My biggest criticism with personal development, self improvement, or whatever you want to call it, is that a lot of it is theoretical or has little effect on your life NOW. Of course, most people become interested in personal development because of problems they’re facing immediately, which creates a perfect setup for disappointment.

Thinking back on the different areas in which I’ve directed my efforts, here is a short list of some of the most effective ones which got results quickly (in no particular order):

1. Buy and read the book Fantastic Voyage : Live Long Enough to Live Forever. It’s a fascinating read and will give you a deep and valuable understanding of your body, nutrition, and food. When I read it I did so because I was bored, even though I had no particular interest in health or diet. Reading it instantly changed the way I see a lot of things.

2. Open up a new bank account and religiously deposit 10-15% of your after tax income into it every month. This is money that you will NEVER SPEND for your entire life. As it grows you earn interest, and spend that (or add it to this same account). Once you have a significant amount of money, you can then invest it in something reliable like an index fund. You are allowed to use it as a down payment for a house.

3. Go through your house with a trash bag and throw away everything you don’t need. You will immediately feel happier, less stressed, and more motivated to work on other projects. (be sure to look in cabinets, the fridge, and your desk - you will probably need more than one bag)

4. Get in the habit of taking a walk every day. Taking walks is surprisingly therapeutic (I do it every time I have a big decision to make, or feel stressed) and is also really good for your cardiovascular system. If you can do it during the day, that’s even better. A moderate amount of sun is the best way to get Vitamin D and a healthy looking tan to make the ladies (and boys) swoon.

5. Starting at the top of the list, make a decision on one person in your phone every day. They either get a phone call or deleted. You might feel weird calling people you haven’t talked to in a while, but think of how you would feel if they called just to see how you were doing. You’d probably feel really good that you were being thought about. During this process you’ll also find people you’ll never talk to again. Deleting their number will save time and effort when scrolling through your phone book.

6. Similar to #3, go through your closet and either pack up (to be lost in the attic forever), throw away, or donate any clothes you haven’t worn in the past 30 days. (Exceptions are seasonal items [can't you just pack those?] or things like a suit or party dress that doesn’t expect frequent use.)

7. Go shopping and buy enough of the following items to last at least 6 months :

• toothpaste
• paper towels
• toilet paper (try moistened towelettes! they’re way better)
• soap
• detergent for clothes and dishes
• plastic bags (zip lock and trash)

If you can think of any other items where a) the price isn’t going to change drastically b) your preference probably won’t change c) the shelf life is very long, then stock up on those too. Look! You’ve just eliminated a serious chunk of your todo list and mindless errands for the next six months!

8. If you’re disorganized, get and read Getting Things Done : The Art of Stress-Free Productivity. It will have you organized with a gameplan for staying organized easily within 1-3 days. If you’re already organized, then you can just take a second and gloat.

9. Find the most expensive item you have that you don’t use anymore and sell it on ebay. It will take you 10 minutes at most, plus another 30 minutes to ship (while you’re at the post ofice, get 100 2 cent stamps and never worry about that again). Alternatively, just send it to me as a present.

10. Show this page to your friends! Helping out other people makes you feel better, and working on some of these things with your friends will make them more fun.

Don’t just read this list and think “that’s a good idea”. Do it now! If you’re at work, then order the books, take a break and make your first phone call while you take a walk.

I tried to fairly evenly distribute the focus between the three areas of Health, Wealth, and Relationships. Relationships has the least focus because improving your health and wealth will likely improve relationships as well. If you could use some extra help with meeting women or being attractive to them, check out my book called Make Her Chase You. I am a world famous pickup artist who has learned from the best ladies’ men in the world, and I’ve condensed all of my knowledge into one awesome book.

Of course if you’re a lovely lady and you’re looking to improve your relationships, just e-mail me…

Here’s a new song I made for my friend Kristen. She made me a CD of her favorite music and drew on it (she’s an artist). In an effort to convert her to the gangsta side, I made her a CD with rap on it. Since I can’t draw I made her a track for the intro. You can listen to it.

I think my rapping style is improving. I still want to take voice lessons to get my voice more in tune. In case you didn’t read the earlier post, the song references the rattlesnake incident.

The concept of Value vs. Price is one that I am inexplicably fascinated by. Maybe it’s the fact that most people ignore it entirely, or maybe it’s because following its principles virtually guarantees success in any area.

Most people do not understand the difference between value and price or, at the very least, greatly underestimate it.

So, what is the difference between value and price? Value is the benefit derived from an action, and price is the benefit lost by performing an action. What makes this such a profound concept is that every action has a value and a cost associated with it, and it is usually fairly easy to measure. Our unconscious minds are constantly evaluating the price and value of every possible choice, which ends up governing many of our actions.

Example #1 - Wealth

Take the purchase of a computer as an example. If you buy a computer for $1000, the price is simply $1000. But what’s the value? Let’s assume that you’re a writer, and you are replacing an old computer which has suddenly broken. You have a book due the next day, and will be penalized by $10,000 if you do not turn it in on that day (yes, I know this isn’t a realistic penalty). In this case, the value is about $10,000.

For me to buy that computer, however, the value is far less. I have several computers. I don’t use the computer that much anymore. The value isn’t $0, because I could potentially sell the computer (probably for less than $1000), with an additional price of my time. So the value may be $700 to me.

In this example, the decision of whether or not to buy a computer is obvious for both me and the writer. The writer should buy it, and I should not. The cost of an item is the net effect it has on us, after considering the price and value. For the writer the cost of the computer is -$9000, meaning that he is essentially gaining $9000 by completing the transaction. To me the cost is $300, meaning I am losing $300 by buying the computer.

An interesting phenomenon to note is that sales often don’t REALLY affect the cost of an item. For example, if there was a $200 off coupon for that computer, it wouldn’t change my decision to buy the computer or not. It obviously wouldn’t affect the writer either. The only possible effect it would have is to make us more likely to purchase that product AT THAT STORE, rather than at all. I see many people (I used to be very guilty of this) buying things with low price, but significant cost. Doing this is a sure path to financial scarcity.

Of course, price isn’t simply the number on the pricetag. What if the computer was for sale at $800 100 miles away, and $1000 2 miles away? A round trip drive to get the cheaper computer would take me 4 hours rather than a couple minutes. If four hours of my time (plus wear and tear on the car and gas) is worth less than the $200 difference in price, the writer should drive and get that cheaper computer.

