This is part of a continuing series. Before reading this, read parts : 1, 2, and 3.

In Texas we have deer like other states have squirrels. Yes, everything really is bigger in Texas. I had lived in Texas for 9 years or so, and had never once hit one. Most people have at least one deer-collision story, so I considered myself lucky. I left my house in Austin late on December 31, and hit two deer at the same time as I left the city. Was that an omen?

My car was so crammed with stuff that I probably couldn’t have fit a toaster in it, unless I wanted it on my lap. I had a long drive ahead of me, but was so excited that my thoughts over a background of road noise kept me entertained.

When I reached Tucson I visited J-Dog. He was one of the cool community guys I met in Chicago. He offered me a place to sleep, but I couldn’t. Instead I lay there thinking about what adventures were ahead of me. A couple hours after arriving I continued towards LA.

When I finally reached LA I had driven for 24 hours out of the past 27 hours, not actually sleeping once. I was told to exit La Cienega, but I knew we were living on Sunset, so I exited there. What was I getting myself into? Sunset didn’t look as glamorous as it had been described to me. In fact, it looked run down and dirty. I pushed through the traffic, slowly uncovering another few hundred feet of the street at a time.

As I continued West the cheap motels and nondescript storefronts transformed into expensive restaurants and impressive hotels. This was more like it. Finally, I saw our street. It was directly off of Sunset right in the middle of all the action.

As soon as I turned on to our street, I saw our house. It really was right on Sunset. I eagerly parked and run to the front door.

When I rang the doorbell, Style answered the door. He was wearing an orange sweatshirt and was a lot smaller than I expected him to be. This effect was compounded by the fact that he was surrounded by huge piles of boxes - the only furnishings in the cavernous living room.

He welcomed me in, introduced himself, and gave me a tour of the place. It was amazing. The rooms were huge, impressive, and just brimming with potential. But the real jewel was the backyard. It featured an enormous hot tub which wasn’t working at the time, a bean shaped pool, an outdoor kitchen/bar, and steps which led to a landing that overlooked the whole city. Despite being hard to believe that this was my new home, I instantly knew that I had made the right choice.

Style was quiet as he unpacked his boxes. I carried my stuff into my room, even though I had no furniture to put it on. Finally 2am came around and the rest of the pickup artists returned home.

Everyone was there - Mystery, Papa, Tyler, 26, Sickboy, and others. The living room represented the top 8 pickup artists in the world and one guy eager to learn from them all - me. One of the most memorable moments in my life was later that night when the guests had gone to sleep. Mystery, Style, Papa, and myself - the four residents of the mansion - all gathered in our barren living room. We collectively gazed up at the twenty foot ceiling, over to the sunken bar, and at each other.

“Well… we did it,” someone said.

There was the collective feeling that we had beaten the system. Our ages ranged from early twenties to early thirties, and none of us felt like we belonged here. After all, this was the house lived in by Dean Martin and later, Eddie Griffin. We were four punks, none of whom had a 9-5 job, but we were about to live like kings.

The house became the backdrop for some of the craziest experiences in my life. Mystery and I became close friends and competed over everything. Hardly a day passed that we didn’t bet on something (Mystery, you still owe me $2mil - don’t think I forgot!). Style and I became good friends as well, although he was often busy writing. Tyler, the first impressive pickup artist I ever saw, hung out from time to time and became friends too.

There’s so much more I could write about living in Project Hollywood, and I’m sure I’ll get to some of those stories in time. Style, however, is a much better writer than I am. He wrote the New York Times bestseller, The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. I’m one of the main characters in the book (”Herbal”), and lot of the second half is about me. It’s my favorite book and definitely worth reading! In it is the story of Mystery and I teaching workshops, me stealing his girlfriend (twice….), Courtney Love moving in, my second attempt at going polyphasic, and a bunch of other great stories.

YES! Thanks to JOOOOOOODI

I don’t really like writing short updates, but there are too many little things going on to write separate posts.

First, I’ve designed some cool t-shirts, hats, and other items to facilitate displaying of BtyB pride. Even if you don’t have BtyB pride yet, the designs are cool enough that you’ll want to wear them anyway. To check it out, visit the Better Than Your Boyfriend Store .

Want to support the site, but would rather get paid for doing so? I used to be professional gambler, earning the bulk of my income from online casinos for six years. I will soon write a whole story about that. The casino I got started at is called Casino-on-Net. I have a deal with them where anyone signing up with them through my site will get $200 for free!

