Wednesday

BUSTING OUT OF THE "FRIEND ZONE" (PART III)

You're obviously a guy intent on sleeping with a particular woman who's relegated you to the "friend zone." That shitty, sexless, fucking - or should I say fuck-less - friend zone! Well, we're not going to take it; and so if any of the previous techniques haven't worked - and if they haven't I swear it's because you're not executing them right - they're fucking brilliant and devious and manipulative and guaranteed to work - however, if you fucked them up and they're not working then we're going to have to apply others that I know for a fact to be equally brilliant. So without further ado, I introduce Technique #4 - Irreverence!

Irreverence is the antidote to pussy-whipped. If you're a guy who's been hanging around with a girl who won't go to bed with him, you are, in fact, pussy-whipped. Whipped by a girl, a Pussy. You've become her bitch, you'll do anything she wants, including NOT go to bed with her. You're simply too well-behaved, and as a result she probably has nothing but contempt for you. You're her bitch. How do you stop this?

By rebelling. By behaving in a way she's never seen from you before. By disagreeing with her. By making fun of her. There's nothing like a little insurrection to give a man back his macho, his brio, his balls.

Let me tell you about something that happened to me when I was a young guy - in my early twenties. I had been taking out a girl from Sara Lawrence College for a period of six moths. Very pretty, very petite aspiring poet from Minneapolis who informed me early on that she was fucking engaged to some dude at Harvard Law School. Man, how fast did that put me in the friend zone. I'll hang out with you in Manhattan because I'm stuck here in school, but it has to be platonic because I'm engaged.

Oh, and I bought it. I wanted to be around her because she was so damn hot-looking. I thought maybe somehow she'd relax her role as fiance and come across with a little nooky. But I was too afraid to make the first move. What if she said, "I thought I was being clear, ass-face. Don't you know 'engaged' means you don't mess around with other men?"

So I did nothing, date after date I did nothing. Out to dinner or the movies, then straight to the train at Grand Central to catch the train back to Sara Lawrence. Do not stop at Eric's bachelor apartment.

On about our 12th date, I couldn't stand it anymore. We were having a beer in a bar near Grand Central, prior to her getting the 11:15 back to Bronxville. At the time the girl's uncle was mayor of Minneapolis and for some reason she was always going on about him. "Yesterday, my uncle the mayor kept all the schools open even though there was a foot of snow." Or, "My uncle can always get us tickets to the Vikings game - right on the 50 yard line."

I guess I'd had an extra beer or two, and I found myself saying, quite without rehearsal, quite spontaneously, and maybe knowing instinctively that it was the right thing to do to break the awful log jam, "You know, you're uncle's an asshole."

At first Carole looked shocked, amazed, almost insulted!! But then I gave her a little smile and she burst into a roar of laughter. "You know, sometimes he is," she admitted. "He's so fucking pompous."

And just like that we were connecting on a whole different level. I was a dude. I was funny. I had balls. Instead of putting her on the train, we jumped into a cab back to my place. I promise you, we were having sex within five minutes after arrival at my apartment, about he amount of time it takes to get your clothes off. Apparently, that engagement wasn't quite as sacrosanct to her after all.

Irreverence, baby. Your ally every time you feel yourself slipping into Ms. Nice Guy. Okay, in the next few days we'll discuss Timing, Logic, and Persistence. And after that, I want to hear about RESULTS.

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