comes easier and easier.

I had planned a post, anxiety-filled, short, on the date, but the date went as well as I let it. I deleted the post because it is that kind of thing, focusing on it, that makes me obsess about what I did wrong. I thought writing about it would help. Its has, just not in the way I thought. It has exposed my psyche, my obsessive-compulsive thoughts on my failings, and brought them to light. With the help of friends and my comrades in the sphere, I have realized what my problem has been.


I am trying to bend the spoon. I am ripping my hair out trying to bend the spoon. I am ruining my life for the spoon.

But there is no spoon. Just me.


Written at 1:54am

I tried to fall asleep early, but to no avail. I guess I’ll have to short myself some hours if I’m going to get on a schedule more tuned to day and night. I’m doing this because I need to get up and get out quick to exercise, walk and just let myself think my day through. I’ve never been a morning person. I’ve never been much of a planner person. I leave things to the last minute, create messy rooms and all around keep house like I was 4 years old. My uncle is correcting that flaw in me quickly. His own bedroom looks like its never been slept in. He expects the same from my room.

I signed up for UI from Utah yesterday. First time ever I’ve had to request state assistance. Luckily, I’ve thrown my ideology out the door and care about myself more than anything. Its needed. While I don’t pay rent and my relatives are kind enough to feed me most of the time, I need the money to pay down the debts I already have, to keep my car in my hands for future employment and for other things. I have no problem making business contacts. I applied to a dozen places on Monster a few weeks ago, none that contacted me back. Not even the TV guys are getting back to me. Its nasty out here, but I’ll make it. I have my insiders. I just need to bide my time.

Things on the Maria horizon are looking good. She picked her number, so the plan is set, she just needs to give me the data on what days she’s off. We’re taking a slow pace, but fuck me if that isn’t something I’ve never experienced. All my exs and my lays have been with girls who went down early or who I was extremely sexual with early on, usually over the internet. We are a generation of instant gratification. We forget what a build up feels like. Fuck, I have little experience in a real build up of human contact from day one. It is frustrating slightly, but I also think of the day I’ll be able to let it all go. I know I’ll get there. I know it’ll be great (for me, at least), so those thoughts keep me walking tall like I showed Rosie O’Donnell my pimp hand on live TV.

I’ve also scaled back my going out massively. Instead of random days when I feel like it or feel shitty, I’m going to hit up two places or more on Fridays. There are a bunch of decent places on my roster, so I can switch it up quick if a place feels lame that night. The Sire will still be my HQ for a drink and relaxation, since they know me there now, but I can’t get drunk there anymore or go as frequently. That shit costs me a good chunk.

Time to try to sleep again. I’ll try the den room couch this time.

One Step Back, Three Steps Forward

So the last half of this week has been pretty harsh. A lot, and I mean A LOT, of shit came down on me all at once. The pressure to find a job, the Ex bugging me about getting her off the car loan (something I can’t do without a job), the simmering beta stench of my actions around Maria. Things just went from bad to Hell.

It culminated in an act that I can say is both beta, omega and stalkerish. I was feeling like hell already from a few days of drinking at several different bars over Riverside, and from the pressure I’d been putting on myself. I was laying on the couch, watching TV and for the third day in a row tried to contact Maria. No answer, just voicemail. Pissed already from the Ex, I left a slightly irritated message asking what was up and if something is wrong, just tell me. Not a minute later, I get up, put my shoes on and tell myself “This is a fucking stupid idea.” A few minutes later I’m at her door, knocking, wanting answers. No response. I ring the doorbell. No response. I try the knob. Its open. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! Something is very wrong. My stumbling backwards…

As I said in my last video blog, this is what anxiety can drive you to do. I’ve done many a stupid things based on the thoughts in my head driven by the screaming woman behind the wheel. It hears things that aren’t real. It sees things that aren’t there. Its not literally thing that aren’t there (voices, images), but when I heard a sound when the Ex and her friend we went to see in Arkansas disappeared for a sec, it sounded like a kiss to me. I was already on the edge of the edge, and that drove me over. Turns out, it was him snapping at her because she left the bathroom door open with kids in the house (yeah, I was married to a guy with a pussy, pretty much). I attacked myself over and over for fucking it up, when I had no control of what happened. She had turned towards divorce a year before any of the shit went down. The argument we had before the trip to see her folks wasn’t the beginning, it was the climax of the movie.

