Rule #6: Turn Me Down Once, Shame On You. Turn Me Down Twice, Shame On Me

…and this is why I don’t feel shame. As guys, we have to try, but we don’t always get the girl. Oh well, it’s not the end of the world. Although, sometimes, we have a second chance to try again. Maybe situations are better, or maybe just the lighting is better.

This is when we have make a choice: do I want to try again with this girl with these favorable conditions, or do I think it is not worth the effort?

I used to think we should try again, try to make it work. But that was a while ago. You can call it foolish pride, or whatever you want, but lately, I’ve adopted the thought process that if she didn’t want me back then, I don’t want her now.


A Family Affair

Ryan and I are in Campbell and we start out at Katie Bloom’s, as usual. KB’s in the Fall of 2012 is pretty stale and boring, so we aren’t there long. We end up at Khartoum and it’s pretty packed. We somehow make it through the crowd get our drinks and start to scope the area.

The problem is that I was dating a girl at this time, and I liked her. A lot. So I wasn’t really looking for women for myself, but as a good wingman, I’m still around to help my bro.

Since this place is a lounge, we find a place to sit and it happens to be near this group of two women and one guy. We make conversation, then one of the women wants to go outside to smoke. Since Ryan is in play, he goes outside with her, while I’m stuck inside. Turns out that the one smoking outside is in her 40s, the guy inside is her brother (and a total douche by the way), and he’s dating (or more likely) just nailing the other woman. I think the two women are roommates.

As Ryan is outside with the 40-year-old for a while, I have to make small-talk with the brother. He’s offering to hook me up with one of the women around us. Though it seems like there are A LOT of women in the bar this night. It doesn’t really matter to me since I’m crazy over another girl. But I indulge him and say okay, that girl. He tries to get her attention without even leaving his seat. Really? …we got a real winner here. I’m just thinking, “Thanks, but no thanks bro.” Seriously, I don’t think I have much game, but I could do better without his “help.”

For what seemed like an eternity later, Ryan and the 40-year-old come back. We leave. Ryan doesn’t get her number because she said her brother would stab him…I believe it.

That night I wasn’t interested in talking to new women, but I definitely didn’t want to be stuck talking to some seemingly unstable d-bag, waiting — with an empty beer, looking around, uncomfortably — for my friend to come back.

This was when I realized something about my bro-lationship with Ryan. It just doesn’t work as well when one of us is already interested in another girl. We’re either holding back, or trying to push the other more to compensate. I still don’t know if there’s a way around it, but for now, I’ll document these crazy nights instead of living them for a while.


Rule #5: The Guy Best Friend Rule (aka The Lesson of Schneider)

I joke a lot about my idiocy, but I have a good head on my shoulders and can make wise decisions when I should (more often than not). During my college years, three of my best friends were women. The important part of that equation was that I didn’t sleep with or date any of them. I know how to keep it in my pants. I later found out that not a lot of guys are like me.

A few years ago, my friend Schneider was interested in this girl named Megan. Another friend and I were along to wingman because she was hanging out with her best friend, who was a guy. The wingmanning went fine, but that’s not the reason for this story. Schneider was never able to get the girl. Why, you ask?

The guy-best friend was the reason why. He was always there. Always “just a friend.” Let’s fast-forward a few months later when I asked Schneider about what happened with him and Megan: nothing. Nothing happend. She got knocked up by, you guess it, the guy-best friend.

In retrospect, it was a good thing, at least for my friend. He dodged a major bullet with that chick. So this isn’t as much a rule as much of a cautionary tale: when a girl says her best friend is a guy, watch out.

The Pancakes Story

In my adventures with Ryan, my trust in women has started to decline…dramatically. My reason? Pancakes.

The story starts off normally, where we take a cab to Campbell and head to Katie Bloom’s. It’s been a while, so I don’t remember if we hop to other bars and came back, or just stay here all night; in all probability, it’s the former. But the night is about halfway through and we’re on the dance floor looking for women to dance with, to no avail. I leave to get the next round of drinks, and when I come back, Ryan is dancing with two women. I really don’t understand how these scenarios happen. One of us leaves the area to get drinks or go to the bathroom and the other is approached by women. I wish I could tell the Taqueria Incident, because that one was funny, but alas, I cannot.

Anyway, we pair off and we’re dancing with these two women for the rest of the night. It hits last call, and the club starts to close down as the four of us are outside discussing what to do next…oh, before I go any further into the story, the one I’m dancing with has a ring on her left ring finger. I’m still not sure if it is an engagement ring or otherwise, but I reserved judgement while also being very aware of a potential disaster. Let’s call this one Samantha, and the one Ryan was dancing with shall be named Marcy.

Samantha admits to be in her thirties, and Ryan, being the youngest of us four, claims to be her age as well. This isn’t really pertinent to the story, but it’s one of the dumb things we tend to say while drinking. Who am I kidding, we say stupid things when we’re sober, but I digress. Samantha and Marcy want to go get pancakes, so being the idiots that Ryan and I are, we say okay and walk to the restaurant, which is about a 30-minute walk.

While ordering and waiting for our food, (I forget if who brought it up, Ryan or myself) someone calls Samantha out for wearing a ring. She responds with, “I have a fella.” THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!

