My roommate and I threw a party at our place on Saturday night. Party was a hit. We grilled homemade pizzas (have you ever done this?), which friggin rocked, and drank a bunch of booze. The popular drinks were mojitos and Vodka-tonics. Oh, I have to mention this. I found out the hard way that I’m allergic to apples by eating a Gala apple. I’ve eaten a million apples in my life and never had an allergic reaction, but this time I did. The reaction is that the inside of your mouth and throat swells up, and in fact my throat swolled up to the point I couldn’t swallow solids for like thirty minutes. I looked around on the ‘net for treatments for the apple allergy, but couldn’t find anything. So I pounded a Benadryl and a Claritan just to see if it would help. It didn’t, but the Benadryl did make me feel funny, and combined with the vodka-tonics I got drunk in like 3 seconds. It sucked.
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Okay, this is a combo field report and weekly roundup. This post is a little late since I was doing Lance stuff over the weekend.
First off, I had to “next” Knockers, the 24-year-old hottie I made out with several weeks ago. What does nexting mean? Here it is. I met her and Fatty of Doom at Chillers on Saturday night. Knockers wasn’t giving me shit in the way of IOI’s and I was purposely giving her the cold vibe to see if she would respond. I had already come into the interaction with low expectations because of FOD, who had cockblocked me twice before. Anyway, we met at the bar at 10:00. At midnight they announced suddenly that they had to go home. This was the final straw for me, so I literally stood up, back turned, and walked out of the bar…no goodbye, no hug, nothing. I heard FOD say goodbye to my back but I didn’t respond. Sometimes it’s better to cut and run and this was one of those situations. These two girls were just too lame for me to hang out with. I hooked up with some friends after that and hung out until the wee hours.
Boozing and whoring. I need to cut down or that shit is going to kill me. Another crazy weekend of doing tequila shots and chasing 21 year old tail. I’ll write up the field reports later. Maybe.
So yeah, haven’t posted a roundup in a few weeks. I’m a slacker, sue me. I’ve got a passel of great stuff this time to make up for it.
So I was reading on the LA Times Online about a new company called ScientificMatch that, for a mere $995 and a swab of your spit, will help you find your true love via genetic compatibility. The LA Times article talks a lot about smell–apparently, we are attracted to people who smell differently from us because they have different immune systems, and a child resulting from such a union has a greater chance at survival. Choosing a mate according to the criteria used by ScientificMatch means more sex, less cheating, and (for women at least) more orgasms. Continued
Alright, people, I’ve been traveling all weekend (again), but now it’s back to our regularly scheduled content. The weekend roundup! Link love to our peeps. We’ve got a real tasty batch this week.
Read this post, from John at the Sparks of Insanity blog. It’s one of the funniest blog post about online dating I’ve ever read. It’s short, pointed, and cynical as balls. If you’ve ever been frustrated by the lame shit you see on match.com or any other dating site, you’ll appreciate this.
There’s a huge kerfuffle going on in the social arts community over last week’s Dr. Phil episode, which featured Nick and Scott from The Mystery Method and Ross Jefferies, the founder of Speed Seduction. It’s WELL WORTH WATCHING. Interestingly, Dr. Phil maintains a fairly even keel and doesn’t diss the community as hard as you might expect. He asks pointed questions and pretty much lets the guy represent themselves. Nick and Scott do a fair job of presenting pickup in a positive light, and at one point they’ve won over the majority of the audience, as shown by Dr. Phil asking for a show of hands. Nick and Scott get in a tiff with Ross over their various methods and Ross comes off as a major douchebag. The TMM guys refer to him as “creepy,” and it’s hard to argue with that. No fists or chairs are thrown.