Maria was just sick. We hung out later that afternoon. I was still under attack, but I kept it at bay as best I could. We made plans for a real date later in the week. I talked her into a kiss, even though she was sick. I made it half way to my car, then realized I needed help with the paranoia, the other half of the walk was calling up someone who I could talk to. Something good could of died if I followed the paranoia instead of stepping back. Step one forward achieved.

The next day, on the advice of my mother, I worked my day one hour at a time. I watched movies, I finished another song, I wrote, I read, I drove around for a bit. I kept my mind out of the darkness and kept it working. With that, I could feel it want to return. Thoughts of “what ifs” came at me left and right, but I kept them away. The urge to hit up Maria was there, but it was easily swatted away. Yesterday was the same. I drove to Burbank to grab my relatives who were back from their trip to the South. I watched movies. I napped. I wrote. I went out for a drink or two at the Sire. I also picked several places I could take Maria and gave them a section of numbers between one and thirty. I used to do this with the Ex because she was indecisive, but now I’ll use it on my girls (sparingly of course, never over do it). They pick the number and that’s where we’ll go, so its their choice, even though they’ll have no idea where we’re going until we get there. I threw in a super-date plan as well, but its been assigned only one number. If she gets it, props to her ESP or whatever. Step two.

The final step forward was letting go of the pressure, the massive weight I put on myself, to get a job and having the failure reflect on me badly. I’m a white 25 year old male in California. Its pretty much a given I’ll only get a job if its in my industry, if I know somebody or if God loves me. I can easily stretch out my money, and I have a single credit card, so none of that debt like it piled up with the Ex. I’ve run my gambit of self loathing outings, so my bar tab can easily be only $10 and last at least an hour. I’m not going out anymore because I feel like shit. I’m going out because I feel like going out. A drink, a smoke and just letting my mind calm itself down.

I’m getting there…

Relax (Don’t Do It)


New girl. New thoughts. New worries. My latent OCD appears in the form of obsessive thinking, which drives the anxiety to great new heights.

I do love me some genetic defects.

The first few days after starting the new relations I was hit with things I haven’t felt for years. The anxiety was there, but so was the utter hell of a total lack of self-confidence. I was in a eternal loop of “What did I do wrong?”, “Was that the right move?”, “oh god, oh god…”. It’s a nasty thing if you haven’t felt it. Its slightly like being bi-polar. For minutes or hours you can feel great, and then something will trigger the downfall. Then you’ll wonder if you’re any good at all. If you’re worth anything, but you pump yourself back up. It takes time to get right. The confusion and the worry broke me down like it broke me before since my first crushes. It still bothers me as I write this. But, the thought that cures it, even just temporarily, is this:

She’s just a girl.
Don’t rush.

I was married for 2 ½ years. I was with the cunt for 4 years. I’m used to easy access to sex and affection. Just lying in bed and if the Ex was naked, good chance I’d be getting some. Now, its back at square one. I’m feeling the pressure of non-existent eyes pushing me to get the lay quick for whatever reason, and if I don’t then I’ve failed. Maria doesn’t work that fast. She’s very friendly and outgoing, but shy and reserved with me. What I assumed was failures turned out to be her insecurities.

I know my game works. This isn’t Seasons, who I was annoyed by. This isn’t the younger Waitress who flaked. This is my chance to integrate everything I’ve learned and stick to it. No lifting pussy above me. No “she’ll save me”. None of that beta-ass bullshit that takes down good men. It was just my luck my first girl after the downfall is one I actually like. So be it. All I have to do is just be the laid back, cool, interesting guy she got hooked on. And that’s what I am.

I will keep evolving. There’s no doubt about that.


Yesterday, Gmac kindly reminded me that I am too hard on myself. Too true.