I’ve played at hundreds of casinos online and on land, and many of them are rigged, shady, or will just run with your money. The most honest and fair casino I’ve ever played at is Casino-on-Net. I have never had a bad experience with them, and neither have any of the dozens of gambling friends I have. Anyone who signs up through my web site to get $200 for free (and yes, you will really get it) will also be supporting Better than your Boyfriend, as Casino-on-Net pays me a commission.

One last way you can help me help you is by checking out my diet book that I wrote (under a pen name). It’s called The Skinny Snob and I’m really proud of it. I spent a ton of time learning about diet and nutrition, and this is the sum of my knowledge, laid out in a very easy to follow plan. If you follow it and have bought a T-shirt, when you need a smaller size, it’s on me!

If you want to keep love and money separate, that’s cool too. A link to my site from your blog, forum, or web site is very valuable to me. Thanks a lot to everyone who has already linked to me and helped this site grow!

As you may have noticed from the ever growing comment section, I have received tons of publicity recently. This means more people visiting BtyB, which is fantastic. The bigger we get, the easier it is for me to afford to spend time writing up even more great stories. Also, soon we will be big enough that companies will sponsor contests. I plan on spending a lot of time getting cool prizes for monthly giveaways for you guys.

I also have some exciting news about Polyphasic sleep, but I want to wait a few more days to make sure it’s solid before I share it with you guys.

Here’s a rough plan of what to expect from Better than your Boyfriend in the near future :

- The conclusion of the popular How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist series.

- An in depth story about the six months I lived with famous rock star Courtney Love

- A 45 (ok, maybe more) day review on my progress with 2006 Goals

- The next part in the The Great American School Bus Conversion story

- More rap songs!

- My own holiday starting this year that will CHANGE THE WORLD!

- The best way to make your computer super cool looking

- How to always be happy (really!)

- Who knows what else I’ll get into and write about…

Anyways… stay tuned. I’m having a great time writing these articles, and I have a ton more that I’m dying to write about. I take a lot of time writing them, so please be patient. Thanks again for being part of this site!

One of the great things about being polyphasic is that my friends are on awful sleep schedules. Some of them stay up until 7am, others wake up at 7am, so at any given time there’s a good chance that I have awake friends.

This morning at 7am Hayden calls and asks if I want to do yoga with him. Of course I do. This is the hot yoga, “Bikram”, which literally translated means “the most severe torture known to man that somehow hotties can handle”.

I hop in my car and head to his place. Hmm. The ride seems a little rough. Not to get too sidetracked, but I thought it would be really cool if I bought 19″ rims instead of the stock 16″ rims. It looks fantastic, but these stupid wheels have given me nothing but trouble. Literally every single one has gone flat, they have damaged my brakes, etc.

I notice a woman waving at me frantically as she walks her dog. I shrug it off, assuming it’s my charming good looks. Never a good assumption.

I get to a red light and decide to hop out of the car to make sure my stupid tires are ok. They’re not. The front left one is dead flat.

Luckily I had one of those fix-a-flat cans in my trunk. Unluckily, it was 30 degrees out and I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Freezing, I get the can and try to hook it up to the tire. Instead of the delicious goo going into the tire like it’s supposed to, it flies all over the place and doesn’t inflate the tire.

That’s ok. I’m used to tire disasters. I also have an air compressor that hooks up to my car. It gets the tire halfway full and then a fuse breaks in the car and it stops working. I’m so used to automotive disaster that I actually have spare fuses, but I was so cold that I didn’t want to fumble around under the hood to fix it. Fortunately my car has another cigarette lighter jack in the back and I used that to fill the rest of the tire.

It’s now too late to go to yoga, so I return home. Hayden tells me we can go to a different class at 10.

After my 9am nap I pile into the freshly repaired car and head to Haydens house. We arrive at the Yoga studio a couple minutes early and the instructor seems displeased that we aren’t there more early. Yogis are really into being early. I actually took Hatha yoga for a month last year and no matter how early I came it always seemed like everyone else was there before me.

We get rushed through the signing in process and take our spots in the studio. It’s heated, but it doesn’t seem that bad. I can handle this - I was actually one of the better students at my other yoga class.

What my other yoga class lacked, also one of my main reasons for signing up, was hotties. It was mostly older women or larger women that really needed some yoga. This yoga class had a couple hotties, so I was excited about that. I want a girlfriend again and I think that a girl who’s into yoga would be perfect.

