Tell the Truth - I See Through Your Bullshit

To quote "House", everybody lies. Simply put, lying is a truism of our society. That much is obvious. We all lie, every day, to someone, about something. That's not a mystery, not confusing, not even shocking. What is a bit confusing, though, is why people claim not to want something, when actually that something is what they are after. Take women, for example. You know what I love to hear from a woman I just met? Answer: "We're not going to have sex tonight", or "I can't sleep with you tonight", or something along those lines. Never once has that phrase been accurate. There have been plenty of times I have met women, and not ended up sleeping with them that night - or ever - but I can't think of a single time that a woman I just met told me, unsolicited, that she wasn't going to sleep with me, and then I didn't actually get to fuck her that same night. Actually, upon reflection there was ONE time this happened, but we still ended up doing everything except sex, and there were also a couple of other things going on with the girl. But that trainwreck rates a story all of her own, and in any event, she still ended up doing things she claimed not to want. I mean, why not just be honest, or shut the fuck up? Either be up front about wanting to get laid, or don't say anything at all, and let events unfold naturally. Why play games? It's not as if your friends are there to see you, judge you, and think that you're a whore. It's just the two of us. It's not as if most guys are going to judge you - you met them in a bar, you're both getting drunk - do you NOT know how this story ends? Even if you're a honest-to-God-fucking-VIRGIN, you have no excuse.

This was my theory before, and to an extent, still is. What I've learned, though, is that sometimes there's another hidden meaning behind that phrase...

Summer 2008

For a brief month or two in early Summer of 2008, I was quasi-dating - by which I mean fucking with no intention of actually dating - a girl I'd met at a bar. For the first several weeks I knew her, we had no actual dates, unless meeting at a bar to get drunk, followed by going back to her place, counts as a date. But really - she met me at a bar, while we were both drunk, and took me home that same night. Then, she gave me her number the next morning, picked up the phone when I called her, then agreed to meet me at the same bar at which we initially met. Just exactly what did she think was going to happen? Flowers-and-fucking-miniature-golf?

Anyway, after a few weeks of this, she started to bug me about going out on an actual date. Oddly enough, she seemed to actually like me, and I have no idea why. Well, actually I do, and it goes back to the earlier point about women saying they want one thing and actually wanting another, but I digress. In any case, I decided what the hell, if the only practical cost of 5 weeks of sex is one date, I guess I can oblige her. We decided to meet after work downtown at Alamo Drafthouse for a movie, followed by a wine bar. Yeah, yeah, very romantic, very date-ish, blah blah blah - SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I made it downtown a little early - around 4pm or so, intending to hit an early happy hour at Paradise on 6th St. The place is a bit pricey compared to some of the other spots downtown, but the douchebag quotient is usually pretty low, too, which is worth a couple of extra bucks. About an hour later, this girl fucked up. She called me with some excuse to cancel. To this day, I have no idea if she was playing games with me, or if something actually legitimate came up, but I don't care. As some of you know, with my recent date cancellation experience with a girl I met at the pool, I have a policy regarding whores canceling dates. You see, when the sole reason for the date is their incessant whining, it's one strike and they're out. While I might talk to her again, and will certainly, should the opportunity arise, sleep with her again, I'm absolutely, positively, not setting up another date. I didn't want to go on one anyway, and if she cancels, then either she's trying to jerk me around, or the date isn't that important to her. The problem for her is, I make a shitty puppet, and it's not that important to me anyway. So, when she called to cancel, I was done.

Well, done with her. I wasn't done with my night. Dammit, I went all the way downtown, which for the past couple of years I've been kinda burned out on, but now that I was there, I was going to have a good time. I started drinking a little more aggressively, hitting a few more bars. I called couple of friends, who wanted me to meet them later that night at a bar. By this time, it was around 8pm, and I had a couple hours to kill before my friends came out, so I bar-hopped around until I ended up at BD Riley's, an Irish pub near 6th and Brazos. As it turned out, Wednesday night was trivia night at this bar, and there was a cash prize of $100 for the winner. Apparently, this was something of a major crowd draw for the place, because there must have been about 20 teams of people in there, with anywhere between 2-8 people per team. The bar was absolutely fucking packed.