Also, Kay sent me this. Apparently my self-bashing inspired it:

Dude, life is awkward. Humans are born not taking care of themselves, reliant on people that haven’t earned trust at all. We grow up, tear each other apart, fight for what and who we want. Some win, some don’t. But everyone wins something, and everyone loses something. Then we grow old and can’t take care of ourselves again, reliant on people who haven’t earned trust at all. Then we die. And only the lucky few are remembered by the world, even fewer are remembered favorably. Make an impression while you have the chance. Too much time dwelling on things you lose lessens the chance of making an impact at all. Cause beyond everything else there are some people that can take the truth, embrace it and face the day anyway. And then there are the ones who hate to face the day on the best of circumstances, add that to days that aren’t going their way and the truth becomes a demon dancing on their shoulder. Point out what they should have done, should have been so the world would accept them.

Sage advice.

Beware: Beta Inside

I drove from Maria’s house Friday night excited. I cruised around, blaring Deadmau5, so very proud of myself. I went to bed a few hours after. The next morning, I felt amazing, I felt real… shit, I felt attachment. I felt wanting. I felt what I felt when a girl was into me… romance.

This is a beta pitfall. It ain’t a one night stand. It ain’t just a simple target like Seasons was. You like the girl. Your body wants this girl. It puts out the chemicals that make you ready to procreate and attach. Its what puppy love is to teens. Its what betas call “the One” or whatever nice word for it. Your brain is geared to think these thoughts. Its the natural momentum of survival.

It can kill your game. It can ruin your soul.

All Saturday I battled these thoughts. At that time, I’d seen Maria for a total of 5 hours and change. There was no conceivable or rational way to follow them. My history is a history of falling for any chick that fell for me. Attention = attachment = love. A fucking nightmare for a real relationship. A nightmare for getting laid. Hopping from heart to heart, feeling jealous or unwanted when things go wrong. This was my first great test since the change.

I spent the day putting my mind off the hormones coursing through my veins. I knew it was because this was a new girl, a girl who’s body I could have, a body I actually was attracted to. An ass I could grab and grab it all with nothing else there. Collarbones and tight skin. After organizing, cleaning, writing, reading and watching TV, I went with the relatives out to a local baseball game. I wrangled tiny kids, caught a runaway toddler and still dealt with the caveman. It wasn’t fun. I had little sleep, but great energy. After we got back to the house, I had to go out. To the Sire to unwind.

Maria texts me half an hour after I get there, after my playlist begins on the jukebox.

Hey you. Whatchya doin?

Quickly, I responded: At the Sire. Care to join? Dammit. Too quick. No, wait, I already got in the kiss. The physical. Not a habit I need to justify, but it wouldn’t hurt me as bad as pre-kiss.

Yes I would :) give me 20 minutes at most. :) lol

I don’t respond until the 20 minutes have past. In those 20 minutes my beta freaks about her not showing up. I go to the pisser twice. I listen for the door to open. Fuck. Its like my first date ever all over again. All nerve and no balls. I send: Hurry up! You’re missing MeatLoaf. The final song on the playlist I put in the music box.

On my way!

She shows about five minutes later. I’m on the patio with my third drink, the slight buzz going. I spot her a smoke. The hot MILF waitress asks her for a drink. She says she can’t decide. I say we should do odds and evens. After several false starts, I introduce her to the game. I was mixed drink, she was beer. I win, but she still wants beer anyway.

“You’re breaking the rules.”

“But I want a beer. I’ve been drinking mixed for a while.”

“I’ll allow it.”

We talk about what we did today. She babysat. I wrangled. We talk about the music on the speakers. We talk about other things. She tells me her Flyer fan best friend gave her shit about me. I say its deserved. I showcase my wit. She laughs hard often. She also yawns a lot. Soon, she offers to go back to her place. Plenty of alcohol left from the house warming party the night before. I agree, of course. We share my last smoke.

“I still have like 20 Jello shots left.”

“I think this time I’ll be staying over.”

We stop by 7-11 so she can grab a pack of smokes which at the last second I buy for her along with my Red Bull, then we pull in front of her place. Inside, I sit on the couch as she pulls out food and shots. She chugs half of my Red Bull. Here I screw up again. I take a while to move closer as we watch a movie. The old pauses and anxiety fucking me up. The hormones breaking my stride, but I psych up and we’re close. Soon after I pull her legs on my lap and we make out for a bit, then back to the movie. A little later, a little more making out, moving down her neck, then back to the movie. I kiss her back, her shoulder, rub her legs and thighs. Her breathing seems stable. Normal. Following a beat.

