Glory times- A Lounge. 2 stunners walk in – a 9 and a 10, hairdresser/models. With them, 2 Abercrombie-jawed model-douches, just as you’d expect- except this time the cards have been shuffled and I’m holding the ace. I approach the 10- damn she’s even hotter up close. Blonde, green eyes, Victoria Secret body. No need for ninja group-theory here, the guys are indifferent, anticipating the impending blow-out- but it never comes. Plough, stack, tease, spike- isolation. Abercrombie and Fitch are confused, what the fuck is going on- send 9 friend to bring the 10 back. Sorry guys- spike- 10 is going nowhere.
Her eyes dart around- she’s wondering if I’m a good kisser- I am. Her phone rings, it’s Fitch calling from 10 feet away- give it up mate, you’ve been outgunned, no shame in losing to the best, thanks for playing.
And there were others- strippers and models pulled to rooftops and coat rooms.
It’s easy to forget the hundreds upon hundreds of stalls and blowouts that predicated the glory times- and that my enthusiastic bounce-backs from failure paved the way for my pinnacle successes.
Fatigue – the excitement is lost. Entitlement creeps in, “Doesn’t she know who I am??”, “I’m better than this”, ”I’m too old for this”, ”I just can’t be arsed”, ”back in my day I woulda owned that girl”.
Lost enthusiasm stifles evolution – experience replaces excitement, results in plateau. We try to recapture the phoenix, occasionally we find nimbus and pull.
And we come full circle – needing permission to pimp. When learning pick-up, the single biggest step you can make is giving yourself permission to pimp – to lord, realizing you are the shit. RSD can give you temporary permission, situational confidence like a birthday can do the same, but ultimately the lord mentality will need to sink in on an identity level.
For some of us, it does. We get cocky, and rightfully so. We pull strippers and models to rooftops and coat rooms. Results build confidence.
And then the ego. You tell yourself you’re a pimp. Your friends tell you you’re a pimp. You are a pimp, “gaming is for chodes”. You still pull, but the success justifies the ego and the process-enjoyment is lost.
You learn to fake it, to compensate for it – but the better your compensation gets the more your inward spiral continues. Whereas in the beginning good results actually made way for better results – now good results proceed a crash, and failure becomes a necessary catalyst for achievement.
And of course you can still pimp on birthdays, on special occasion – when you give yourself permission to have fun and be money. When you’ve got just the right balance of vodka and redbull.
And you’ve come full circle.
Or you can break the cycle. Give yourself permission to have fun, to enjoy the process. Tell your ego it’s not serving you and bid it farewell.
Think about how you want to live your life. Do you value giving value in itself as an end? Can you?
Do your emotions serve you or are you victim to their whims?
Take the reigns. Design the lifestyle you want. Let the party begin, give yourself permission. Be the fucking party! You know how, now do it! Really!
Go out, have fun. Approach the FIRST girl you see, tell her she’s fucking beautiful. Give her friend a high-five. Smile, let the game flow freely. It’s in there, believe me, it’s begging to come out.
Party on- we’re not the weathered prize-fighter – we’re yet to reach our prime.
Party on.
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