Showing posts with label boston. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boston. Show all posts

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The movies: Part II


This is quite funny (and 100% true for all you miserable haters out there). I just met a girl in the most Norman Rockwell (Read: Saturday Evening Post)/1950s Hollywood way possible: I helped her pick up a bunch of blueberries that she had spilt all over the ground outside of the supermarket. No joke. I mean seriously, if I were going to make up a post, I wouldn't pick something so cheesy....I'd rather tell a tale that involves a tuxedo, a high-speed chase, a gun, a cocktail dress, and venom (you know, the kind that some girls have in their bloodstream).

Back to tonight. I'm rounding the corner, leaving my local Whole Foods when I spot a petite girl, dressed in gym gear, kneeling over a broken grocery bag trying to pick up all of the blueberries that had fallen out of her bag.

What would you do if you came across this situation? I'll tell you what most guys in Boston would do...keep walking.

After helping her pick up the berries, I realized she was still overwhelmed with heavy bags, and helped her carry one of them home. Turns out she's your typical East Coast girl -- prep school, nice, private New England college, financial sector job, etc. I'll email her and invite her on a run this weekend.

Just like in the movies


Sorry folks, I've been stressed (and swamped) at work. I haven't been keeping up to date with the blog so I'm posting yesterday's activity. Picture this: A sweltering summer-time stroll home past the angry commuter crowd after a long day at work => unhappy smooth. Half-way home, passing by the locust infestation of commuters, I notice a mirage across the street:

Young woman, white dress, picking though oranges at a fruit stand in the financial district. She is beautiful... in every way. My head is blank as my feet automatically turn and force me to walk over.

My heart's racing (the telltale sign that Captain and I use to measure whether we are truly smitten by a girl or not) but I ignore her and grab the first ripe looking orange I see.

Me: "Wait a minute, take this one, I mean it."

Her: "Oh, I think the one I have is ok." She smiles. I'm in the door. She starts to turn away.

Me: "No, I like this one better, I insist." I place the orange in her hand. Then I turn and grab a small carton of strawberries. "You need these too!," I tell her. She's laughing now.

Her: "Seriously, I just came for the orange."

Me: "Well, I understand, but these strawberries look awesome. They're on me. What's your name by the way?"

Her: "I'm ____. You're funny."

5 minutes later I walked away with her phone number. As Captain pointed out, don't hesitate. And it really doesn't matter what you say as long as you deliver it with confidence and have fun. I just replicated the cheesiest "fruit stand/supermarket" movie pick-up scene. So what? The corniest pick-up move in the real world beats meeting girls on the internet. I'm sure women feel the same way.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

We break the grass barrier

Well, this is a weird one. Captain and I are taking a break from work, cruising around the financial district in the afternoon. We grabbed lunch yesterday in P.O. Square and noticed that the place was mobbed with attractive girls lounging on the immaculate lawn in various reposes -- they are either reading a book, eating lunch, or lying down soaking up some rare Boston sun. And of course, around the perimeter of the lawn are the usual suspects...middle aged, paunchy brokers from Merrill Lynch drooling and thinking lewd thoughts as they stare at the girls. None of them have the balls (or game) to actually approach any of the women. We instantly decide we've found a new spot to work but realize that it's intimidating to walk up to these girls and sit down. After all, you're going to have to get up immediately if you make them uncomfortable and the whole world will see you getting shot down. We decide that making a move here even one-ups stopping a girl on the street.

Fast forward to today. We decide to return to P.O. Square around 3pm to see who's still out here in the late afternoon. The answer: absolutely no one. Apparently it really is only the place to see and be seen during lunchtime. Panning to our left, we spot one lone girl, with her back to us, lying in the grass. She's wearing tights (the sort that girls wear to the gym) and a t-shirt, and is lying on her side as though she were in a bed. She even appears to be sleeping. And she looks hot from our angle.

I tell Captain we have to do it. There are enough people watching as we walk across the grass and around to face her that this will be embarrassing if we flame out, but who gives a shit. Call this the ultimate practice run.

As we get closer and kneel down facing her we notice she has sunglasses on and iPod earbuds in. She's in for a shock:

Me: "Excuse me, we just wanted to stop by and let you know you're late for your afternoon appointment." No response. Four seconds later she looks up. Startled, she takes off her sunglasses and earbuds and says "What?"

