Shit happens. Happens all the time.
The world is a chaotic, uncertain place whereby random happenstance or cosmic fate plays us like expendable pawns on a galactic chess board.
Things happen, sometimes for good, sometimes the not so good. And you have to remind yourself... that being a Pick Up Artist, while enjoyable and definitively enriching, is only one part of the equation (the other parts being things like health, wealth, and relationships).
Sometimes, I'm just a simple Man. No nickname. No handle. Just JT.
I don't always play by the field tested rules that I've painstakingly learned over the years through empirical testing. Sometimes there are exceptions or I make exceptions even though I KNOW what the outcome will be.
I remember one time, I was 100% certain I was going to lay this blonde, bi-sexual Goth girl. Yet in the middle of the date, she received a phone call from her father that someone had died.
Another time, after sleeping with a VERY hot waitress from a popular nightclub, she called me the next day saying that her place had been robbed. And then the day after that, she learned that her father had cancer.
I knew what I was going to do (ie be nice, send flowers, condolensces, etc) despite the fact that I also KNEW that it would KILL the opportunity for us to have more than a simple hotel tryst.
Field tested, empirically tested, PUA approved.
And guess what, it did and there went the sexual chemistry out the window. Shit happens, but sometimes you need to follow that old, dusty PUA rule, "Leave her better than you found her."
The core of my being was never truly an asshole or a bad boy. Yes, a part of me definitely is, but it doesn't form a significant core. I like people. I like women. I like to socialize, flirt, and party. I like sex too.
But shit happens. And I don't like people being hurt.
Like what happened two nights ago.
There was a very good chance of laying this older MILF, but then she received a text message from one of her girlfriends that she had been slapped around and beaten by her abusive boyfriend.
And she was an hour away.
Could I have closed the MILF? Definitely more than a good chance. Could I have simply ordered a taxi to pick up that abused girl? Probably. Did I really need to drive an hour away to pick her up and then drive an hour back? No.
But sometimes, it's not always about the lay.
Yes, I don't really believe in true love, romance, and marriage anymore after what I've seen when it comes to the sexual and mating dance.
But I'm also reminded of a scene from Second Hand Lions, where the elderly Uncle imparts pearls of wisdom upon the impressionable Haley Joel Osmand:
Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most,
That people are basically good. That honor virtue and courage mean everything; that money and power mean nothing.
That good always triumphs over evil. That true love never dies.
Doesn't matter if they're true or not. A man should believe in those things anyway.
Because they are the things worth believing.
Unrealistic? Without a doubt.
The romantic in me has pretty much been beaten, stabbed, and shot up multiple times by all the scandalous things I"ve seen (and done to or been done by women).
But there's a smidgen of that old nice guy, that romantic, who still believes...
And then I get a booty call by a 5"10, hardbody brunette, with C racks as I type up this post (3:20am PST) and I'm back to being a Pick Up Artist.