This is part of an ongoing series. If you haven't read them already, read :
I wrote out this entire post before, and then the computer crashed and I lost it all, so I haven't felt like working on it. Finally, I'm biting the bullet and starting over :
I got home from Chicago with a new sense of purpose. I started going out more, getting more numbers, and going on more dates. I was improving, but nowhere near where I wanted to be.
I spent a lot of time on the Lounge reading all the information I could. A very common mistake made by aspiring pickup artists (and aspiring talent in virtually every other field) is that they spend too much time gathering information and too little time acting. I was certainly guilty of that to some extent.
A couple weeks after returning, there was a post on the lounge that struck my eye.
"Project Hollywood is a GO! Room for ONE more..."
I read the post and it basically said that the lease had been signed, and everyone was ready to move in. At the last minute someone had backed out and left a room vacant. Immediately after reading that post, I replied :
Congrats on getting the place! I am incredible tempted. If I hadn't just bought a house I would definitely do it. Actually, I'm still going to see if I can do it... hopefully the room will still be available if I figure out a way.
It was an important moment in my life. I had a burning desire to move. I liked LA, although I hadn't spent much time there. Financially, it made no sense at all for me to go, since I didn't have enough time to rent out my house in Austin. My business was fairly mobile, but had some roots in Austin, and I didn't know anyone in LA, other than a few estranged friends from high school and, of course, Papa.
Other than my usual decision making flowchart, it boiled down to one factor. I realized that if I didn't go, I would probably wonder for the rest of my life what would have happened if I moved. If I went and it was a disaster... well, at least I gave it a shot.
I called Style and told him I wanted in.
He didn't know me, of course. There were a lot of people interested in that room. Then there was the issue that only one of my friends had any idea I was involved in this pickup thing, and none of my family knew. I figured I could get through any of the hurdles, though. I convinced him that I could come up with the money quickly and that I wasn't a weirdo. He later told me that he assumed I was a weirdo because only weirdos would pick up and move to Hollywood on a moment's notice.
The next day I was still excited, but had a few reservations. Were they looking for an equal, and an inductee into their social group, or were they looking for an outsider to keep to himself and subsidize their mansion? I've always been good at befriending people, but maybe they had an agenda. Also, I wasn't looking forward to telling my parents about the whole thing.
By the time I sent in my deposit check and finalized the details, I had three weeks to move. I decided that as much as I'd like to put it off, my parents should know as soon as possible so that they could spend some time with me.
My grandmother and I are very close. Despite being in her late 70s, she has an extremely youthful spirit and open mind. For example, when I played tupac for her, she actually liked it. When I told her that I dropped out of school and was planning on using the money she and my grandfather gave me to start a rather risky sounding business, she encouraged me. Often when I had big news I would tell her before telling my parents, because she was so accepting.
"Mum (that's what I call her), I have big news."
"I'm moving to Hollywood to become a pickup artist"
I explained the whole background to her, exactly as I've written it here.
"Tynan... I don't know. I think this is a mistake"
"How can you trust these people? You don't even know them. This whole thing sounds very suspicious."
To her the internet was full of shady characters. She didn't understand that real relationships could be built with people you'd never met. Also, her understanding of the dating scene wasn't entirely accurate. After all, she met my grandfather in a dance. We don't even have dances anymore.
"Have you told your parents yet?"
"No. I'm going to tell them next. Do you think they'll take it well?"
"No, I think they're going to be very upset."
I was really worried now. I was already nervous about calling my parents, but I was doubly so now. My parents have an interesting take on my endeavours. In general they're proud of me and happy about who I am, but they would definitely prefer that I play it safe and live a more traditional life. My father tends to understand a bit better than my mother, so I called him first.
"Hey Dad. I have big news"
"Ok..." - he was used to my bizarre announements.
I explained the story to him, with perhaps a bit more tact than my previous attempt. It was a lot to take in.
"Wow. That's really exciting. I really respect you for being able to make decisions like this"
What?? I was expecting fire and brimstone, and he was proud? I felt a lot better instantly. We continued to talk and I filled him in with more details.
"So, how do you think Mom is going to take this?" I asked.
"Oh, she'll be very upset. Look, can you call her tomorrow? Pool night is tonight and I don't want to leave the house with her upset."
He hadn't meant to, but now I was more worried than ever. My mother is a strong believer in respecting women. I mean, she would encourage my girlfriends to demand that I treat them better (note to girls who are reading this and are considering dating me : I am a saint).
More shaken, I called her.
"Mom.. I have big news."
Again, I explained the story. I was afraid if I stopped talking that she would start her diatribe, so I gave her the long version. Finally I finished and there was a silence.
"Well, that sounds pretty interesting, Tynan."
She wasn't angry.
She asked a lot of questions, and I told her everything. I even gave her the play by play on a few encounters I had, and she seemed to approve.
Parents : Done.
I went to coffee with a couple friends later that day. When we walked into the coffee shop, there were three attractive girls sitting at a table together. One of my friends admired one and made a comment about how pretty she was.
I walked up to her and started a brief conversation. When it was our turn to order, I left her and rejoined my friends.