She was out. Asleep.

I sit there for a while, my arm wrapped around her. I pull my arm out, she’s still in dreamland. During a loud part of the film, she wakes.

“Should we put you to bed?” I ask. She agrees. She then says I’d be sleeping on the couch since her room was “disgusting”. She goes into her room to grab something, when she comes out I tell her I’m not judgmental about it. She still puts off the idea. I say I’m fine to go home. Sleeping on the couch would be bad positioning. It’ll be her bed or mine for me. We go out for one last smoke, she offering me one of her’s. She apologizes profusely for falling asleep. I let her off the hook, rubbing her back, getting a tiny moan of appreciation. She still apologizes. We stand up and say goodbye, we hug, we make out. I grab her ass, kissing deep, kissing her neck. She kisses my neck and says goodbye. Sunday night will be karaoke.

I get back in my car and struggle to find the song I want. I feel like I totally fucked up. No! Its the beta talking. Its the lack of self confidence rearing its head from the concentration camp I locked it inside of. Its years of being shit on, dealing with the worst parts of women and accepting it as a “good” husband and a “good” guy. NO! NO! NO! I will not relent to its irrationality. I will not fall for the trap.

As I write this, I can feel the pressure lift. The second guessing dissipating. The anxiety leaving. The worst part about being a new person is that the old person has never left, its just hiding, waiting. I need to be able to let go of the old feelings and worry. I need to meditate. Psych up before, not during. Maria will be the first of many and I can’t be as lucky with my frame as I was with her. I was direct and honest when we met. I swooped in and separated her from a clingy beta friend. Savior game. Saturday night, I wobbled between forward and hesitant. Between sexual and uncertain. The initial frame keeps me alive, as well as her overall attraction to me, but it can’t rely on it. I need to be as flawless as I can. I can’t let the beta inside dictate to me anymore. Otherwise I’ll go back to my old routine. Internet, hopping from infatuation to infatuation, spiraling back down to falling in love with the slightest show of interest. A horrible life.

I am the alpha. Only the alpha. I fear nothing. Not failure, not myself. I am the alpha. Only the alpha.

Maria’s Party

It was one of those days. Things haven’t been going well on the financial front. Hitting up my family for support doesn’t do well for the male soul, but it what has to be done. Scouring for hours, thinking of the wasted talent I’ll endure for cash, thinking of how I was put in this situation. It was Friday, a day of celebration. It was hardly that. While I was talking to my Dad about work prospects, I got a text from a unrecognized number. Who might this be?


A few days prior, during the day of major downers, the day where the weeks of fun was destroyed by the reality of my situation, I headed over to the Sire. It has become my bar of choice. I wasn’t looking for prospects. I was looking for relaxation. I hogged the jukebox with classics like All Along The Watchtower and Layla, frustrating a few of the younger patrons who wanted ska or some other crap. I caught the attention of a pretty waitress, 40ish, but a goddamn nice body. She said I looked deep in thought. I said it had been a long day. She was just being nice, but that was fine with me. With the finale of my DMV adventure and the rearing of the world, I needed a drink. Her body in my eyes helped, too.

Closing in on closing time, a thin blonde came in alone. “Make me something strong,” she said. I sat in my barstool, hand on my Jack and coke, and reflexively said, “One of those days, too, huh?”

“Yeah,” she responded. She immediately started talking about work, then home. Twin days, it seemed. After getting her strong, blue drink, she came over and gave me her name, I gave mine in kind. She then went outside. I sat there, sipping at my fourth drink that night. I’d been there a while, as was procedure for feeling down on one’s self. Very friendly, very upfront. Yes, I thought. Prospect. My phone told me the time and I marked for a fifteen minute wait for her to return. About ten minutes after, I went outside for a smoke and sat down. There she was at a table, talking to a guy who had come in 20 minutes beforehand. I listened for a moment, hearing talk of video games, nerdy shit; nothing that said relationship. I psyched myself up and moved in. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, go right ahead,” she said.