We begin the postures. I’m determined to demonstrate that I’m actually good at yoga and not just some guy who is there for the hotties. Somehow the truth usually has a way of coming out, though. I’m bending deep into the postures, doing great. By posture number two I’m wishing that I ate more.

By posture number three, I’m starving. While I’m enjoying the transition to raw food and its benefits to polyphasic sleep, I am definitely having trouble eating enough food. In fact, I had one medium sized salad throughout the night and some fruit and a few veggies. Not nearly enough.

By posture number four I’m feeling awful. The hottie can easily see me in the mirror, so I try to turn my discomfort into a look of determination. Suddenly my peripheral vision starts to fade a bit and I feel dizzy. My stomach hurts even more and seems like it can’t decide between throwing up or wanting to eat a whole pig. Struggling to look cool I hold the pose, barely able to keep it together.

The next one hits and I’m done. I sit down. Maybe I can pass it off as me being so hardcore that I can’t exert myself for that long. Probably not. My vision gets even more fuzzy and starts fading in and out. I lean back against the wall. It’s really hot in here.

I want to leave the studio but I don’t think I have the balance. All of my concentration is going towards keeping my breathing regular. Hey… they have a roomba in here. I have an old one. That new one looks really cool. I wonder how that docking station works…

According to the many unforunate witnesses, that’s when my face turned pale and my eyes rolled back into my head.

“Are you ok?” Hayden asked me. I could barely understand him.

I used all of my energy to mutter “No.”

Next thing I knew there were a lot of voices. Everyone was freaking out and asking if I was ok. Was I? My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see a thing. I frantically tried to look around. It wasn’t hot anymore. I was leaning up against someone. Slowly I reclaimed my vision and surveyed the scene. Hayden and four women were crowded around me and looked very nervous. One woman had called 911. As I came to, I tried to explain that I was ok.

They brought me into the lobby and put me on a bench. The instructor began probing a little too quickly.

“I don’t know what drugs you do or if you drank too much… ”
“I don’t do drugs or… ”
“You really have to watch how much you drink.”
“No… I don’t drink… ”
“I’ve seen people come in here in every state…”

I managed to get a few words in and explain that I don’t do drugs, drink, take caffeine, or ingest anything that isn’t basically known to be the perfect food. I attributed the fainting to transitioning to raw food and I think they believed it.

Needless to say, I’m done with this yoga nonsense. I saw the hottie as she left, and she asked if I was ok. Before I had time to explain that I had been wrestling anacondas to save children all day, she went into the locker room. Truth be told she wasn’t that hot at all anyway. My vision isn’t great.

So, there you have it. Ladies, what I think is really important to get out of this article is that even if I faint like a little girl, I’m STILL better than your boyfriend.

This is part of an ongoing series. If you haven’t read them already, read :

How I became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 1
and
How I became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 2

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.”
“Really? What?”
“I’m moving to Hollywood to become a pickup artist”

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.

“Well, is anyone awake yet?” I asked. Papa had arranged for me to stay with someone, but he hadn’t arrived yet.

“Yeah. Call Mike. Let me get his number for you…”

I called Mike, also known as Sickboy, a pick up legend in his own right. Very hospitably, he came downstairs to meet me. I had a million questions to ask, but I know how annoying that can be, so I shared some of my own stories instead. After we became aquainted we went downstairs to meet some other pickup artists, including a man named Clifford.

Clifford is older than your typical PUA, but is well respected and runs a list called “Cliff’s List”. It was a monthly (or so) digest of techniques and commentaries from the top pickup artists in the community. I had no idea when I met him that later one of my techniques would be featured in his list.

We all went to lunch and shared stories. What I lacked in pickup prowess I made up for in creativity. Everyone had heard about some of my more amusing antics - including one in particular where I would go to a book store and pretend to be reading lines from a “dating for dummies book”. It never got me anywhere, but it separated me from the hordes of faceless guys posting online.

As the day went on I met more and more of the superstars of the pickup world. They all worked together to form a company called Real Social Dynamics. Along with their original teacher and mentor, Mystery, they were known to be the best in the world. One of the principals of the company, Tyler, was thought by many to be the best in the game. I was particularly excited to meet him.

Since Sickboy was a member of Real Social Dynamics and had too much social grace to remind me that I wasn’t part of their group, I was integrated into RSD for the night. Interestingly, everyone just assumed that I was good. The truth is that I had very little tangible success, other than feeling more comfortable in social settings. I went to dinner with them and was wowed by their stories from the field. They were all so cool. Things that would be considered the pinnacle of my pickup career were common place to them. Getting a number was a small but noteworthy triumph for me. For them, getting a handful of numbers was expected.

