Edit: tl,dr; just go to part 3.

Time for another sucky field report. The results were exceptionally sucky, so I'm going to a little extra effort to snazz it up, I'm going to add a musical soundtrack. I think music is essential to pumping yourself up and motivating yourself. So go download the files in my previous seddit post so this will make more sense.

I watched a lot of material this week and got a lot of contradictory advice. There was a seddit wiki post that linked to a video lecture by Alex Allman (all man, heh) about the problems of pickup. He complains about calling women HBs and Targets, says it's dehumanizing and screws up your natural game. Well, that's just about the same thing women do to men when they put up their bitch shields, they dehumanize us, we're just another pest, a bug to stomp on. You have to get past their shields first, then you can be your natural self, I suppose.

He goes on a lot about how you have to be an interesting, passionate man for women to be attracted to you. I suppose I have my share of loser problems, but being an interesting and passionate man is not one of them. So I will have to focus more on the main problem: approaching and locking in. But the problem is, there just aren't any "HB Targets" around lately. I don't know where they all went.

But I am feeling a little better about my loser problems. I got my unemployment insurance check and paid a few bills, but am still way behind. I got my food stamps card and got a bonus, an extra half month since they took an extra 2 weeks to approve my application. So my immediate survival problems are a little less tense. I am trying to believe in Mystery's "love/health/wealth" theory that I talked about in my last big FR, that working on one area will improve the others. More on that later.

And then out of the blue, I got an email from my editor. I haven't got a freelance assignment from him in probably a year, and he isn't offering one now, we're just catching up with each other. But I told him what I was up to, we've talked a lot in the past about my problems with The Woman so I told him about my PUA program. I figured maybe I'm in the first stage of pitching him an article or book project or something about pickup. But then I got to thinking, I'm spending way too much time on seddit and then with writing an email to my friend, talking about this rather than acting. Action talks, bullshit walks. And I haven't been out in the field in days. Sure, most of the whole town is away on college break, there aren't many women around, and it's a damn Wednesday, but those are just excuses. So I make a spur of the moment decision, it is time to get out there and just try to open someone, anyone.

I hopped into my car and headed to town. I fired up a CD, which is an interesting story in itself. My CD player hasn't worked for like 5 years. It got jammed with a mix CD I made stuck in it, it won't play. Then one day last week, I parked my car, I'm about to turn off the ignition and suddenly I am hearing music. WTF? My CD player just spontaneously started working again. Awesome. And that mix CD is better than I remembered, a good mix of punk tunes. So tonight as I drive off, I fire up the CD, it is my current motivation tool to just keep at this, keep going no matter what. Track 1, a Ramones song covered by the Frantics, Bop Til You Drop.

Bop 'til you drop

Bop 'til you drop

No matter what you just can't stop

Bop 'til you drop...

You tried and tried

But you're a flop

You're thirty five

Stil pushing a mop

No time to jive to the Cretin Hop

Bop 'til you drop

Well I am not going to be fifty five and still pushing a mop. It is time to get out there and bop til I drop. And the way I'm going, I could easily drop dead in my tracks at any moment. Time for my first stop, the coffee shop.

It's about 9PM, Coffee Girl isn't around. There's a new blonde girl hanging around lately, very sleazy, short and tiny (ooh the way I like them) and always wearing a Daisy Dukes and a thin wifebeater undershirt. I can't quite tell if she's a new employee (I see her behind the counter but not actually working) or the owner's new girlfriend (I see them hanging out together). There isn't much happening here. The only women are a couple of broken down middle aged hags, and if they hang around this shop with its motley assortment of homeless scum, they're not my crowd. I just don't care about these women. And then there are the repulsive, dirty homeless drunks drifting in and out of the shop tonight, and the guy with the amputated arm that always sticks out straight from his shoulder so you have to walk around him. Time for another musical interlude, I am thinking about another track on my CD, I Don't Care About You, by FEAR.

I see man rollin' drunks,

bodies the streets.

Some man was sleepin' in puke

and a man with no legs crawling down 5th street trying to get something to eat!

I don't care about you!

Oh no!

I don't care about you!

Fuck you!

One of the older women (who I've chatted with once before) is writing in her notebook. I don't want to know what she's writing. But as I hand roll a couple of smokes, she keeps looking up at me, expectantly. I don't know what she expects. I'm noticing her boobs look particularly saggy tonight, they're down near her waist, and she's wearing a short skirt and I can see her cellulite thighs. Yeesh. As I'm smoking, I asked the guy running the shop for a glass of water. He asked if I wanted ice, I said a little so he made a big show of doling out one ice cube. I said he could do a little better than that, and he gave me one more ice cube. Yeah, he's giving me some shit.

It is getting weird here, but then, it often does, this is a weird place. I have to get out of here, but I haven't even opened anyone. Nobody worth opening except maybe little blondie. As I'm getting up to exit, blondie and the guy running the store are having a playful but very aggressive fight, they're kicking each other, yelling and laughing. I decide I'll just open her for the WTF factor.

Me: Does he always give you shit like this?

Blondie: Yes, always!

Me: Well he was giving me shit too!

B: He's gone crazy!

Clerk guy starts jumping and kicking at her again, but she's smiling and looking back at me as she flees (another "conspiracy"). I eject and I am out of there. Well at least I opened somebody. It is only about 9:30 and since it's the middle of the week, the clubs are all totally dead, same as it's always been lately. And I can't face the same scene with stupid, drunk college kids again tonight. Cue some music, Feel Alright by The Vibrators.

Feel alright, feel alright,

I've been hanging round with sluts night after night,

Same old news is goin' round and round again,

Same red blood is pumpin' in my veins.

I decide that just for a change of scene I'm going to check out the Road House, and another bar nearby that I will attend a social group meeting on Friday. Oh you really don't want to know about this group, I joined to meet some women, and I was horrified to discover they are almost all over 350 pounds. But I'll still attend the group for reasons I won't get into yet, because you'd be horrified. I'm still horrified. I guess I was desperate back then. Maybe I still am. Maybe not any more. When people ask me why I'm resistant to the chubby girls I always meet around here, this is probably why, being traumatized by morbidly obese women, I just can't get that picture out of my mind. Just thinking about them, I feel like I'm suffocating under big rolls of flab. Anyway, I head out of town, and up State Highway 999, the highway to hell. Cue the music on my CD player, "Drugged and Driving."

It was a quarter to twelve and we were rocking

I put my money on the bar, I heard the devil knocking

We played some drinking games while the band was thrashing

A fight broke out so we gave the place a trashing

When the cops showed up I had to eat all my drugs

A couple of the guys got the kiss their billy clubs

The rest of us got out through the basement door

I ran to the back and dove into my car

We were drugged. Drugged and driving.

We got away clean but I was feeling kind of steamed

I just ate 25 speeders I could feel the adrenaline

pumping through my veins like a burning fire straight to my brain

and then to tires of the car I was driving at sixty miles an hour

I stepped on the gas and went with the power

screaming like an angel or the devil

my friends are in the back and we're headed straight for hell...

That's sort of how I feel driving up Hwy 999, a lot of it is 25mph speed limit due to road construction. I feel like I'm a speed freak driving 100mph just because I want to go a normal speed like 35, let alone the old limit of 65. But oddly, tonight some of the construction zone is gone and the speed limit is back to normal, I guess they finished part of the job. So I'm speeding along, and there's the first stop, a bar set way back in a sprawling mall. It takes me a bit of circling around the huge parking lot just to find the entrance. I walk in, oh shit it's a sports bar. I hate sports bars.

[continued]