This seems like a simple concept, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people (myself included) spend hours searching for a lower price on something which only ends up saving $20 or so. Often times dealhunting isn’t worth the cost.

Example #2 - Relationships

More interesting is this concept applied to non financial matters, because most people don’t even begin to consider it. Let’s take, for example, the choice of going out to clubsor staying in.

If I go out to a club, the intention is to meet women. I don’t drink, I don’t dance, and I don’t particularly relish the club atmosphere. Sometimes I’ll go downtown to hang out with friends, but that’s a different decision.

In any given night I might talk to 9 different women. Three groups of three. For me to be significantly interested in a girl, it takes time for me to get to know her (mainly because I’m picky and have a list of things which will disqualify her). I would estimate that I am seriously interested in one out of three hundred girls that I meet downtown.

If I’m interested in a girl and have a good opportunity to get to know her, I believe that she will be attracted to me almost 100% of the time. However, I’d say that getting a good opportunity to get to know a girl only happens around 40% of the time. The club atmosphere makes it difficult to get a good opportunity, but it is possible to increase that percentage to 100% with skill. In LA it was probably more like 70-80% for me when I was well practiced.

So let’s boil these numbers down. If I’m only able to attract 40% of the 300 girls necessary to find one I’m interested in, that’s 750 girls I must meet before finding one who I will be compatible with and will develop a relationship of sorts with. If I am meeting 9 girls per night, that means that it will take 84 nights out to “meet someone”.

On an average night, including driving and getting ready, I probably spend 5 hours to meet those 9 girls. That means that the price of meeting a girl is 420 hours of my time. That’s significant.

Of course, I do have fun when I go out and meet all those people. Some might become friends. I’m also going out with my friends and we joke around and have a good time. However, I would probably be doing something fun if I wasn’t going out as well, so those two effects can cancel each other.

What’s the value of beginning a relationship with a girl? It’s tough to say. If I had no other means of meeting a girl, I would probably go out religiously. The cost of NEVER having a girl is monumental, so I would be willing to spend the 420 hours of my time to meet that girl.

The reality, however, is that I do meet girls in other situations. Whole foods, friends of friends, and even through my blog. This is why I rarely go out anymore - the price I pay is simply not worth the value I receive.

Example #3 - Health

One last example is eating healthy. Eating raw food is expensive. I went to the grocery store last night and spent $150 buying 4-5 days worth of food. That’s probably about $7000 more per year than regular food would cost me. It’s also a pain. I can’t eat anything more than a plain salad at most restaurants. Some of the foods aren’t as tasty as conventional foods. That represents a significant price to pay for eating raw food.

What is the value of eating raw? For one, longevity. I believe that I will not only live for 10-20 years longer than the average person, but will be active and healthy for at least 10-20 additional years. I also need less sleep (to be determined by my break from Polyphasic sleep), which gives me more usable time. Let’s say that I go from 8 hours to 5.5 hours, which I feel is conservative. That’s 912.5 hours per year, or around 50 extra days. I also feel a lot better on a daily basis and look better thanks to lower bodyfat percentages and better skin.

For the sake of convenience (and because we don’t have years to make every decision), let’s cancel a few things out. Let’s say that the value of feeling and looking better is roughly equal to the cost of not being able to eat out, and not being able to eat tasty things like egg rolls.

The average lifespan is 75 in America, so let’s assume I will live to 90. I believe that’s very conservative. Since I am about 25 now, that means that I will be alive for another 65 years. At 50 extra days per year thanks to decreased sleep, that gives me an extra 3250 days of life, or almost 9 years.

The additional $7000 price of eating raw multiplied by my remaining 65 calendar years adds up to $455,000. That’s not insignificant.

So, when it all boils down to it, I am paying $455,000 for an extra 24 years of life, or $19,000 per year. To me that’s obviously worth it. To others it’s not. How about you?

Living Your Life

Living your life by the concept of Value vs. Price is essential. By constantly increasing the value of your habits, relationships, and posessions, you are constantly moving forward, and increasing your pool from which you are able to pay the price of new value. For example, with all my extra time, I can SPEND more time to gain more value.

Being a lawyer, to me anyway, would be the opposite. The value I would receive would be high (a high salary, power, prestige, etc.), but the price would be far too dear. Giving up my waking life for the majority of my productive years is not worth $100k, $200k, or even $1mil per year.

Live and direct, here are some updates on my latest drastic changes, as well as my encounter with a deadly rattlesnake. I’m talking specifically about taking a break from polyphasic sleep and giving up the computer, of course.

It’s now been a little bit over 48 hours since giving up the computer and taking a break from polyphasic. Both transitions went far better than I expected.

First, giving up the computer was a great idea. In that first 24 hours I got more important stuff done around the house than I had in the past month. I cleaned up where I had a minor flood, began cleaning the kitchen, and moved the last of my stuff out of my office. I also spent time with several of my friends, which made it much easier.

Using my Treo 650, I can see if I have any new e-mail. I have it set to check only every 30 minutes, so I’m not constantly distracted. Also, the blog e-mails me all comments on posts, so I can read those while I’m away from the computer. The treo isn’t very distracting at all, and can be taken with me no matter where I am, so this seems like the basis of a good solution.

In fact, in the first 24 hours I only ended up using 50 minutes of computer time. It feels great to break free of the computer and get things done. I am going to change it to 60 minutes of computer time, plus all the time I need for commercial enterprises. I have some upcoming projects that require using the computer, and spending that time is certainly to my benefit. Also, I don’t want to have to rush through my posts here.

Polyphasic was a little harder to kick. I took a couple naps early in the day, but after that I went out so it was easy to stay awake. In fact, I stayed out until 3:30 and was on the phone until 4:30, so I got to bed later than expected. Even so, I woke up naturally at 9am. I was still tired so I went back to sleep and woke up at 10:15. Five hours and fifteen minutes of sleep. Not too bad for staying up so late. I feel well rested, but the sleep is boring, unlike polyphasic which is full of dreams and feels deeper.

Yesterday Kristen and I went to hang out in this park near her house. I don’t really know if park is the right word - it’s an expanse of land including a lake, an enormous field (paragliding part II coming soon!), and some sparsley populated woods.