There was one thing they were excited about, Papa especially. That thing was “Project Hollywood”. It was a pipe dream project that Papa had concocted. His plan was to rent out Dean Martin’s old mansion, located right on Sunset Boulevard, home of the hottest clubs in Hollywood. Better, the house had five bedrooms, each to be inhabited by one of the best pickup artists in the world. The individuals who had signed on so far were :

• Mystery - King of the pickup artists, and later called “The greatest pickup artist in the world” by New York Times, Mystery had taught nearly anyone who was anyone in the pickup scene. He taught himself, though, through nightly trips to clubs for ten years. Over the years patterns emerged, and his methodical and most-likely genius mind recognized and codified them into a powerful system.
• Style - One of Mystery’s first students, and a writer for the Rolling Stone. He was known for being particularly good at creating lasting attraction that would make any girl be his girlfriend… even if she knew he had several others as well.
• Papa - Papa was, of course, the muscle behind the project, if not the brains. Despite later disputes with him that clouded my opinion of him, I can’t deny that he is a harder worker than anyone I’ve ever met. RSD was largely a result of his persistance, and if it was to become reality, Project Hollywood would owe its success to him as well.

That left two spots empty. Rent was high - around $3000/month each, but in the pickup world, it was the most prized piece of real estate available. I didn’t even consider asking for a room myself. I knew that they were likely spoken for, and I had just bought my own house in Austin, TX.

It was hard not to be enthusiastic about the house, though. Not being one of those destined to call it home gave a feeling of being left out. Papa had big plans for it - parties, businesses, and pickup conventions. It was going to be the next Playboy mansion.

After dinner RSD was conducting a workshop that night, which I was invited to join by default.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe the stories they told. I did. But my subconcious mind didn’t recognize these things as a possibility. Instant attraction from ANY girl, stealing girls from boyfriends, girls begging them for their phone numbers. I was eager to see them in the field.

We went to a club in Chicago at Rush and Division. It was packed full of amorous young men and women oblivious to the fact that cupid’s army had just stormed the building. Like many others present, I stuck close to Tyler. He was the best of the bunch, and I wanted to see what that meant.

With his characteristic devilish grin, he pointed out a girl to me and said, “watch this.” But she wasn’t just any girl. She was certainly a model, and even more certainly - taken. Her broad shouldered boyfriend sat next to her. He was almost certainly a model as well. Was Tyler actually going to try to pick HER up?

He was.

From a few feet away he engaged her in conversation. She seemed interested in the conversation, but barely. He didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking , and within a minute or two, her interest was piqued. Tough as it was, I tried not to stare at them. I assumed that what he was doing was very difficult, and worried that if noticed, my mere observation might ruin things. The boyfriend noticed, but didn’t care. He knew that Tyler was some punk kid who his girlfriend would shortly dismiss.

Every time I looked back, things had progressed.

He tentatively sat next to her on the couch.

He put his sunglasses on her. The boyfriend looked somewhat uncomfortable.

She was facing him, rather than her boyfriend.

Were they holding hands? The boyfriend looked worried.

Soon they were lying next to each other on the oversized chaise lounge, facing each other, obviously deep in conversation. The boyfriend felt so ignored that he actually left the chaise lounge and made short conversation with another guy. Tyler seemed not to even notice, but I knew that he was keenly aware of everything happening.

Eventually he left, but his faux-Chanel sunglasses remained on her.

“Dude. That’s Miss Indiana,” he said. His voice was matter of fact. Mine would have been rather excited.

“I’m just leaving so that she knows I don’t really care. She has my sunglasses, so I have to come back”

I followed him on a lap around the circular bar. He spotted another beautiful girl. No one in the club was as attractive as the first one, but this girl may have been the runner up. I couldn’t tell exactly what he said or did, because it all happened so fast. All I know is that within a minute or so, she was staring deeply into his eyes and holding his hands. I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.

Soon her boyfriend noticed what was happening. His policy wasn’t quite as “hands-off” as the first boyfriend. He shoved Tyler backwards about two feet. Tyler stood there and stared at him. He wasn’t scared - he was ready to fight if necessary. The boyfriend seemed intimidated and stood motionless in the showdown. His friends grabbed him and broke up the fight before it happened.

“That was impressive,” I said.

“Oh, I’m not done,” replied Tyler.