We got our drinks and went outside to the patio area.
"That was cool how you talked to that girl," my friend said.
I could feel the nervousness welling up inside of me. I had to show him what I could really do.
"I think I'll go get her number," I said coolly.
I stood up and noticed the surprised expression on his face. Hands slightly trembling, I went back into the coffee shop and approached her and her friends.
"Hey, can I borrow her for a sec? I want to show her something," I said to her friends.
She agreed and stood up. I took her hand and walked with her outside to a table next to my friends. Inside, she hadn't noticed that I was with them.
I chatted with her for a while, and got her number. Her name was Raquel, and I never called her because I moved so shortly after.
My friend was floored. I had already told my other friend about what was going on, but he was impressed as well.
Word spread fast, and soon all my friends knew about my upcoming adventure. In a way, I felt bad. These were my first friends I made when I came to Texas. It was awkward coming in as a freshman in high school, but we had become a very tight knit group. I felt like I was abandoning them, but I also knew I had to see what was waiting for my in LA.
For the next three weeks, I did almost nothing. I was too excited about moving to start new projects. Going out seemed pointless because I wasn't going to have time to have any sort of relationship. And besides, what could I learn here that I couldn't learn with the experts in LA?
Finally those three weeks passed, and it was time to leave. I woke up early and crammed as much as I could in my small coupe. Most of my stuff couldn't fit, so I just left it in my house - I was too excited to deal with the details. I had 24 hours of driving ahead of me, anway. It was time to hit the road.
Continued in Part 4
AHHHHH!!!!! SEX....Sex.... XXXX... Ooo... I sooo need more of it! I am wishing we had more time so you could have bent me over and did me HARD-
HARDER AND HARDER>>> Mmmm... I want you ....getting wet just thinking about it!!!
It was a pleasure to meet you in S.F. You are quite an interesting person. I hope he rest of your stay in S.F. was safe,enjoyable,memorable,and successful.I found 2 sites might be of interest...
Yeah, but it's always interesting to hear a different person's view of things. Imagine how different things would have been if TylerDurden had written a rebuttal book to "The Game". I wouldn't necessarily trust the content, due to some of the stuff I've heard about RSD, but I'd still be interested in reading it.
It's kind of like how I moved to Texas coming from Los Angeles.
I got the women & pick up thing down from my stint in LA, but I needed to move on, make a career change (being a rocket scientist isn't that cool when you live in a cubicle or a MCC), and start my own business(es).
Had to give up my surfboard and everything *weeps*
I'm kinda glad this isn't the last of the PUA story because I really like the details. So take as long as you need to tell it right!
This is a continuation of the story, How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 1. If you haven't read that already, you should do so before reading this article.
Papa was notorious for being in contact with everyone in the pickup scene. I couldn't blame him, either - he was the business side of "Real Social Dynamics", a company that taught seminars and workshops to aspiring players. Not surprisingly, he was the only person at the seminar that I knew.
In order to extract every last precious second out of my experience, I had gotten on the earliest flight to Chicago that I could book. I called Papa when I arrived at the hotel at 10am. I could hardly make out his voice. He'd been out in the clubs until very late and was still sleeping.
Most of the time I do not remember my dreams. The morning comes, and all memory of those things I saw at night disappear, replaced with whatever I have to do for the day.. But I have remembered my dreams recently. Dreams of a place in the woods. Of the asylum. A building made of dark wood, and capped with sharp, cone shaped peaks of shingles. Now the memory of this place pierces my morning hours as well, like a song stuck in my head. And though I imagine my visit there contributed, I cannot explain why the thought of the place fills me with fear.
I met with the doctor...the psychiatrist yesterday. Although it was just an initial evaluation, it did not stop him from asking many questions. He wanted to know when my symptoms started, and I told him about the experience with the woman at the bus stop, about finding out that minutes before the conversation she had attacked her husband and children. I told him about her growing paranoia, and her belief that they weren't her real family, that they had been replaced with something else. I told him about how she had been hearing sounds on her roof. I told him that it was around then that it all started. That I began to get sick.
I have always assumed that my symptoms were a result of the trauma of the experience, but he disagreed. He seems to believe that I am using the experience as an excuse to become sick, that what is happening was a long time coming. He asked me if I had any major tragedies in my childhood. I admitted I don't remember much, save for my time with my parents in the hospital, and then of course their funeral. Then he asked me if I had ever been to a therapist before. I admitted to him that I hadn't. Then he asked me if I was sure about that.
He told me that this wasn't the first time we had met. I told I was aware, that we had encountered each other several times, including when I was following up on a story involving a young child. He told me that I didn't understand, and that this wasn't the first time he had seen me, doctor to patient. He had seen me years ago, when I was a child.
When I was little, I was brought to see him by one of my uncles, shortly after my parents death. I asked him what happened, and why I didn't remember, but he refused. He said that I was not yet in a position to talk about it, that if he tried to rush it that it could very well end up making things worse. I suppose he is right. Whatever I do not remember was hidden for a reason. If I were to remember it suddenly, there is no telling what the consequences would be. The only thing he would tell me was that it was for a very short amount of time, only a couple of weeks.