I sat, introducing myself to the guy. He noticed my Philadelphia Flyers shirt. I told him it was a little late for wearing it, but what the hell. We all talked. Her and I smoked. She went on about her long day, as did I, her friend then declaring a no-drama zone. Cool, I abide. He wanted another drink, I offered him my tab to buy it. He didn’t use it when he went back inside. I focused on her a lot. Asking her about school, her job, her life. We trade stories. It wasn’t long before he wanted to leave. She got my number. The rest of the night I sipped my last drink and felt good.

It was her, this odd number. It was an invite to a party not to far from where I’m living. She had mentioned a house warming party going away party for a friend during our short conversation. Her as recent to Riverside as I was. I grinned. I shook, anxiety despite the healthy medication. “Bring something to share.” Hmm. Beer? Obvious. Nothing? Probably. Oh. Wait. Yes. In the closet of my room was a duffle bag of 39 movies I wanted to give away before moving. They never went. Perfect. I talked to Kay for a few hours, her career choices given to me for evaluation. The girl has a good head for the future, the dark future. She took the piss out of my situation. Good. Keeps me grounded.

The party started at 9:30pm. I showered at 9 and waited until after 10pm to leave. Around 10:15, I arrived, dufflebag in hand. I met a chick with a crew cut and a goth guy before even getting to the door. Moving on in, I was greeted by a cute brunette sitting on the couch. A blonde head turned. “You made it!”

I smiled. Yes, I did. The bag transferred to her hands. “Something to share. 39 movies for anyone to grab at.” She looked surprised. I met the few who were there, but soon many others arrived. She made it a point to introduce me, even though sans alcohol I was still feeling a slight awkward. A beer and a few shots later, well buzzed, the small things left. I ate. We all talked. A few early guests left early for whatever reason. Fine by me, natural party selection. She broke out Apples to Apples. A game of verbs, nouns and subjective evaluation. I teased her friend about being an Anaheim Duck’s fan. It endeared me to her best friend, who was a born and raised Flyers fan. God bless hockey. They all said her name. Wait, and you shall receive. For the purposes of this blog, she is Maria, for she reminds me of Maria Brink from In This Moment.

The party rode the wave of the unusual card game. Being somewhat experience with it, I knew what cards to throw down if I had them. Odd. Unusual, but funny. During one hand, she was explaining to everyone why she chose such and such cards, but her eyes were on me only. Half way through, I made the excuse to sit next to her when the seat opened up. Better to get to the opening so I could get to the food, I said. During a hand, I made it a point to put my hand on her leg for a few second, then withdrew, but keeping close. The game ended when most of the crowd left. Her best friend, her and myself were left to clean up. Being the sweet guy I am, I helped. As she said goodnight to her best friend, I laid on the couch, watching the credits to Blues Brothers 2000.

We went out for one last smoke with her. Our alone time the entire night being in the length of a cancer stick. I could drive home. I didn’t live far away and I was barely buzzed by the end of the night. During the time we had alone we talked a little more personal. She about the party and her feelings, I saying it was fine, that I was having fun, and about my own things. She said I was cool. That I came across as “Hey, I’m Jordan. I’m cool!” If I was still beta, I would have been ecstatic. I took it as a natural thing. She talked about a guy friend who assumed they’d fuck the first date they had. She didn’t do that. I assimilated that information quickly. I never mentioned the divorce or the Ex. I brought it up once before at the Sire and if she didn’t remember or didn’t want to, I wasn’t about to shoot myself in balls to remind her.

She talked about karaoke on Sunday. I said I was down for that. As we finished up, saying goodbye, she hugged me. I felt the hug last a little longer than it should have. I looked down at her as she slightly pulled away, I dipped my head and kissed her. Once. Twice.

“I like you, by the way,” I said, lips barely an inch apart.

“I like you, too,” she responded.

I walked away, saying I’d see her on Sunday, hopefully.

If I hadn’t gotten the kiss, the hopefully would have been a major mistake. In this case, it was just something said.

Naturally me. Naturally awesome.