The first cool thing about this park is that there are pecan trees everywhere. Kristen showed me how to open the pecans and they were delicious! We stuffed my pockets full of them and I ate them for the rest of the day. I have a pecan tree in my backyard, too. I wonder if it makes deliciosu pecans as well.

Anyway, we were walking through the brush adjoining one of the fields when all of a sudden she yells “Whoa! A rattlesnake!”. God damn you, Texas. I always hear about the creepy snakes we have here in Texas (5 poisonous ones?), but had only once seen a Water Moccassin many years ago.

Sure enough I look down and there is a rattlesnake coiled. I jumped back and immediately became very suspicious of the rest of the brush. This thing was really well camoflauged - how many others were there.

Kristen? She wasn’t afraid.

WHO THE HELL ISN’T AFRAID OF SNAKES?

I mean… there’s a movie about “Snakes on a Plane” now, just because people are so afraid of snakes. The worst part is that we were stuck in the middle of the brush, so getting to safety surely involved stomping on several snake holes on the way out. Luckily for me, Kristen carried me to safety. I was going to act like I carried her safely to preserve my overwhelming masculinity, but she promised to come here and set the record straight if I did - and I don’t know how to ban people from the blog yet.

So, yeah… a tiny girl carried me away from the deadly snakes. If it helps restore your previously ingrained macho image of me, I did carry her later on. Yeah… that doesn’t help me either.

Just as I was leaving Kristen’s place, Luke called me. He and his friends wanted to get dinner, which was perfect because I was in their area and starving. We went to get sushi (again I feel sick after eating sashimi and seaweed salad, with the same symptoms), and then later went to sixth. Overall it was quite fun. The hilarious part is that Steve, who recently moved from San Francisco to Austin, leases a large office right above Firehouse, a popular bar on sixth street.

They’re intent on getting a good afterparty going there, which is a fantastic idea. However, due to extremely poor planning and lukewarm group participation, both times I’ve gone out with them have ended with the four of us sitting around in the office talking about business. At least there’s a nice backdrop set by the rotating multicolored strobe globes, affectionately referred to as “the party balls”.

So now I guess it’s time for me to either get off the computer, use up some of my precious computer time, or do some work on it. Adios!

Ever since I can remember, I have been a huge fan of Boy Meets World. With no concept of TV guide or schedules, it was a gift from the heavens above when I would turn on the TV and see the familiar cast. For roughly as long as I was a fan of the show, I had a crush on Topanga - known as Danielle Fishel in real life.

I’m hesitant to post detailed “reports” on meeting women here. Maybe because it’s too personal, maybe because it’s so easy to misinterpet as mechanical, but for whatever reason I don’t love the idea. However, this is a funny story that probably won’t offend anyone (except one guy who I don’t mind offending.)

The 2004 Pickup Artist Convention, which I had organized, was held in Los Angeles, CA. Normally I’m rather lazy about going out and meeting people. I find it very frustrating to find women I’m genuinely interested in, and the allure of talking to women for practice is much less than it was when I first got into the Pickup Artist thing.

However, during PUA conventions, I wasn’t lazy. No one was. It was a chance to shine, and show people how good you were in the field.

I was holding court with two typical club girls at The Standard in West Hollywood, which was right down the street from our house. They were very pretty, but simultaneously very boring. It’s a common combination, especially in LA.

As we sat and bantered, I was aware of everything going on. During PUA events there is always a crowd of guys from all over the world who come to watch the more experienced guys in action. They’re too afraid or unskilled to do the approaches, so they live vicariously through us. Also in attendance was my friend Hayden.

There are certain rules we play by. They’re not formalized and written down, but they’re understood. One of them is that unless he’s expecting you, you don’t interrupt a conversation between your wingman and girls.

Hayden interrupted my conversation. He looked hesitant.

“Ty… Hey… Can I talk to you for a minute?”

It was strange. The girls noticed this as well. I introduced the girls to him, assuming he wanted to come sit with us and meet one of them himself. It wasn’t an orthodox procedure, but I didn’t care. I was doing little more than showboating for the onlookers.

“I just need to borrow you for two seconds… it’s important.”

What could be so important? Curiousity piqued, I stood up and followed him a few feet away.

“Topanga is at Mel’s”

“What??”

Mel’s Diner is a popular after hours diner in West Hollywood. Incidentally it was also about 50 feet away from our house. In fact, Mystery and I had conducted a number of contests involvind Mel’s parking lot. Could we throw oranges down the hill and land them in the parking lot? Yep. Who could make a paper plane fly closer the restaurant? Neither of us.

“Jay just called because he knows you like her. She’s eating with some people at Mel’s right now. You should leave.”

I returned to the girls and hastily excused myself. They were visibly startled - girls like that don’t normally have guys like me ditching them for ANY reason.

On my way over to Mel’s I called Jay. He told me that she was with five other people, sitting in the middle of the restaurant, with no extra chairs at the table. As far as logistics go, it doesn’t get any worse than this. Ideally a girl you’re interested in will be sitting with one or two friends in a less conspicuous area with an extra chair at the table. From there it’s just a matter of “passing by” and “striking up a converstaion” and sitting in the extra seat. Within minutes you’re part of their group and they forget that you’re some random guy who took one of their chairs.

From time to time I battle with approach anxiety. I see a group of beautiful girls and don’t want to approach. Sometimes I’m scared and sometimes I’m just apathetic. However, when there’s a celebrity involved, there’s no anxiety. The reward is so great that it outweighs any risk. I’d previously kissed Leelee Sobieski, but had failed to recognize who she was. In real life she was charming, but not outrageously attractive. A celebrity is a notch on the belt that anyone wants - PUA or not. The validation of having someone who could have anyone interested in you is incomparable.

Finally, I arrived at Mel’s. I walked in with no hesitation. Any awkwardness could be sensed a mile away and would ruin it. With a girl of this caliber, there is no room for error.

I glanced around. The tables were packed with pickup artist and pickup artist wannabes from all over the world. Jay had kept them at bay because he know how much I liked Danielle. It was as if I was entering a boxing ring - all eyes were on me, Danielle, and her table.

Her table consisted of three couples. They were obviously on a triple date. This wasn’t good. Danielle was sitting in the middle of the table, her date on the edge that I was closest to. I walked almost past the table and glanced back casually. She really was beautiful. It wasn’t that she had better hair, or a better figure, or even a better face than anyone else. She just had a huge smile that beamed confidence and contentment. I was attracted instantly.