I decided to play, since I do love trivia and am generally pretty good at it. I shit you not, if you don't believe me on this, we can pull out Trivial Pursuit cards and play for shots. After about 20 minutes on my own, a woman walked in by herself, and sat down at the bar right next to me - it was the only open seat. She seemed highly attractive, which in my drunken state meant that she could have ranged from digusting wildebeast to actually fuckable. Thankfully, the latter seemed to be the case, because throughout the night, guys kept checking her out. Obviously, I invited her to join my trivia "team". She claimed to love trivia and was excited about playing, so we started hitting it off between trivia questions. After doing a couple of shots, I established that she was in town by herself, from New York, for a convention, and she had never been to Austin before. After the game ended - which we didn't, unfortunately, win - it was simple to get her to agree to barhop around with me.

She was a little older - in her early 30s, roughly, so the average 6th St bar was not really her scene. Instead, I walked her through the Driskill Hotel and Stephen F Austin Hotel, having a drink at each. Both places have pretty outstanding bars, and I highly recommend checking them out, as long as you don't mind $8 drinks. I didn't mind that night, since she felt that because I was taking her around, she should pay. By the time we left SFA Hotel, she was giving me "I want to fuck you" eyes, hanging all over me, etc. At this point I suggested taking a pedi-cab ride down to the Warehouse District on 4th St. For those of you not from Austin, pedi-cabs are basically little carts that seat three people or so, powered by a bicycle invariably driven by one of the Emo/pot head/pseudo-intellectual/all of the above idiots who inhabit this town. It was on this ride that she leaned over, started kissing me, and then pulled back, uttering the famous line: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't do that, I just can't sleep with you tonight." With a knowing nod, I let her know that it wasn't a big deal, and besides, who said anything about sleeping together? "Let's just have a good time and a couple of drinks, and enjoy the night," I said. Then I steered the conversation away - briefly - from sexually tilted topics. I'm tellin' ya, it works every time. If she didn't want to fuck my brains out, not only would she not be getting drunk with a stranger she just met, but she wouldn't have started making out with, and, for FUCK'S SAKE, she wouldn't have actually brought up the FUCKING TOPIC.

We made it to 4th St around 12-12:30, and decided to finish off the night at Fado's - another Irish pub. Within about 15 minutes, she was sticking her tongue down my throat again. This went on for a little while, until she stopped, and looked around - a bit frantically, it seemed.

Me: "What?"
NewYorkWhore: "We can't do this."
Me: "What are you talking about?"
NYW: "There are people I work with over at that table - they can't catch me doing this."

She had talked around the topic of a significant other all night - I never really asked, but she kept letting little hints slip, and this was the clincher. It was obvious she had, at least, a boyfriend back in New York. But, whores being whores, I knew this wasn't going to get in the way for long.

Me: "Well, do you want to go somewhere else?"
NYW: "Want to walk me to my hotel?"
Me: "Sounds like a plan."

We left Fado's, and started walking to her hotel. As it turned out, she was staying at the Omni, which is a pretty nice hotel in downtown Austin. I definitely recommend checking it out. We got to her hotel, and she told me she had a bottle of wine in her room, and asked if I wanted to come up.

Can't sleep with me, my ass! It never fucking fails, I thought.

She was staying on one of the upper floors of the hotel, which necessitated a trip in the completely glassed in elevator, overlooking the lobby. Of course, I had her pressed up against the glass the whole way up, doing everything but fucking her. Seriously - it was a glassed in elevator, overlooking the lobby of a hotel I wasn't staying at. What the fuck would you have done?

We got up to her room, and she actually had a bottle of wine. I knew where this was headed, so when she was in the bathroom, I called down to the lobby for a 6am wakeup call. I had to be at work by 8am for a meeting, and since I already knew I was going to be showing up drunk, then for damn sure I'd at least show up on time.

However, when she came out of the bathroom, and we started hooking up on the bed, we hit a snag. You see, apparently when she said she couldn't sleep with me that night, she wasn't lying. She actually couldn't, because it was THAT TIME OF THE MONTH. I mean, this was seriously going to be the first time - well, second, but STILL - in my LIFE that a woman who told me she wasn't going to sleep with me in the course of normal conversation, where she didn't actually sleep with me. The blowjob she gave me helped me get over it, of course, and afterwards, I rolled over to go to sleep.

About 15 minutes later, she had other ideas. She nudged me back awake.

NYW: "Hey, wake up. I want you to fuck me."
Me: "Wh-huh? I thought you were on the rag?"
NYW: "Well...yeah....but I still want you to fuck me. Do you think it's OK?"
Me: "I guess that's really up to you."
NYW: "Yeah, we're definitely going to fuck. Hold on, let me get a condom."

