The Game

As my apartment is kryptonite to cell phones, I walked downstairs and went outside to talk to Rockhard. We were planning another one of my weekend trips to New York, joking about bukkake, you know, the usual. As I was saying something trivial to Rockhard, I was interrupted from behind by the voice of a female. "Hey!" was all she said.

As she walked past me, I recognized her as a girl I met a few months back while out with my best friend from college, Jerk. Always happy to see a familiar face, particularly an attractive one, I ask her how she's been. Apparently unclear as to how to answer that question she responds with, "What are you doing tonight?" Seeing that it's a Thursday in Harrisburg, I just got out of class, and I should be required to wear a sandwich board blazoning the word "dork", I follow with, "Nothing. I have no friends."

"Well, you're meeting us (she was with a similarly attractive friend) at Champ's after you get off the phone. See you there."

Rockhard hears the whole thing and tells me to get off the phone and follow her. Choosing to only give a hint of desperation rather than reek of it, I was in my car on the way to Champ's within 20 minutes. It only took maybe 15 seconds inside this sports bar to remember why I never called this girl back.

She was very nice, laid back, cute, and had a nice ass. But she and I have absolutely nothing in common. After the standard greeting questions, I had nothing more to say to her. The conversation had no direction. It was forced, cliche, and dull. I still have no clue as to why this girl not only twice offered to give me her number without my ever asking when we first met, but invited me out again on this night. There's no way she couldn't feel the blandness and incompatibility. Maybe she's hopelessly friendly.

I could've travelled one of two routes. I could've flirted anyway and seen if she was digging me, or I could've cut my losses and said goodnight.

I was home in time to get plenty of sleep before my drive to New York.

Something that I've learned about myself and have willingly accepted is that when it comes to talking to girls, I have no game, which in essence, is my game. I'm straightforward like I'd be with my friends. This isn't to say that I open the vault to the real me when we first meet, but what you get is a portion of the real me and not some character I've created to appear attractive. If I'm interested, I'll be genuine, ask questions about you, and figure out if I like what you're about. If I get the real you, you get the real me, and we have a mutual liking, then we'll have a real connection.

I'm not gonna throw random statements at you to impress you or give you want you want to hear. If those things aren't seen for the bullshit they are upon first listen, they will be uncovered eventually. I've tried to flirt for the sole reason of getting a girl interested in me, and I physically can't pull it off. There's some mechanism inside me that hears what my mouth is saying and essentially contorts in disgust. Maybe I'm not as good an actor as I thought.

I'm proud of the fact that I'm basically incapable of spitting out fake game. Having that talent couldn't get me anything I want of true value (though sometimes a nice set of boobs seems pretty valuable). I'm forced to present myself in an honest light, which in the long term makes things less complicated. What relevant thrill would I get from knowing someone fell for my game rather than me? I don't need confirmation from fake game to boost my ego. I'm sufficiently arrogant to do that on my own.