I repeat my ridiculous intro line and Captain chimes in, "Yeah, you know we figured we should wake you up."

Her: "Oh I should get up anyway." She's surprised by us but not pissed...seems more intrigued.

Me: "We figured you were a hot-shot lawyer up on the 15th floor over there and you were sleeping through your afternoon appointment. Don't you have to get back up there and change into your power suit?"

Her: [Smiling] "No I just work over at the gym there, that's all."

Captain: "Equinox?"

Her: "Yep, that's where I am."

Me: "We're just kidding around. We figured we'd come over and say hi. Have a good afternoon."

Captain: "We'll see you around."

Her: "OK, bye."

Wow that was a surprisingly relaxing conversation. It was apparent to us as we walked away that we probably could have gotten her number. I guess it's fair to say that you can meet women in almost any circumstance and pull it off if you're comfortable in your own skin and don't care about potentially getting shot down in front of people.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

I scare Church Girl, then redeem myself (sort of)


Today I went for what Captain and I have decided is the toughest challenge: stopping a girl who is walking down the street and engaging her in conversation. You have to interrupt someone who is moving and probably doesn't want some stranger talking to her, all for the sake of finding that rare, hot single girl who is looking to meet someone and is also amenable to being approached out-of-the-blue (for all you math majors out there, you could represent what I'm talking about with a Venn diagram that highlights the challenge).

Anyway, back to today: I walk into the Park St. Church close to the end of the service to scope out the scene. Actually, the rock band there kicks ass so it's worth it just to listen to some live music.

Peripheral vision kicks-in and I spot a girl who seems quite attractive in a pew near the back of the Church. I plan on saying hi as she walks by but she leaves so quickly when the service ends that I literally have to chase her downstairs and out on the street. This is going to be awkward:

Me: "Hey that was a great service, right?" (as I catch up to her). She's obviously a bit taken aback but doesn't break stride, heading straight for the T-station.

Her: "Yeah, it was."

Me: "Can't beat that rock back too! Where you headed?"

Her: "Home."

I'm totally out of time. She has neither smiled nor broken stride and we're almost at the door to the Park St. station.

Me: "Well it was nice to meet you; I'll see you around."

Her: "Sure."

Oh well. The combination of me freaking her out a little and her being less than friendly did not mix. Shot down hard.

An hour later I'm crossing Arlington St. headed into the public gardens when I spot a smokeshow blond in front of me. What the hell. Once I catch up to her I use a dumb intro: "Hey, how's it going?" She turns, smiles, and stops. I end up talking to her for five minutes or so. She's friendly, but unfortunately from out of town and leaving today. At least I end on a high note, with good karma.

We upset the 90's dance queens

It's the first nice Friday evening in about a month, so Captain and I decide to grab a drink after dinner. There's nothing happening in the area around the Publick House in Brookline so we decide to drive across to Allston -- the land of hipsters, dive bars, and garbage-strewn streets. We park and walk past The White Horse Tavern and Sunset Grill, debating where to go when suddenly I remember... there's a place somewhere around here that I went to a couple of times with my ex-girlfriend and her friends that had a decent number of single girls. Oh yeah, the Common Ground. Vague memories come back to me of an 80's night that I attended over there, where the hipsters had turned up dressed up as Rainbow Brite and G.I. Joe.

Turns out I wasn't too far off the mark. We enter the Common Ground to find out that it's 90's night tonight. Great. Get ready for "Ice Ice Baby".

10 minutes after we enter a gaggle of four young women stroll by us and we end up making inane small-talk for 20 minutes before it becomes clear to us that they came here on a mission -- they are here to dance. And so all six of us hit the dance floor. Neither Captain nor I are Rico Suave when it comes to dancing but we manage to do the white boy shuffle for a little while. Then we start getting tired. We had a good time but neither one of us is excited enough to stick around until the end of the night here (Captain has a girl waiting for him and I'm not interested enough to pull out my cell phone).