He wasn’t.

He got a pen from me and a found a reciept in his pocket. He handed it to someone else to get to the girl, who was being loosely restrained by her boyfriend’s friends. A few seconds later she squeezed her way away from her group and returned the paper. It had her number, her work number, her e-mail address, and her full name spelled out.

“Call me!” she pleaded.

I’d never seen anything like it in my life, but as you can imagine, I was in. What would have happened with Julie if i had those skills? I chuckled just thinking about it. I was now ready to commit to the Pickup Artist lifestyle, and do whatever was necessary to get those skills.

The next few days were more of the same, equally impressive, but no event stuck in my mind as sharply as that night. It was my first exposure. The last night over dinner, Papa said to me,

“We should get you on the lounge.”

I knew what the lounge was. It was a highly guarded online forum occupied by the top 100 or so pickup artists in the world. They shared war stories and tactics that were too powerful to give out indescriminantly. They were a tight knit group, and anyone who was anyone was a member. There was an unspoken rule that any lounge member would host any other lounge member who was in their city.

I was puzzled by the invitation, but flattered. Maybe if Papa had seen me in action he would have changed his mind. Maybe he saw potential. Maybe he just liked being generous. Either way, I quickly accepted the invitation.

The next morning I got on my plane, eager to get home to digest all that I had experienced, and more importantly to delve into the encyclopedic history of the lounge.

To Be Continued… [now written - continue to Part 3

As far as I was concerned, she was perfect. She was at least as smart as I was, was a dancer and had the body to prove it, and had a smile that could disarm the national guard. Let’s call her Julie.

So, like an earthworm stalking it’s prey, I put my usual game on her. Since my last flowchart was so popular, I’ve made another one to show you how I dealt with the ladies back then:

Nedless to say, things went slowly. We hung out nearly every day for the last couple months of our Senior year summer vacation. Like many guys, I was totally oblivious to her attraction for me. One morning Julie came over really early while I was still sleeping, and squeezed into my twin bed with me. I woke up, and assumed that she must be tired - it didn’t even occur to me that she might like me. Finally on the last week of that vacation she said to me,

“Tynan, I have something to confess to you.”

“What?”

“You’re going to be really pissed at me…”

“Ok…”

“I have a crush on you.”

“Uhh… Why would I be pissed? I have a crush on you too.”

I know… I was a regular Cassanova. Later that night we made out for a solid 60 seconds or so, permanently bonding my heart to hers.

The only problem was this : in two days she had to leave to go to college in Chicago. When she told me that she didn’t want to do the whole long distance relationship thing, I was totally crushed.

The morning that she was set to leave I woke up early to a knock on my door. My sleepy brain decided that it must be her, coming to say goodbye. I eagerly jumped out of bed and opened the door. It wasn’t her, though. It was my RA.

As she spoke to me I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying… after thirty seconds I couldn’t focus my eyes on her.

The next thing I knew, she was hovered over me frantically yelling, “Tynan! Are you ok? Ty?”

Blood was pouring out of the side of my head and I felt faint. I had passed out, fallen sideways into the bathroom, and cracked my head on the toilet. They even called the paramedics.

Maybe it was because I jumped out of bed so suddenly… maybe it’s because I was a wreck over Julie. Maybe a combination of those things.

For two years I didn’t date anyone else. I wasn’t even interested. I figured that she would move back after college and I could be with her then. It didn’t even occur to me that this is totally creepy behaviour - I just thought it was inevitable that we’d be back together.

One day I was online and a friend showed me a site about picking up girls. I barely gave it a second look - I was in love with Julie and didn’t care about anyone else.

During the next year I briefly dated another girl, Dina, who was probably as close to perfect for me as they get. But… still distracted with the memory of Julie, I never really got into it and I broke up with her.

Finally, I decided I needed to stop. It had been three years, Julie had a new boyfriend who she was serious about, and having my entire love life consist over one girl who was 2000 miles away was a bit sad.

By then I was working for myself and was out of school, so I wasn’t meeting too many eligible bachelorettes. I remembered that site that my friend had showed me, but couldn’t recall the name. I turned to google.

Pick up girls.

Seduction.

Quick Seduction.

Fast Seduction. That was it. I remembered the site because of it’s unique purple and green color scheme. That night I read… and I read and I read and I read. I stayed up all night reading every last bit of material I could get my hands on.

