This was a tough week. I have been considering my inner game. I feel like I'm standing tall, but on feet of clay. It suddenly occurred to me that if I did manage to get a girl back to my place, it would probably be a disaster. My place is a dump and I have no furniture except my bedroom set, a computer desk, and one chair in the living room. But I can worry about that later. I wouldn't mind so much if I got a girl to come home with me and I blew it there, that would be much further than I've gotten in a long time. I'd consider it progress rather than a failure.

And then there's my money problems. I spent most of the week worrying about a job application. I found the ideal job, something perfect for me, running the computer lab at my old art school. If I don't get this job, I'm screwed, I'm out of other options. So rather than writing the damn job application and the perfect cover letter, I went neurotic and spent all week worrying. Well, this is what I usually do with major writing assignments. I sit around and worry, writing it over and over in my head, then when the deadline looms, I blurt it out onto the page and somehow it's perfect. I hope I get the job. I have to get this job. I feel confident about this application. I feel confident about all the applications I have sent and gotten no response. At least this feels like progress.

I felt a little better about money since I got my modest unemployment insurance payment this morning, and had enough extra that I thought I could afford a couple of drinks. This isn't going to pay my back rent but it will keep the wolves at bay for another weekend. So it's off sarging this weekend again.

I also spent this week reviewing more materials. I went through a big chunk of Vin DiCarlo's "Pandora's Box," it has an interesting take into female psychology. It claims you can learn a woman's psychological type and easily calibrate to her way of thinking. We shall see. I also reviewed some videos of Mystery presenting small lectures. It's really disorganized, Mystery is a crappy teacher. But this stuff seems to be really early material from the days of Project Hollywood, he talks about Style a lot. I'm learning bits and pieces, but I still feel like I haven't got the big picture. Perhaps that only comes from work in the field.

So it is off into the field on a Friday night. First, wardrobe. I'm going to wear a red long sleeve cotton shirt, as recommended by recent psychological research appearing on seddit. I ironed it perfectly, that took about 20 minutes. I'm going to wear my Todd Oldham white denim jacket. I love this jacket, it attracts women. When I bought it almost 15 years ago, I thought it was just a nice white denim jacket. But then I went to a party and women were all over me, literally hanging onto my jacket. I couldn't figure it out. But then one of the girls asked me if I was a doctor. Ah, I didn't realize it looks like a lab coat. I guess it's an accidental DHV or an accidental peacock or something else accidental.

I used to wear this coat a lot when I went to parties, I needed the pockets to carry crap like my tarot cards. I brought them along tonight, I intended to do my "fortuneteller" opening, which might morph into a location bounce and tarot readings. But I never got into that opener or routine, and it was warm enough that I ditched my jacket in my car halfway through the evening anyway. My wardrobe did get me an unusual amount of positive attention through the night, maybe that psych research about red making you seem more attractive is right.

But let's start at the beginning.

It was the usual friday night free concert. But tonight it was Salsa night. Oh crap, I hate Salsa. I can't dance Salsa, I can't dance anything. And I got so sick of Salsa when I lived in LA. But I head downtown (deliberately after the concert is half over). I am irritated to learn my secret free parking space is now posted as a towaway zone. Shit. But I found a free parking spot anyway, and went in. Just like I expected, the concert is full of homely latino women. I stopped to buy a pack of smokes, Coffee Girl wasn't there, I haven't seen her in a while. I head down to the corner to smoke (the whole concert area is a no smoking zone). As I round the corner, I see three young college girls window shopping at a shoe store. I have a perfect observational opener I invented a couple of weeks ago and failed to use, when I was smoking at this very spot. This time I won't fail.

Me: OK, tell me which ones are the shoes.

Shoe girl 1: We think maybe those pink open toe high heels, but we also like those boots.

Me: Well boots are always hot. Hey, if you like boots, you should try Boutique D, it's just down the street. Some friends of mine run it. [no actually I don't know them at all but who cares? It's a DHV.] They always have the most fashionable goods.

Shoe Girl 2: Where is it?

Me: It's just down the block and take a right. You'll see it next to the ABC sandwich shop.

Shoe Girl 3: I think I know where that is. Thanks!

And they head off. And the moment they walk away, I realize I should have offered to escort them to the shop. Fail.

I head back to the concert, oh crap I really really hate Salsa music. I wander around a bit and I notice the Shoe Girls wander right in front of me. Perhaps I can redeem myself.

Me: Hey, you girls were the shoe shoppers! Did you find Boutique D? I realized how ungentlemanly it was for me not to offer to escort you there. Perhaps I can redeem myself. [I stick out my elbow for her to take me by the arm, a compliance test gesture suggested by Mystery]

Shoe Girl 2: Oh that's okay, we are just wandering around window shopping.

And they wander off without stopping. Oh well.

I noticed a woman at the concert I have met before, she's a local artist and we've chatted and she seemed interested in my artwork. But I don't think I've talked to her for a couple of years. I've seen her several times at these concerts, I think she's seen me and recognized me, but I never approached because I just couldn't remember her name. But suddenly it comes to me, I remember. And then I can't find her. Dammit, I should have blundered ahead with an approach the first time I saw her. It is far too late now.

The concert's not over, but I head into my favorite club anyway. It's dead. There's a group of 5 hot girls I consider approaching, but they get up and leave before I can do anything. There's another group of 2 hot tattoed alternative-ish girls but they're being chatted up by a guy older than me with a bad haircut and bad wardrobe. Go for it, old guy.

[continued]