A Thousand Tiny Failures : Memoirs of a Pickup Artist Read Online Free Page B

the sun, and they—everyone who isn’t you— feel it too.
    This place is so elusive that we leach it off others; the gifted ones, the pretty and strong and clever and fearless. The way to achieve State is by winning—and to win you must play. You can win by reading a good book, cooking a fine meal, listening to a great song, writing a better song, or sucking a titty . Winning is a state of mind, body and soul. And when you trip and fall, you laugh and get up. Buddhists call it, Right Action. Wrong Action is no action… and leaves you drained and empty of inspiration.
    “I like your nose. Can I borrow it?” I reached out and mocked taking her nose, sticking my thumb up between my knuckles and wiggling it.
    “ Nooo give it back!” She giggled, grabbing for my hand and pressing her small tits against my arm. I felt the blood rush below. Hello.
    Hey there.
    I was hard and she could probably feel it. For a second I got stressed, but hell, I’m a guy. I’m an animal. A boner is a compliment.
    I was a little nervous but I’d been practicing for a month, so I had an idea of what to do. I didn’t know what to say all the time but I had a concept: Make fun of her, don’t be too eager, be self-amused and outcome independent. It wasn’t noble but it was a start.
    I made sure to hold her hand and stay physical, to look her in the eyes, to tease her, to avoid clichés, to push her away and then pull her in, to play with her emotions, and avoid logic, to speak louder in a more masculine tone. It worked and she liked me.
    “What’s your number? We can hang out,” I asked.
    “Ok,” she said, and gave me her number. Just like that. I’m a Spartan warrior; I’m Genghis Khan’s sweaty, world conquering balls. My first solid phone number in two years, from a real beauty. Outside, peering through the glass was an old man leaning on his easy-walker; he just stood there all gums and wrinkles, grinning at us. I wondered how many women he had been with.
    I left her and helped my band pack up the gear. When I finished I walked back in to get a beer. Then I saw Esther, that elf, in the corner of the bar, talking, laughing, hugging, and then French-kissing a scrubby looking hipster kid. Yes, they were French-kissing. Damn. So that’s how it goes. Lesson learned. Once you have her, keep her. It’s ok, I thought, wrestling with my jealousy. I had the number and I could try again later. I got a beer, then another. I watched them from the bar. I squeezed my mug and considered smashing it in his stupid face, but I’m supposed to be positive, abundant, and besides—I’m a pacifist. Good for him then, I thought. I just needed to go further next time. I’m still too nice. Far too nice.
     

Chapter 4
     
    Spirituous (Friends?)
     
    A few days after my gig I went to a local pub with three of my buddies. There were four cute girls sitting ten feet away. I’d been watching them for far too long. I needed to do something.
    “I’m gonna talk to them,” I said.
    “Yeah do it Sebastian!” They cheered.
    I must be a hero. I must have big balls. Suppress the anxiety, don’t focus on it. Focus on moving your feet, opening your mouth, forcing air through your lungs. I approached their table, swung my arms out, and said, “Hey guys, you look like the most fun people in the world!” My hand hit one of the drinks, and it spilled across the table and the booze poured off the sides onto their little feet. The girls screamed and reeled back.
    “Shit, I’m sorry,” I said.
    They stared at me. One of them mouthed something but I couldn’t hear her, the dance music was too loud. I might need earplugs next time.
    “Are you nervous?” the small, dimpled one said.
    “No. Well, maybe just a little drunk,” I lied. I wasn’t drunk, not that much. I was very, very nervous.
    I used my arm and with one swoop wiped the liquid onto the floor, real smooth like. My heart was still pounding; I thought it might burst. Their faces would be covered in