A common theme here is that I am reporting less than success, because I think one thing the seduction community under-reports is failure. I am good at getting girls. But I am even better at not getting girls. And I think it stands to reason that you should gain at least some solace and perhaps encouragement from seeing just how spectacularly we fail. It's the undertone of our community, but it's unspoken. For every success, there are countless failures. The failures are as important as the successes. They are integral to learning and growing. I'm learning more about myself- not just as a guy on the prowl, but as a human.

In case you've missed part one: Accidental Game Mishap: The Nice Girl Part 1 - The group approach

And now, without further ado, my report: Accidental Game Mishap: The Nice Girl Part 2: The Asshole

I didn't know if I'd run into Samantha again, but I knew that if I did, I'd have to play it cool. She hadn't called or texted after a week, so either her interest level was low, or her game level was high. Either way, the likelihood of meeting her again wasn't terribly high, so I had put it out of my mind. I had done what could be done at the time. She would either be receptive or not.

A friend of mine who was rather popular at most of the local bars had invited me to his place for beers. He had invited a group but I wasn't sure who to expect. We didn't hang out in the same circles, so it was likely I wouldn't know many people there, if anybody at all.

I got there and there were already about ten people hanging out, doing shots, and playing drinking games. It was a weeknight, so I intended on staying sober.

I spent the first hour chatting about nothing all that exciting, getting to know some of the guys that were already getting pretty buzzed off Jägermeister. The night was not off to an eventful start. Perhaps is was my sobriety that dried my sense of humor, or the drunkenness of those around me that put me out of my element. Conversation was not flowing, and laughs were not being had. There was a zone, a sweet spot of humor and wit, and I was missing it entirely. I posited the theory that perhaps the lack of potential mates in the crowd was stunting my banter. Even the presence of just one potential lady-friend would put me back on my game.

There were a few girls, but none that caught my eye. There's usually an effect that happens when I'm isolated at a party or bar with only a few girls. My mind quickly adjusts to pick out the relatively most attractive girl in the room (no matter how objectively ugly she may be in other circumstances), and I start to see her as attractive. Beer might also help this effect. Despite this, the effect was not in play on this particular night. The girls were simply not my type, and no sober rationalization would make this happen.

I think I allowed this dilemma to fester a little too much. I'm just fine with hanging out with friends, and I like parties just like the next guy. But I didn't know many people there. Surely the conversation and jokes were only to get worse as the night wore on and more drink was had. I decided to lubricate with one beer, and if the mood didn't strike, I'd take off.

During the course of my beer, the jokes didn't get funnier, but a small group of girls did turn up. I was glad I stayed.

One girl had reddish-brown hair, a nice figure, and obviously dressed knowing this. The look on her face said so. It was this aloof look of superiority about how she carried herself and how her eyes made sure not to meet with anybody she didn't already know. If you were not in her circle, she didn't know you. She didn't want to know you.

I eventually mingled my way over to where she was, near the drink table as she was concocting a cocktail. It was the first time she didn't have the man-meat-shield that she had been hiding behind all night.

"That's not how you make that drink!" I announced.

"What? What do you mean?" She was confused.

"Look! You're doing it all wrong! You need two times more of the blue stuff."

"No, why would I do that? That's not how you make a sex on the beach!" Her face was showing that she didn't understand I was kidding. She was legitimately annoyed.

"Oh, I thought you were trying to knock yourself out. I always go for the blue stuff when I'm doing that."

She just went silent. No laugh, no giggle, no nothing. She didn't want a chat, she didn't want to talk at all. How dare she enter a friendly conversation with somebody at a party. She took her drink and walked away.

I was a little put off by the experience. I took a step back and replayed the steps in my head, and silently started cursing pretty women everywhere. I've never understood the animosity women carry around for men they don't know. When people approach me I'm always friendly! Good looking or ugly, I'm a friendly guy. I chat with people I'd never have sex with. I don't see why there has to be that same filter for women. How will you ever know if you want to have sex with me if you haven't heard my latest joke?!?

Breaking through the shield is almost too much work to be worth it. Ironically, this particular type of instance happens enough, it's hard to make sure it doesn't start engendering my own animosity towards women. I needed to cool off. Not all women are like this. Some are, some aren't.

I couldn't clear my bad attitude. I wasn't fully aware that I had it. This recipe was baking failure. I should have recognized it and either fixed it or left. There is no in-between.

After brooding silently in the corner, I noticed a few new arrivals included the girl from the week before: Samantha. Why didn't she call me? What a bitch! Does she think she's too good for me? I fucking hate bitches.

I couldn't even catch myself thinking this. This would've been a great time to have a wing-man, somebody to notice and intercept my hate-bullets. Somebody could've caught this early and lightened the mood. It's great to have a wingman to say, "Yeah, man. Her loss." Those simple four words would do the trick. But they weren't said, and I wasn't talking myself out of it.

I locked target on Samantha and decided to game HARD.

"Hey I remember you! Lindsay right?" I wanted her to know she wasn't special. Look how many girls I talk to, I can't remember your name, Samantha! Take that WOMEN OF EARTH!

"What? No!"

"Ssss.. Sarah? Sarah right?"

"Oh my god really?"

"Hey, didn't I give you my number? I hope you kept it safe, I'll be needing it back!" Given the right intonation, this joke would've worked. It could play around the rarely successful action of actually handing a girl a number. But the intonation wasn't right. I wanted my number back.

She chuckled a little, but squinted her eyes and cocked her head down and to the left- analyzing my face and my posture. Is this guy for real? was running through her head, but I was too pissed to notice. "I left it in my pocket and it got washed in the laundry machine. I can no longer read it."

"What? That was my only copy!" I retorted. I was starting to calm down. I was calibrating my tone and body language to match hers. Only what I hadn't realized at the time that most of the damage of my approach was done. I brought the wrong game to a new girl, and in her mind she was already backing down. And she was doing so politely. Exactly what I had cursed women for not doing.

The conversation didn't last too much longer. I could see she wasn't impressed, but she didn't respond rudely. She politely let the conversation run its course.

"Samantha! I remember now! I can't believe I got that wrong! How embarrassing!" I tried to recover. I had it in the bag. My silver tongue can do no wrong. I'd talk my way out of prison, given the chance.

My post is too long! Continued on my blog: http://datingamerican.blogspot.com/2012/04/accidental-game-mishap-nice-girl-part-2.html