We say goodnight, and as we turn to leave, we receive an utter look of disappointment from the girls. What the hell? These girls are actually upset that we're leaving. Turns out that when the ratio of girls to guys is 70:30 it is a big deal to ditch your "dates" and bounce. OK, now we know.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Ghetto Fabulous


I am about to do something that I would never normally do unless I was completely shit-canned wasted. I broke the rules by not blogging yesterday, and my excuse has been that I've spent too much time with a 32 year-old (with the body of a 24 year-old; trust me you would spend time with her too). Anyway, I've been derelict from the perspective of Game: On Boston so it's time to get back in shape.

Back to this afternoon: I'm walking back from grabbing lunch downtown when I spot a girl with an unbelievable body standing outside of a doorway on Summer Street (in case you haven't gotten the idea I'm more of a body guy than a face guy). But...she is also the ultimate stereotypical Latino chick: her name (or her baby daddy's?) is tattooed in large, flowing script on her neck; she's wearing too-tight, faded jeans; her hair is pulled back tight and, you guessed it, she has those huge, gaudy hoop earrings hanging from her earlobes. To further set the stage, I am wearing a button down Charles Tyrwhitt shirt, dress pants, and matching Johnston & Murphy shoes/belt. This should be interesting.

I slow down, lean back, and smile:

Me: "Hey what's happening girl?" [Yes, I just said that]

Her: "Whaat?"

Me: "Uh, I mean, it's awesome out here, are you on your lunch break or something?"

Her: "No, I cut hair. I just stepped outside." She motions to her left and I see the hair salon next to her.

I attempt to lay back a little and try not to be the office-boy stiff that I must look like to her.

Me: "Cool. I should come by y'alls place sometime for a fade" [fuck, I think I just mixed up country and ghetto in one sentence. This is not going well]

Her: "Yeah, ok that would be nice, you should." She smiles.

Me: "I will. Listen, why don't you give me your number and I'll call you sometime." [You gotta be direct with the Latin and Black chicks, right? They give you props for that, I think...]

Her: "I can't, my boyfriend wouldn't like that."

Me: "Alright, it was nice to meet you," as I scurry away picturing a 6'4" black dude named Tyrone as her boyfriend. He would probably squash me like a bug if he knew I was angling his girl. Time to go back to my existence as an office cockroach.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Telegrams from the Gym


I've been stalking a girl at my gym. Before you think I'm a wacko, let me clarify. By stalking, I mean showing up everyday hoping she'll be there. That's all. I think I said a few words to her once figuring I'd see her a lot but it's been a few weeks and she's been on a different schedule than me.

She's here tonight, on an elliptical machine. I'm planning on a long run later tonight so decide to do some simple shoulders and abs routines until I get a chance to say hi. Half an hour later I saunter over and stretch next to her. She proceeds through a basic core/stretching routine which I use as my in:

Me: "Hey I have a favor to ask. Take me through your routine quickly...I usually notice that girls are doing stuff that makes more sense overall. A lot of guys are just lifting as much as they can."

Her: "It's just a really basic routine; nothing special."

Me: "Ok, fine, hey let me try that," after she finishes rotating a medicine ball side to side. I'm probably pissing her off since she's in the middle of her routine and has a no-nonsense demeanor. "I actually do that on the decline bench."

Her: "Oh, is it harder that way?" She passes the ball to me and turns to doing push-ups on her knees.

Me: "Maybe. Try doing push-ups with this." I pass her a bosu ball, which she promtly declines.

Her: "Not today, thanks. Nice meeting you." She's gone before I can say bye.

I'm a bit disappointed, mainly because I like this girl more than the last 30 girls I've talked to. Oh well, I'll still ask her to go on a run with me next time I see her. Even though it felt like she wasn't feeling me I might as well get shot down outright before I give up.

It's a beautiful night. No excuses -- time for that long run outside.

Everyone's a Critic

Before I make an entry of today's events, I think it's worth discussing whether, in principle, by airing a private conversation---that I initiate---in a public forum (this blog) I destroy any claims to chivalry that Smooth and I set out in the introduction. I think not (naturally). Here's why:

First: I can't overstate our committment to approaching the women we think are attractive with the utmost respect. Slinging an untoward remark or obstructing any young woman's way about town is not an acceptable outcome. This should go without saying. However, what I've discovered in describing Game: On Boston to some of my closest female friends and aquaintances is mixed opinion ... and, so far, drastically so; some think that this is a great idea, that men need to be bold, and that seat-of-your-pants romance should come in vogue. I, of course, side with this camp.