“Hey guys,” I started, “I need your opinion on something….”

I’d delivered the same exact line a thousand times. Thanks to Neil’s book, thousands of other people have delivered it as well.

I continued into the 80’s Dogs opener. The premise is that a neighbor has two dogs and wants to name them after an 80s rock duo. Does the group have any suggestions?

There was a pause. The guys were baffled that I would just walk up like that and start talking. The girls were scrutinizing me for any hint of insecurity.

One of the other girls offered, “How about Hall and Oats?”

I’d heard that answer a million times.

“Hey! That is a good one!”

Hey… what else am I going to say? Danielle was still staring at me without answering. Her friends had accepted me, but she wasn’t convinced. Her date was even less convinced.

“Dude! I have an opinion for you. Take that feather boa off and leave!”

While his grasp on the Enlish language may be in question, his intent certainly wasn’t. He was threatened and didn’t like that I was there at all. In a sense, I had messed up. The idea is to not convey that I’m anything more than a curious passer by. The awkward logistics made that nearly impossible, though.

The truth is that in all my experience, I had never really encountered a hostile guy. Most guys would either befriend me or just become silent and dejected as their girls became attracted to me. This was new.

I ignored him and continued on. This seemed to work for a little while. I bantered back and forth with the group.

“Axl and Rose.”

Danielle finally answered. She had been thinking the whole time. That too was a typical answer, but I agreed that it was a good name. I could tell by the look on her face that she was proud of it. Unfortunately her date wasn’t impressed at all. He ramped up the volume and made it impossible for me to stay there. It had become slightly awkward for me to be standing there anyway - I desperately needed a chair to sit in.

“Is he always this much of a dick?” I asked the group. The other two girls regretfully replied that he was.

“Well… I’d hate to continue offending him. It was good to meet you.”

I walked off, rejected. If there was an empty chair where he was sitting, I believe I would have been able to join the group and get to know everyone in it, but I didn’t. There are ways to effectively deal with hostile guys (called AMOGs), but wasn’t good at them.

As a last resort, to regain my pride, and to regain any respect lost from the onlookers, I approached another group of two girls and one guy. They were sitting right near the exit, where Danielle would have to pass by.

Within a few minutes I was sitting at their table and was being offered food. I was in. Still sidetracked by Danielle, I wasn’t particularly interested in the group. They were fun, but I was talking to them with a purpose.

When Danielle’s group paid the check and started walking to the door, I got ready.

Just as she passed, I delivered a joke with perfect comedic timing. The group erupted and she turned to see what the disturbance was. I turned and grinned at her, as if to say “See? Look what you missed out on.”

She wouldn’t forget me, I was sure, and hopefully I would meet her again. Unfortunately, I never did. Maybe one of you knows her, or knows someone who knows her, and will have her read this. I’d love to hear whether she remembers it or not. I’ll bet she does.

Normally I’d be very hesitant to write about a celebrity - especially one who trusted me with her personal life by moving in with my friends and I. But… this is Courtney Love, so anything’s fair game. Just kidding.

Actually I don’t have a moral objection writing about her because I have basically only good things to say, and also because similar stories were already published in The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. In case you missed the How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist series, The Game is a book which chronicles our adventures, written by the literary mastermind Neil Strauss, who was also a roommate at the time.

Meeting Courtney

Mystery and I were in New York preparing to be on Good Morning America. Ultimately we didn’t get on because Mystery’s flamboyant character and dress offended the conservative and frumpy program director, and they canned the segment at the last minute. Neil was asked to write a story about Courtney Love for The Rolling Stone. He had never met her before. As Mystery and I waited for our workshop to begin we got a call from Neil. He had forgotten his tape recorder and wanted to know if we’d bring it to him.

A chance to meet Courtney Love? Why not? We got the recorder, got a cab, and headed to her loft. She came down, looking better than I expected, and thanked us for helping. She had heard about the pickup artist thing and asked us a few questions about it. The interaction lasted just a couple minutes before she and Neil went upstairs to continue the interview. Overall I didn’t think too much of the experience.

Her Fans

I was never a Courtney Love fan. In fact, I’d barely even heard her music. Since getting into music I really didn’t listen to much other than hip hop.

I remember the first time I heard of her, though. I was only 12 or so, and I had my first girlfriend, Rachel, who I met at camp. Back then having a girlfriend was nothing more than a title. I’m not convinced I even kissed Rachel, but I had a little picture of her on my wall that I displayed with pride. Apparently a long distance relationship where neither of us talked wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, and she eventually dumped me. She told me that she looked like Courtney Love, and that her new boyfriend looked like Kurt. Beaming with pride, she related a story where someone yelled at her from a bus asking if she was Courtney Love. In retrospect, I don’t see the resemblance.

Eventually, I actually heard her music.

I had moved to Austin, Texas, my freshman year of high school. Coming from Boston, I wasn’t used to the heat at all. Being lazy, I didn’t want to play sports. Our tyrant of a baseball teacher ignored both concerns and put me in right field to play baseball.

“Come on cupcake. Get after that ball! If you ain’t gonna play, then you can just SIT OUT.”

The ball had rolled a foot away from me and my apathy warned me sternly not to go after the ball. Sitting out seemed like a fine option, so I joined the two other outcasts under the shade of a fold out table. They glanced at me quickly and then resumed their discussion on whether or not it was a wise idea to fill a bong with wine rather than water.

After realizing that I didn’t even know what a bong was, they began to explain everything. I’d never even met anyone who did drugs (that I knew of) until then. My education continued as my friendship with one of the kids, Jared, developed. Despite the fact that I had never touched a drug, alcohol, or cigarette, and the fact that he had abused nearly every drug as well as alcohol and cigarettes, we got along very well. He used to always talk about how Courtney Love was his favorite person in the world and how he would do anything to meet her. A couple years later we had drifted apart and he died from a drug overdose. I think if he knew how well I came to know Courtney, he would have really been amused.

Courtney Moves In

A few weeks after the New York trip, Neil approached the members of Project Hollywood.

“Hey… how would you guys feel about Courtney Love moving in with us for a few days?”

She had called him, saying that she moved back to LA and needed to be around people. She had a very nice penthouse on Wilshire Dr., but claimed that it was too corporate for her tastes.