I couldn’t believe it was possible - people were ACTUALLY learning the skill of meeting women. I had always subscribed to the notion that it was magic and chemistry and you either clicked or you didn’t. Most girls that got to know me would become interested in me, but I didn’t get to know a lot of girls. I was too shy, and I figured that was my lot in life.

But this site actually taught how to go out and meet strangers and get to know them. I didn’t even know it was possible. Even though I was 21, I had never been in a bar before. I had never gotten a girl’s number (except this one girl who chased me in the airport… more on that another day).

For a few weeks I just devoured all of the information I could get my hands on. I learned how to start a conversation without seeming like I was trying to get something from her. I learned that there were different phases an interaction had to go through before a girl would be romantically interested.

When I learned about the subtle signs that indicate that a girl is attracted, I felt like an idiot. Julie had given me all of those signs at one point or another, as had many other girls who I thought were just friendly. From my later experience I learned that everyone goes through this process when they learn.

I was embarrassed that I had to learn this stuff, though. Who wants to admit they’re bad with girls? As a result, I didn’t tell anyone I was learning it. Not even my close friends.

Despite all the knowledge I was soaking up, I still had yet to actually go talk to a girl. I noticed a guy posting in Austin, so I e-mailed him and asked if I could join him next time he went downtown. He said that they were having a meeting that weekend where they would discuss techniques and then go out. I agreed to come to the meeting.

When the day of the meeting came, I was having second thoughts. I was nervous. I was so socially anxious at that point that even meeting random GUYS scared me. I decided that I had to go, though.

I parked in front of the apartment, and knocked on the door. The door opened, and I was introduced to everyone by their nicknames. I met “TowerT”, “Twitch”, “Hitcher” and “Firefly”, among others. I said that my nickname was “Herbal”, which was my rapping name.

We went around the room and did introductions. I’m pretty sure my face turned red - I was so shy and afraid of public speaking that I was nervous talking about myself in front of 8 guys.

There was a knock on the door - someone had arrived late. The door opened to reveal none other than one of my best friends, Hayden. We stared at each other, guilty and stunned. He was so flipped out that he walked back outside. I had to explain to the rest of the group what happened.

It turned out that he had been studying this stuff for a few months, but also out of shame had kept it from me.

We got over it, and the meeting continued. I whispered to him “Watch. I’m going to take this game over.”

Then it came time to go downtown - a totally foreign land to me. However, I was eager to show off what I had learned in front of Hayden. He was also eager to show me the ropes. The group took separate cars and agreed to meet at a bar called “Spill” and then move on from there.

When I arrived at Spill, Hayden and others were already there. Immediately, Hayden asked, “Are you ready for your first set?”

A set is a group of people, including at least one girl, that you approach and talk to.

“Umm…. no. We’re just meeting here. We’re going to pick up at another bar.” As I said it, I knew what a lame excuse it was.

“Come on. There’s two girls right there. Let’s go”

“I… can’t.”

To my astonishment, he walked right up them and engaged them in conversation. To many of you this will sound like a simple task, but it shattered my reality at the moment. Before I had a chance to let it sink in, Hayden motioned towards me.

“Him, right there!” he said. He was pulling me into the set.

Reluctantly I joined the conversation. It was strained at first, but eventually the topic shifted to rap and I was able to contribute. I teased the girls, as I’d learned to do, and they responded. Neither was particularly attractive or interesting, but it felt good to be pushing my comfort zone. Hitcher, slightly inebriated, whispered in my ear “DUDE! She’s into you. Get her NUMBER.” I’m pretty sure she heard him, but I still managed to stammer,

“Umm… we should hang out some time. What’s your number?”

She gave it to me.

I couldn’t believe it. I walked up to some random girl in some random bar and left with her number. It was like the movies, or at least to me.

Over the next few weeks we continued to go out. I was too scared to call the numbers I got, but I got a handful of them. But what really caught my attention is what people were posting online. They were getting numbers - and more - from models. I saw the pictures too… some were perfect 10s.

To get good at anything, the best way is to go to the top. Learn from the experts. That year there had been a small convention where the top pick up artists (as they called themselves) met in Boston to compare notes and prove their skill. I decided that I would host the next one in Austin, figuring that this would ensure me access to the best teachers, without having to pay the hundreds of dollars per night that they charged for instruction.

There was a seminar being held later that month in Chicago. It was sold out, but I wasn’t interested in the seminar anyway. I just wanted to meet the famous pick up artists and see if they were really as good as they claimed, so I bought a ticket.

What happened there changed my life forever.

To Be Continued… [now written - continue to Part 2