Now, the absurdity of this didn't hit me until later. We fucked, went to sleep, woke up when my wake up call went off, fucked again, and then I went to work. It was only later, when I thought about it, that I realized the following:

1)I fucked a woman on her period. That's not highly remarkable, just not something I do every day.
2)Much more importantly, this fucking whore had a boyfriend at the very least, yet came to Austin for a convention, knowing she was on her period, picked up a guy on 6th St, and BROUGHT CONDOMS FUCKING WITH HER FROM NEW YORK! I mean, it's not as if she just got drunk and made a mistake. No, this one came to town with a fucking plan, and come hell or high water - or, apparently, her menstrual period - she was going to get laid. I mean, there are two ways of looking at this. First of all, what kind of a whore does that? Apparently, the kind I manage to run into. Secondly, what kind of a douchebag was she dating/married to? And this got me thinking a bit - what if my original date canceled on me because she got a better offer? It's certainly possible. I've been that "other guy" before, too, so I know it happens. From a certain perspective, I was that other guy on this particular night. I mean, why should the women I am "dating" be any different than the women I run into? This line of thinking only further reinforced my existing policy of the One Strike Rule.

In the end, all of this bothered me for about 5 seconds. Now, I just think it's funny, and a pretty good case in point for what I'm talking about. Women - and men - lie all the damn time. She was lying to her significant other (hiding the fact she was fucking around), lying to herself (by being with a guy she obviously couldn't stand), and lying to me (implying she had no intention of sleeping with me). It also validates the point, guys, that if a woman actually tells you she doesn't plan on fucking you, then unless you royally fuck things up, you are getting laid that night, because no matter the situation, she is damn sure going to find a way.

Oh, and needless to say, I never met my friends that night. When I told them why, they understood.

But seriously, I'd like to get some feedback on this. Am I unreasonable for thinking that all of the lying is ridiculous? If you read this, do me a favor. Take a hard look in the mirror. If you're female, ask yourself if you play games (canceling dates in favor of a better offer, canceling in order to get the guy to like you more, telling guys you want to sleep with that you won't sleep with them, etc.), and if you're male, ask yourself if you lie to women to get them to sleep with you. This little piece was focused on the absurdity of what women do, but guys are just as bad. I try not to be, and generally I'm pretty honest about what I'm after (although certainly there have been exceptions). My question to you is, why aren't YOU?

Why Strip Clubs Suck

I have a confession to make. I can't stand strip clubs. Yes, I know, this seems to be at cross-purposes with what I normally pursue. I mean, I love women, right? And naked women are even better! How could I possibly hate strip clubs, the Super Bowl of carnal pleasures?

Allow me to break this down. If, in the process of this, I manage to dissuade you from going to strip clubs ever again, and if, as a consequence, you never see another naked tit in your life, then consider my job well done. And by the way, fuck you - I just proved my first point.

Y'see, strip clubs are only good for losers who can't otherwise see tits in real life. Arguably, looking at tits on the Internet beats going to a strip club, but since that is for different reasons, let's just stipulate that looking at tits = a good thing. However, what kind of loser isn't able to see naked women without paying for it?? I mean, go to a popular bar with a friend or two, preferably having done a little pre-drinking beforehand, and walk up to a girl. If it becomes apparent after 5 minutes you won't be seeing her naked anytime soon, then move on (note to the slow: moving on to one of her friends probably will NOT be effective). Unless you are a complete douche, ugly, and possessing no ability to interact with anyone, much less women, then I promise you, you will see naked women.

There are so many misconceptions surrounding strip clubs and strippers that I felt the need to put together my Stripper Survival FAQ:

Q: But David, how can you be against seeing naked women??
A: See above, dumbass.

Q: But David, strippers will dance all over you! And you get to feel them up!
A: See above, dumbass. Additionally, it's not as if they are dancing for free - they are dancing for money! And that brings up one of my major points, the economics of strip clubs. This topic bears a quick break from my Stripper Survival FAQ, in order to cover the vital topic of Stripper Economics.

To get into a strip club, it will cost you between $5-$10. At that point, you will receive the privilege of ordering $6 beers and $10 shots and mixed drinks - and those are the domestics and wells! God forbid you want a real drink, because at this point, you probably can't afford it and in fact have to save every penny in order to correct the anal bleeding from the ass-fucking you are getting from some self-important strip club manager, dressed in a cheap-yet-expensive-looking suit.