It was an easy decision, but figuring out where to stash her was a more difficult problem. Every bedroom was full, and offering one of the most famous women in the US a couch seemed a bit too ironic. Being Neil’s guest, his room was the obvious choice, but he had lots of notes and tapes, many of which covered his interview with her. He was worried that if she read them she might be offended.

So I offered my room. I figured that it would at least be an interesting story, and Neil offered me his bed in return. An hour later, she showed up at the door. She was right at home instantly.

Neil and I gave her a tour of the house. She generously offered to decorate our place for us if we could cover the necessary quarter million dollars in furniture and accessories that we would need. At that moment I realized that Courtney was in her own big world, and that we were going to find ourselves right in the middle of it.

A Strange Relationship

Courtney was both the daughter of the house and the mother of the house. One day she’d be putting out plates of muffins to make sure we had enough to eat and kicking out a girl who needed to go (Gabby). The next day I’d be up at night with her trying to figure out where her money went and reassure her that it was going to be fine.

Other than Neil, I got along with her better than anyone. I was happy to listen to her bizarre stories and struggles, would drive her around from time to time, and didn’t want anything from her. She was also overwhelmingly generous. Despite having most of her money stolen from her, she invited us to take anything we wanted from her apartment.

Fascinated, we ventured to her penthouse one night. The door was unlocked, as she said it would be. She had lost the key. The apartment was beautifully furnished, but we felt weird taking her stuff. Finally we compromised and stuffed our faces with a one pound box of godiva chocolates that we found. They would have gone bad by the time she got back anyway. Maybe.

Further prodding resulted in more visits where we actually did take a few things. I took her ipod and a really cool antique lamp, as well as some cool pillows to use in our pillow pit. I later offered to give her her stuff back, since I considered it a loan more than anything, but she said not to worry about it.

The Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches

Perhaps the funniest thing about Courtney was how she made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Until I met her, I didn’t realize that there was a normal way to make sandwiches, and also a rockstar way to do it.

Courtney would not be troubled by those annoying plastic clips that keep bread bags closed. With two hands she would tear apart the top of the bag and take the best slices of bread directly from the middle of the loaf. A mere mortal might worry that the bread would go stale and be unsuitable for further sandwiches. Not Courtney - there were at least five residents of the house, each with their own loaf of bread. Plenty of bags to rip.

She usually spent long periods of time in my room, examining the boxes and boxes of papers she had moved in. Her money had been stolen and she was determined to find out who did it. Thus, when she did leave the room to make sandwiches, she made lots of them.

Six or eight slices of bread would be harvested from the bag and laid on any clean (or semi-clean [or completely filthy]) counter surface. What happens next is a bit of a mystery. I never saw the sandwiches being made, but I certainly saw the aftermath.

You could tell where the sanwiches were, because surrounding their former positions was a layer of peanut butter and jelly. Inside the jars (which were left on the counter) would be at least two spoons. Sometimes more.

I’m no forensics expert, but it’s fairly obvious that she scooped up as much peanut butter and jelly with the spoons and carpet bombed the entire counter.

Did we mind the mess? Not particularly. It was amusing for one, and secondly she had the most amazing maids in the entire world. They would come to our house and make it look like a hotel. I’m pretty sure that if you just sent these two people to iraq, they would have the whole mess cleaned up in 24 hours at most.

Streaking

Courtney didn’t always wear many clothes. It’s not that she’s an exhibitionist. It’s just that if she’s more comfortable without clothes, then she’s not wearing any. In fact, I groggily stepped downstairs from Neil’s room the first night that she was in mine to find her at the bottom of the stairs in mesh panties. Surrounding her were the other inhabitants of the house, spellbound by her explanation of the conspiracy which resulted in her money being stolen (I’m actually pretty convinced that it was stolen, too).

Because of her high profile, we tried to keep it to ourselves that she was living with us. Other members of the pickup community weren’t made aware of our houseguest, nor were students of workshops - usually.

One day Mystery and I were teaching a seminar in our living room. Mystery was detailing the finer points of calling a girl when the double doors to my room burst open. Out came courtney, topless. She ran across the living room and into Mystery’s room.

The students looked at her, at each other, and then at us for a possible explanation.

“Was that…. ”

“… Courtney Love?” finished another student.

Before we could answer, she ran back across the living room back into my room. Yes. It was Courtney Love.

I later asked her what that was about and she said “I was trying to help you guys. It was social proof!”

Indeed it was. Social proof is essentially the concept that people who hold impressive company are thought to be impressive people themselves. In pickup this translates in many ways, one of which is having a cool friend out with you so that you can both reflect well on each other. Courtney was always fascinated by our trade. During later seminars she and a band mate or two would sit quietly in the corner and observe - with clothes on.

Crazy?

Before Courtney came to live with us, I bought into the general perception that she is crazy. The truth, though, is that she is actually extremely bright. She’s a mountain of quirks, but they just contribute to her being one of the most entertaining people I’ve ever been around. After witnessing how strong her personality was, I realized why she was famous and I wasn’t.

Over the months that she lived with us, we all fell in love with her. Despite her rock star status, she became part of our motley family. We’d sit all sit on the couch together and sing 90s alternative songs, she brought us to the tonight show when she was a guest there, and she’d try to help resolve any of our many disputes.

I’ll probably write a follow up to this post eventually - I have many other stories with her. There are also some in Neil’s book (the second half is all about our house and our drama), The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists.

Ladies? Yeah! Ladies! Yeah? Wanna roll in my Mercedes? Hell yeah! Then shake it! Shake it! Shake that healthy butt.

Baby got back.

Ahem. Ladies.. this one’s for you. Indirectly, it’s for me. Today we’re going to take a critical and mildly chauvinistic look at what makes a woman more attractive to a guy.

I’m going to assume, for argument’s sake, that you’re looking for an ideal guy. Some of you have issues and would prefer a trailer rat like K-fed or a submissive wimp because you’re domineering. These tips will probably help you with that, but there’s no guarantee.

Though I’m impressed with myself on a daily basis for remaining so humble and modest, I’m going to propose that I’m the ideal man, or as close as one can find in this crazy crazy world. Witty, charming, moderately tall, an ass that just doesn’t quit, and all body parts intact. Yep. I’m the complete package. To move more into the objective realm, most girls like me and I’ve never been broken up with. So it’s a start.

First, let’s tackle looks.

“Looks don’t matter. It’s what’s inside that counts. I have a weak grasp on reality,” they whine.

Check it. Looks matter. They always will, until our collective social skills crumble to point where no one leaves the house and people date online exclusively. Honestly, I can’t wait because then I can date AND play freecell simultaneously. Early experiments with that combination in present society have proven to be a failure, unfortunately.

First, hit the gym and start eating healthy. You think you’re skinny enough and healthy enough? Probably not. I literally know one girl who is skinny enough (maybe too skinny) to the point that she shouldn’t hit the gym and eat healthy (she already does). Maybe you’re already ok, but losing 3-5 pounds and getting more toned would help. Forget what that chart says about what your “healthy weight” is. You don’t want to be in the middle of that. Be on the low end.

Also, when you’re at the gym, do cardio. Jog, run, step on some stairs. Despite what those freaky freaky body building magazines may tell you, muscly women are gross. (Ok, fine.. if you know what you’re doing then you can do some weights to tone.)

When you eat healthy foods your skin looks much better, your hair is shiny and smooth, and you have energy. Bad skin, dull hair, and lethargy aren’t on anyone’s top ten list - I promise. Also, it’s a clear indicator that you take care of yourself, and thus respect yourself. This is good.

Now, you might think you have to be a 10. You’re right. Actually, I’m just kidding. We’d love for you to be a 10, but looks aren’t the only factor. An 8 with a killer personality beats a 10 with a boring personality anyday. Well… not any day, but most days. Even a 7 is going to be good enough if you really have a great personality. Below that… keep working.

The good news is that basically any girl can become a 7 or an 8 with some work. Getting to the lower ranges of your ideal weight and eating healthy is a huge start. Posture is also huge - I literally followed a girl around the mall trying to catch up to talk to her because I spotted her excellent posture from across the mall. I’m often attracted to dancers and models because they tend to have great posture. A beautiful girl who slouches and walks awkwardly loses points.

Smile. This is another make it or break it point. A smile is infinitely more attractive than a frown or a blank stare. Everyone wants to be surrounded by happy people, so why not advertise how happy you are. You are happy, right?

If you’re not happy, you are not attractive. People HATE whiners and people with negative attitudes. Everyone wants to be around people that make them feel good - it’s basic, but I don’t think women understand how important this is. That doesn’t mean not to talk about bad things that happen to you. It means to be optimistic and don’t let a bad driver ruin your day and dominate the conversation for the evening.

Confidence, when presented properly, is extremely attractive. I love a girl who is great and knows it. Note that this is different from man-hating girl power advocates. “If a MAN can do it, I can do it. Woman are the stronger sex,” has never attracted anyone. Drop it. These days any guy that you are going to consider probably has a healthy respect for women. Move on. Also, we’re all upset that you ladies are allowed to vote, so try to avoid sticky subjects like that. Same goes for driving, of course.

This is a personal pet peeve of mine. Don’t try to “be one of the guys”. If I hear you burp, I will probably not date you. You won’t hear me burp either, so don’t start complaining about a double standard. You’re not proving anything by doing it, and if we wanted to date men, we’d be gay. Men are attracted to femininity, so be a girly girl.

Wow… when I started writing this article I thought it was going to be a lot shorter, but I keep thinking of more things.

One last bit of advice. Learn how to dress. We act like the only piece of clothing we’re interested in is your bra, but that’s not actually true. Well dressed girls stand out, look more confident and together, and are much sexier. I literally melt when I find out a girl is into fashion. That might be a personal preference with me… I’m not sure that most guys care that much, but it certainly won’t hurt.

I really want to stress that all of these points are extremely important. I know that if I were to read an article like this for guys, I would assume that the first point mattered and that the rest were filler. I don’t waste my time with filler, and was actually trying to cut some points out to make it shorter - but I couldn’t because they’re all important.

Now that you’re a 8 or higher with a great personality, what do you do? Well, you e-mail me, of course. You didn’t think I wrote all that for nothing, did you? Oh, and if you think you’re hot enough, send me a picture. I’ll be honest. Honest.

This story is one of the first really interesting and bizarre things that happened to me. It’s a tale chock full of twists, crime, and deceit, guaranteed to satisfy even the most discriminating BtyB reader.

It takes place when I was a sophomore in high school, before I had any clue whatsoever regarding women. Despite my objective inexperience, I had managed to attract my first real girlfriend. I’ll write the full story some day on how I met her… believe it or not, I won her over by memorizing more digits of pi than she memorized. Let’s all pretend I didn’t just admit that. Anyway, she was very attractive, super cool, and perhaps the most compatible girlfriend I’ve ever had. Now she is a fighter (like amateur UFC or something) and a stripper. Her name is Allison.

One of my good friends at the time was a fellow named Charles. There always seemed to be something a bit odd about him, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Later I would learn that he had been sent to juvenile detention for attempting to stab his stepfather.

One day after school Charles asked me if I wanted to go “mudding”. Perhaps those of you reading from more civilized places than Texas don’t know what mudding is. It’s when you have an enormous jacked up pickup truck or jeep, and you drive through mud. Sounds pretty lame, but is actually quite a bit of fun. The problems in his plan were twofold - we had no truck or jeep nor a place to go mudding.

“We can go in my car, and I know a place,” he assured me. He drove a 1988 Ford Escort.

Allison and I agreed to go. We hadn’t been dating for very long, but already we would hang out nearly every day after school. We followed him in my car as he drove on a wild goose chase to find the ranch we were supposed to go mudding at. After a little while I started to wonder if he actually knew someone who gave him permission to drive on their ranch, or if he was looking for an unoccupied one.

The Ranch

Finally we pulled into a dirt driveway in the woods. Allison and I got out of my car and joined Charles in his. After passing an empty white pickup truck on the path, he floored it and we started careening down dirt roads, even managing to get the front wheels off the ground a couple times. It was a nice day out and we were having a blast. We did doughnuts in the grass, and let Allison, who was 15 at the time try driving for the first time.

But our youthfully irresponsible joyride wasn’t enough for Charles. When it was his turn to drive he drove right up to a fence and stopped. On the other side were some cows. On our side there were none.

The Crime

He got back into the car, put it in second gear and pushed through the fence. Allison and I glanced at each other nervously. This wasn’t really what we were expecting.

Trying to ignore the facts that not only had Charles destroyed a fence and let the cows out, but that he also clearly did not know the owner of this property, we continued driving around. Soon the car was stuck in some sand and we began brainstorming ways to get it out.

Nearby was a huge digging machine of some sort. Half jokingly I suggested that we figure out how to drive it and push his car out of the sand. Against my better judgement, I told him that usually construction vehicles have keys in them because different people drive them every day. He made a beeline for the machine and tried to start it. Luckily he couldn’t manipulate the many levers and pedals in any way that would result in the machine being started.

Eventually we resorted to more simple solutions like jamming sticks under his wheels. Successfully free of the sand, we began driving towards the exit.

Nearly there, Charles spotted two more construction vehicles. One was the equivalent of a steamroller for dirt roads, and the other was a bulldozer. He stopped the car and jumped out with a word.

First he approached the bulldozer. The key was in it. He turned the key which resulted in little more than funny noises coming from the engine. A few more failed attempts and he directed his attention towards the steamroller.

This one was more promising. The first crank of the key almost turned the engine over. He adjusted some levers, stamped on the pedals and tried again. Allison and I watched him nervously. Closer… the engine started but quickly stopped.

He jumped on top of the contraption, opened the gas tank and spit in it. Satisfied, he tried again. This time the machine roared to life and began belching out black smoke from its exhaust pipe. A wide grin spread across his face.

“Charles… let’s go. You shouldn’t do that!” I yelled. I was a sissy, but was probably right.

Unable to fully control the vehicle, he drove it around in a circle, running over a small tree and completely crushing it. Finally I convinced him to get out, so he parked it in the middle of the dirt road, took the key, cut off the siren light with his knife, and jumped onto the freshly flattened ground. Before returning to the driver’s seat he took the keys of the other machine as well.

He sped off laughing maniacally. I hadn’t seen this side of Charles before.

Big Trouble in Little Tynantown

Giddy with the excitement of our mischief, we began back down the dirt road towards my car.

We approached the empty white truck again, but this time it was facing us. And it wasn’t empty. There was a man in it, driving towards us. Charles politely pulled to the side and let him pass. A collective sigh of relief was breathed.

We got to my car, hopped in, and as I began to pull out onto the road I heard :

“Fuck. He’s following us.”

Charles had already hit the highway. Sure enough, in my rear view mirror was a menacing white truck coming right for me. I floored it and swerved onto the highway.

Not wanting to get into trouble, I kept accelerating to outrun the white truck. He matched my acceleration and raised it, causing me to go faster and faster. I hit 110 or so in my trusty 1994 Mazda 626, but the truck was still gaining on me. The light in front of me turned red. I went through it, and so did the truck.

I finally came to my senses and realized that this was quite likely going to get me killed, and I would hate to do that to the world. I slowed down to 90.

The truck caught up with me but passed without even slowing down. He wasn’t after me - he was after Charles.

Allison looked worried. We had just begun dating, and this was a lot to digest. We talked it over and decided the best thing to do was to just pretend nothing had happened and go home. I dropped her off and continued towards my house.

But I was rattled. I’d never driven that fast, been chased, or been involved in any sort of crime. Adrenaline was flooding my veins and distracting me. After turning into my neighborhood I promptly jumped the curb and ran over some bushes and flowers. I yanked the wheel back to the right and continued home.

I got out of my car, pulled the foliage out of my grille and went inside.

The Lies Begin

“Where have you been?” asked my mother.
“Studying at Starbucks,” I replied. It seemed like a good excuse.

Of course, she should have known I was lying. For one I don’t study, and for two I don’t drink coffee or go to Starbucks. However, eternally optimistic that I might some day find value in my education, she bought the story. I was quiet during dinner, trying to contain my guilt.

Allison and I caught up online. Her parents weren’t suspicious, and mine seemed to believe me. We were in the clear. No cops had called either of us.

Later Charles called me and told me that he was driving 120 and successfully evaded the white truck. We were in the clear. I hadn’t wanted the trouble in the beginning, but I felt like a badass for getting away with it. My confidence rose…..

The Plot Thickens

My cohorts and I reconvened the following day at school. It was Wednesday, almost 24 hours after the incident, and no one had heard from the cops. We felt pretty good. By Thursday we were convinced that we were criminal masterminds, and plotted our next scheme.

Charles’ parents were going out of town for the weekend. Did Allison and I want to sneak out, and go to his house? My mind clouded with impure thoughts, I quickly convinced Allison that it was, in fact, a solid idea.

Our plan for Friday was executed perfectly. Allison and I went on a date like we did many weekends. We got back to her house, hung out with her parents for a little while, and I left.

I went back home and asked my parents if I could sleep at Charles’ house. Yes, dad… of course his parents are going to be home.

I packed a few things and drove to Charles’ house. We knew that Allison’s parents would be awake for a while, so we hung out, waiting for her to give us the ok signal. We were very pleased at the level of complexity built into our plan.

Finally at 1am her parents had gone to sleep. They had an alarm system, so her plan was to escape through a window and meet me at the end of her long driveway.

I pulled up to the house, turned off my lights and waited in the parking lot. Still a virgin, I stared at the ceiling of my car wondering what might happen that night.

Reacting to a sharp knock on the window, I jumped out of my seat. I looked over and saw a commando in full camo staring me back. My terror subsided quickly when I realized that it was just Allison. She had somehow gotten a camo jacket and bandana.

We drove through the empty streets back to Charles’ house.

Debauchery and Mayhem?

So… what exactly do three teenagers do when they’ve snuck out to a house with no parents?

You may have your own theory, but my experience tells me that they sit around and watch movies all night. That’s right… no action. No mischief. I don’t even think we ate junk food. The thrill of our plot was enough that we didn’t need anything else. Also I think Charles had a crush on Allison and never left the two of us in a room alone.

Finally 6am came and Allison needed to go home. On some occasions her parents took walks early in the morning, and she didn’t want to risk getting caught. I drove her back, watched her walk down her driveway, and returned to Charles’ house.

We waited to hear from her, and the news wasn’t good. Her parents were out looking for her. How did she know? Their van wasn’t in the driveway. She was panicking and very scared. I, on the other hand, was not panicked or scared. When I dropped her off after our date, I had noticed that the van wasn’t in the driveway then either. It must be getting serviced, I assured her. She didn’t believe me.