…and we ask her that, though maybe not in that strong of a tone. She declines to explain if it meant she was engaged, married, or if it’s just something else.

After small-talk and sustenance, we leave the restaurant and part ways. Ryan then looks at me and asks, “Should we?” I say, “Yeah, why not.” The girls are about 30-40 feet away from us when Ryan shouts, “Hey Marcy, can I have your number?!”

Marcy calmly walks back and says okay, but that she has a boyfriend. Ryan and I are then confused as to why she still gives him her number. So I think, what’s the worst that could happen and shout, “Hey Samantha, can I have your number?!” She walks back as well and gives me her number, even though she has a “fella,” whatever that means.

Numbers are exchanged, goodbyes are said, they walk off, and we walk to Ryan’s place. Ryan thinks it would be faster to just walk back (which took about an hour and a half) instead of trying to find a cab, which is true, because we’re on a street where cabs don’t really drive by. So we start our hobbit’s journey back to Ryan place, confused and swearing, “Why did they give us their numbers?!”

After this incident, them giving us their numbers and doing what they did on the dance floor, I kind of feel bad for their fellas and lose trust in womankind.

There are technically 2 more parts to this story, but the second one is short enough that it’ll be combined with the Act 3 of our story later on.


Rule #4: Half Plus Seven Rule

Age can be tricky when dating, I’ve always followed one rule when deciding if a woman is too young for me to date. You take your age, divide that in half, then add 7.

For example, if you’re thirty, half of 30 is 15, plus 7 is 22. You can still date a 22-year-old and still be relevant. If you’re 22-years-old, half of 22 is 11, then adding 7 is 18. You can date an 18-year-old without it being weird. However, it goes without saying that if she’s under 18: stay away, no matter what.

The Cuddling Incident

Drinking to Stay Warm – Bad Idea? YES! Yes, it is a bad idea! I’m telling you this at the beginning of the story because it’s that important. I’ll get into the physiology of why it’s bad later on. We are out on a mission this night: we need to find “holiday girlfriends.”

Holiday girlfriend (n.): a woman you date for the holiday season, to take to holiday parties or other Christmas/non-denominational holiday events. Whether she sticks around after New Year’s depends on the girl.

The night starts normally, walking from Ryan’s place to the bars. Though this November night is a lot colder than earlier in the week. We choose to forego wearing jackets, our rationale is that once we get the bars, it would get a lot hotter and we’ll probably be drunk and lose them somewhere. Knowing us, that carries a high probability of happening. We get to our normal bar, but it seems pretty dead, so we take a cab to downtown San Jose.

I forget if we went to any places beforehand, but we end up at the Brit and we’re only 3 or 4 beers in. Now we were still walking around in long-sleeve t-shirts in the middle of November, so some idiot suggests that we take shots to feel warm. As I bask in the glory of my taking shots idea, we get another beer and I notice this girl from across the bar. I say aloud to Ryan, “We should go over there.”

So we mosey on over to the other side of the dance floor, which is already quite populated, and bop along to the music. Then Ryan uses one of our awkward moves of pushing the other guy into the girl he likes. It’s sort of a more awkward “Haaaaave you met Ted?” Now, the drinks have started to hit me more so the night gets a little more blurry from here on out, because we keep drinking. Though I do remember having a dance-battle with her, doing the worm not once, but twice, then hanging out with her and her group of friends (all women) for the rest of the night.

For some reason we all take out our phones and take “paparazzi shots” of each other. BTW, my photo up there is one of my pictures from that night, so you may be able to tell how drunk I was. Anyways, we end up at a taqueria, and Ryan is getting very cozy with one of the friends, who was… nice and had a great personality.

I end up getting a ride back to my car at Ryan’s place from the girl I like, where I pass out for a bit. For the life of me, I cannot remember what we talked about. I think music was one of the topics. I’m drunk off my ass, while she didn’t have one drink all night. It must’ve worked somehow because while I don’t remember asking for her number, I find it in my phone the next morning.

Ryan, on the other hand, gets a ride from two of the girls to some random guy’s place where one of the women in the group, who is recently married, hooks up with the aforementioned random guy. Ryan said he heard the clicking of handcuffs at one point…sketchy as fuck. Ryan, unfortunately, is still cold and ends up cuddling with the nice friend all night. Oh, that’s not a euphemism, they cuddled.

The second half of the night was later described to me by Ryan. He thought we were taking separate cars to same locations, but I just wanted to pass out in my car. Haha, if he’d known I was going home-ish, the cuddling incident wouldnt’ve happened and the girl I dated wouldnt’ve hated him. I actually got a long text message of how he shouldn’t have pursued her friend all night. Ryan was just trying to be a good wingman

The girl I dated filled in the rest of the details via texts and later on during our first date. I didn’t even know I had the pictures in my phone until she told me about it while on the date. It was a little awkward, but as usual, I use that to my advantage.


Rule #3: Truncate, Don’t Delete

When things turn sour, Ryan came up with the idea to truncate a girl’s number instead of deleting it.

Truncate (v.): deleting the last 2 numbers of a phone number, so you cannot call or text that person.

The argument for truncation over plainly deleting a number is that if she texts you, you have a number to cross-reference it with. And since you don’t have her full number, you won’t be tempted to call or text her unless she contacts you first.