Yeah, you get to look at naked chicks, "for free", as long as you stay. The problem is, you will put up with a constant stream of whore-ramble, from strippers who walk by and ask you if you want blue-balls. Oops, I mean a dance. Should you accept, this dreg of society will proceed to wiggle in your lap, and perhaps let you feel her tits, for the paltry sum of $20 USD. Of course, if you go "too far", she will get offended, as if it's OK for her to spend your $20 USD on cocaine but it isn't OK for you to pinch her nipples and call her a whore. Who knew? Moving along, if you happen to particularly click with said stripper (and for the perils of this, see below), she might invite you somewhere for a raging case of herpes, or, as they call it in The Biz, a private dance. Depending on the club, you will get to do anything, ranging from slapping her tits around to straight-up, full-on fucking, for the small price of around $200, although this can vary up or down, depending upon your looks, negotiating skills, and overall doucebaggery.

I mentioned the perils of actually talking to strippers. This, indeed, is one of the worst parts about going to a strip club. In fact, to adequately address this point, it's time to move back to the FAQ.

Q: But David, you don't have to pay for a dance! You can just watch the strippers and sit there and talk to them!
A: Hey dipshit, the smartest thing to ever come out of a stripper's mouth was a donkey's cock in Mexico. Talk to a stripper? What the fuck? What're you going to talk about? Are you going to compare and contrast cocaine dealers? Are you going to listen to her bitch about her "landlord" (pimp), threatening to kick her out of her "apartment" (whorehouse)?

Q: But David, not all strippers are like that! Some of them don't do coke or whore themselves out! Some of them are just trying to make a living, maybe put themselves through school!
A: MWHAHHAHAAHAHAHA Shut the FUCK UP! The stripper who doesn't do coke and is going to school on a more than theoretical basis is about as real as the Easter Bunny - in other words, she doesn't fucking exist. If you want to get lied to, by all means, talk to strippers.

Q: But David, you're right, but sometimes these whores are easy to sleep with and you don't even have to pay them!
A: Yep, that's true. The same is true of most women you are likely to meet in a bar, but the difference is, women you meet in a bar are much less likely to have a)Sexually Transmitted Diseases, b)cocaine habits, c)fucked up childhoods resulting from Uncle Tommy buggering them, and d)black ex-con ex-boyfriends who have nothing to lose, if they catch you and kick the shit out of you.

Q: But David, that isn't true of ALL strippers!
A: OK, I sorta agree. Except that even if none of the other things are true, strippers are emotionally fucked, otherwise they wouldn't be stripping. If you want to sort out that train wreck in the morning, be my guest. I did it once, and I'm not at all interested in a repeat performance.

Q: But David, I just have fun at strip clubs!
A: Good point, rich douchebag. If you have so much money you don't care about blowing hundreds of dollars on drinks and women who either hate you or don't even know where they are, and who are more likely to give you syphilis than the average urinal in a bisexual bar in the Netherlands, and you are so insecure you would rather throw your money at strippers than spend a fraction of your money getting laid at a bar, with a woman who, while probably still classless, is at least free of STDs and doesn't have a history of familial sexual abuse, then be my guest. Dumbass. This does lead me to my final point, though.

The final point is, the economics of strip clubs just plain suck. I have alluded to this several times, however, it bears repeating. $10 to get into the club, plus an average of $7 per drink, $20 per dance, $1 per table dance, $6 per ATM fee, and your dignity ends up totaling somewhere in the neighborhood of an average strip club visit expense in excess of $724. In return, you get as drunk as you can afford, along with anything ranging from a bad case of blue balls to a bad case of AIDs in the event you end up fucking a stripper, as well as a never-ending stream of whore-ramble in your general direction. Contrast this with an average night in downtown Austin: $0 to get into the bar, an average of $2.50 per drink, $0 to watch scantily clad women rub up against each other on the dance floor, $3 per ATM fee, $0 to cleverly propose drunk sex to the first girl who strikes your fancy + an extra $2.50 per drink per girl who seems into this, for a total average downtown cost of somewhere in the neighborhood of $22.50. In return, you get in the worst case approximately the same amount of fun, combined with the possibility of drunk sex with a relatively STD-free pool of women, as well as being allowed to keep the vast majority of your dignity, which otherwise would be sitting in the cash register of your local strip club.

Strip clubs are the blackjack of the bar scene - everyone thinks it's fun, but in the end, everyone loses. Don't believe me? Then I propose the following challenge. We each take no more than $25 out with us. On the first night, we can go to a strip club, and see how much fun we have, and whether or not you get laid. On the second night, we can go downtown, see how much fun we have, and whether or not I get laid. If you want to take me up on this challenge, by all means, email me on this.