Exhausted from our long night, I went to sleep.

Good Morning, Austin

“It’s for you, dude. It’s your mom.”

I hadn’t even heard the phone ring, I was so deep asleep. She wasn’t happy.

“Where were you last night?” Oh god. How did she know? She couldn’t, right?

“At Charles’ place.”

“Where else?”

“Nowhere.”

“Tynan. Tell me the truth. Where else were you?”

“Nowhere.” I didn’t have a strategy. I was just so busy trying to figure out how she found out that I couldn’t say anything else.

“What did you do?”

“We watched movies.”

“What else?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, Tynan. I know what happened. Just admit it.” I almost gave in and admitted everything. Clearly Allison’s parents told her what happened, and we were in trouble.

“Nothing happened.”

“Well, some police came by today and said that your car was at the scene of a crime.”

Uhoh. We had assumed that we were free and clear of that disaster. I was almost relieved that she knew about that and not about Allison. After all, I had almost no involvement in the destruction at the ranch.

“Well, Allison and I went to a restaurant last night. Maybe there was a crime there.”

She seemed somewhat convinced, but insisted that I come home immediately.

Blackmail

My plan was to go home, come clean, and deal with whatever minor punishment might be handed down.

Unfortunately, Charles had another plan.

“I can’t get in trouble for this,” he began. “I’ve already been to juvy twice and this is my third strike. I’ll go to jail. If you tell her that I was involved, then I’m going to tell her that you snuck Allison out”

Well, that certainly didn’t make things easier. I wasn’t too surprised by his ultimatum - he’d already proven to be totally crazy.

I drove home with a lot on my mind. With all of the factors churning, I figured that the best course of action was to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe it would go away.

Conversation was brief when I returned. They bought my story and I ate breakfast with them. Maybe things would turn out ok after all. I left the house to go get my oil changed.

The (semi) Honest Truth

More than my oil had changed when I got back. I walked into the house and saw my parents each sitting on a chair in the living room. Across the table from the chairs was the couch. I sat down, knowing that the interrogation was about to begin.

“An officer came by while you were gone. He told us everything.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe you would destroy property like that. It’s not like you.”

Blackmail or not, I had to come clean. I already felt bad enough about lying, and I didn’t want my parents to lose respect for me thinking I did that. When I told them everything, everyone felt better. They knew I wasn’t a thug, I knew that I didn’t have to worry about the incident anymore.

“Now, Tynan, is there ANYTHING else you want to tell us now?”

Feigning deep contemplation, I replied, “No.”

“You’re sure?”

I was sure. I’d had enough disclosure for one day. My mother asked if Allison’s parents knew what had happened. I told her that they didn’t, and she insisted that I go over to tell them personally. My parents liked Allison and were very happy that I had a girlfriend. If I didn’t go over I might be forbidden to see her.

I talked to Allison online. She was convinced that her parents were suspicious. They had been asking weird questions, but didn’t seem to know anything. I told her what had happened, and that I wanted to come over and explain the mudding incident to them with her. Reluctantly, she agreed.

She wanted an hour to eat dinner with them and tell them. Then she would call me and I would join the discussion. Happy for a break, I headed for McDonalds to buy my favorite meal of all time - the venerable Fishwich.

Allison was back online when I got back.

[allison] I told them everything
[tynan] Cool. I’ll be over in a second.
[allison] No. Everything.
[tynan] What do you mean?

I was worried.

[allison] I told them about how we snuck out, and about the mudding.
[tynan] Are they ok with it?
[allison] No, they are furious. They want you to come over.

Oh, great.

I hadn’t even met her father before. Her mother liked me, but that was clearly distant history. I can’t really recall a time when I was more scared in my entire life. Only sixteen at the time, I was about to have to tell a mother and father that I snuck their fifteen year old girl out to spend the night with me alone, only days after committing a nice run of breaking and entering.

As I drove up the winding road up to their house I looked past the guardrail. Surely a swift jerk of the steering wheel would send me careening over the side of the hill. At worst I’d die, but at least then I could avoid this moment. At best I could be severely injured and feign memory loss. I overcame the allure of the guardrail and continued to her house.

Meet the Parents

Immediately after walking in I saw her father. It was at that moment that I knew the exact length of my lifespan. 16 years. The guy looked like a professional wrestler. He was enormous, had crazy hair sticking out from his head, and had a very menacing look. Her mother’s face wasn’t any more inviting.

“Hi….” I stammered.

“Did you have sex?” Hulk Hogan was in no mood for pleasantries.

“No.” For once I replied truthfully. Well, I guess “Unfortunately, no” would have been more truthful, but there was no need to go overboard.

Immedately his face showed his relief. I wasn’t the cassanova he had imagined. Over the next half hour we talked about what happened. The parents calmed down, Allison and I felt better about everything, and order was restored. Not the most auspicious introduction to her father, but it seemed like it could be salvaged.

“Do your parents know about all this?”

“Some of it.”

“Do they know you snuck out?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think you should tell them.”

“Ok, I will.”

“Great. Just use that phone over there and have them come over.”

What? Who comes up with plans like that? Our parents had never even met before, and they wanted to talk this one out?

“No, that’s ok. I’ll just tell them when I get home.”

“Call them.”

“Ok.”

My mother answered. I told her that we had talked everything out and that her parents wanted to meet them. It didn’t even occur to me that maybe the right move was to let them know that they were about to be blindsided.

“Well, at least we know everything.”

“Well, at least we know everything,” my mother offered to the group.

Allison and her parents quickly shifted their gaze to me. My parents followed suit with anxious looks on their faces.

“Actually… that’s not exactly true.”

I proceded to relate the entire story to them.

“Did you have sex?” My mother asked.

“No.”

Like Allison’s parents, my parents then relaxed. Passably friendly conversation was exchanged, and I left with my parents.

“I don’t think they’re ever going to let you see her again,” my mother offered helpfully.

The Aftermath

We ended up having to pay a small amount of money to the rancher for the equipment. I’m not entirely sure he was aware of the full extent of the damage. Charles refused to pay the entire thing. Allison and I did keep seeing each other, and over time I developed a very good relationship with her parents.

Neither of us ever hung out with Charles again.