On the other hand, some have expressed dismay that we're doing this; the criticism, this far, amounts to: "I'd be offended if you blogged about a private conversation we had on the street, and if I found out subsequently that we met because of this blog, I'd be upset." It's a reaction that I don't understand.

This brings me to my second reason for disagreeing with the disgust, for lack of a better term: any of these women we approach is free to shoot us down. Hard. And more power to them; they obviously aren't for us if they aren't the type that thinks this is a) mildly amusing, b) brave, c) flattering, or d) productive. I like to think that we are performing a two-fold service: we're making the pool of eligible bachelors for these women smaller by disqualifying ourselves, and we're giving other guys who read this blog case studies to improve their approach---whether it be imitation of avoidance.

Third: I know many of the women my age love reality TV. Nothing wrong with that, I cried for Jillian too. But ... don't you think it's just a tad hypocritical to indulge the voyeur in you despite the havoc the attention might wreck on the reality stars' lives. To the rejoinder: "They sign up for those shows and that life", I say "Yes and No." Do you think, had Jon and Kate known what trouble the media spotlight would turn out to be, that they'd have gone through with filming? Michael Jackson? And even if they would "do it all over again, unchanged", I don't agree that someone who agrees to talk to a stranger in public has any reasonable expectation that her conversation will remain private. Identities are protected (no pictures will be taken), and only if she reads this would she ever know to whom we refer.

Fourth (and in my opinion, most important): ladies, you can't have it both ways---either you want to be swept off of your feet or you don't. By forcing ourselves to get out of our comfort zone, we're increasing your odds of that happening dramatically (even more so if this catches on).

Long-short: I apologize to everyone who's offended by this adventure, but I think you're taking it a little too seriously. The woman who'd fall in love with me will see this for what it is: all in good fun.

Now, on to the main event...

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I've got game.


~11:45 pm, July 4th, Secession Day:

I was at the Beacon Hill Pub, with Smooth.  We were commiserating over beers, and a nice, cute young Beacon Hill-type asked politely if she could use the bar stool free on the other side of the table.  Naturally, I said "Sure; you can have the bar stool if I can get your phone number.  I don't have my phone (I've lost it, sorry ladies), but I can write it down for you."

She smiled wide and told me (twice, because I couldn't hear her the first time), "You've got a lot of game."  Then, about two minutes later, she winked at me from the next table over.  I'm pretty sure she was with her boy-friend.  

Not a bad way to kick this off ... not bad at all (brushes dirt off shoulders and pops collar). Sadly, I'm afraid this will be the last time I receive that compliment for some time.

Oh, and I've resolved to take pictures with the women I meet.  Hold on tight!  This could get ugly.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Who goes to the gym on the 4th of July? I do.

11:30am. I'm at the gym. It's empty. I've actually been semi-stalking a girl here but haven't seen her in a while and she's not here now. The upside is that in looking for her I've been working out religiously pretty much everyday.

I decide to break the ice on this blog and talk to the only relatively attractive girl in the gym. She's doing some kind of cardio/weights routine where she runs back and forth between the elliptical machine and the free weight rack. She's also wearing headphones so I'll have to be direct (and a bit rude I suppose).

Me: [as she walks over to the weight rack] "So what kind of hardcore training routine are you doing? I've never seen anyone go back and forth like that..."

Hard-core girl: "What?" She turns down the volume and takes her head-phones off.

Me: Back to square one and stupidly repeat my question. Not so smooth.

Her: "Oh it's this great routine my nutritionist game me. The point is [blah, blah, blah]"

Me: "Great, what's your name?"

Her: "My name is ____"

I realize at this point that she's nice and all but she's not quite what I'm looking for. I politely say nice to meet you and walk off.

I'm heading off to a couple of 4th of July parties. I got a good workout in; nice way to start the day.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Off to the races


Well, ladies and gents (hopefully ladies, mostly). Let the game(s) begin. Click on my name (Captain) to understand what in God's name I'm referring to.

An epic adventure is begun, and these posts won't stop until my bride-to-be deactivates this account. If you play your cards right, that could be you!

-Captain

Followers

Enough about you, let's talk about me: