A little bit of love, a little bit of game

2-14-06

It’s Valentines Day, so what better subject to write upon then:

Ahhh, the single life. Affirmations of my liberated status have begun to manifest in a number of ways. First came the personal changes: an increased desire to work out, a new cell phone, a bitchin’ new haircut. In the competitive din of bachelorism, peacocking and communicative prowess is a must. Then came an introduction to the more subtle arts, where the eyes become open to body language, the mind receptive to demeanor, and the interaction masculine yet playful.

Become a strong yet sensitive alpha male, and one will win hearts. Learn to tease, learn when to become scarce and when to give a girl your full attention, learn to never let a stranger have control over your own self-worth, learn to always approach indirectly, learn to calculate every single that you do. There is truth to these things, and I have opened myself to it. Here in Brazil, it’s beginning to pay off.

Friday I scheduled a first date with the ever jovial and youthfully exuberant Tai, the so called “10” that I met in Pelourinho. I first spied her dancing at the far end of a crowd, sweating to the heated rhythms of a live samba band. She was the kind of girl that every man drools over, with a lithe feminine physic, long dark hair that cascaded over her back, and eyes—such large entrancing eyes that could make you forget your time and place in the world. I spotted her dancing, getting hit on by random passerbies, and I tried not to stare. Tried and failed. After breaking my trance, I put my head down, dancing, trying to forget about her all together. But we were two planets caught in each others enormity, meant to lose our own space and collide together in fire. When I pulled my head up again, not two minutes later, I noticed that her and her friend where dancing right next to me. I knew immediately that this was premeditated, my proximity alarming firing, telling me to move in closer. Slyly, and with little hesitation, I moved into her friend’s space, asking her in broken Portuguese if she knew the name of the band playing, and the type of dance everyone was swinging to. Yes, I played the curious gringo card, and it worked in good form.

It turned out that both of them spoke English. To my surprise, Tai had lived in Michigan for a year, finishing up high school in a foreign exchange program. When I told her I was from Michigan, her eyes lit up like a swarm of fireflies. Both of them cooed and I knew I was in. I used the following couple of hours to build rapport and social proof, running back and forth to my buds in the crowd, to Tai and her friend, solidifying the fact that I wasn’t weird, I wasn’t needy, and that other people liked me.

Let me take a quick moment to say that I really kind of detest the game. I would much prefer to stroll down the simple road, the “Hi my name is Dick”, and “Hi my name is Jane”, and “Let’s fall in love over coffee or tea.” I would much prefer small doses of sweet sincerity, where everyone is straight, innocent, and there is no push, or pull, or tug. But herein lies the great irony of modern dating, a truth I have found in my short time at play. In order to gain the attraction of the opposite sex, you much initially pretend as if you don’t want to. You much challenge and intrigue the person, hooking them in a world of unpredictable, challenging, and intriguing sites and sounds.

Those that do not open their eyes to these things, to the intense complexities of the male female interaction, are destined to remain on the sidelines. Those that do not accept the challenge, and play the game, however far from ideal that it may be, are destined to isolation, to twiddling thumbs and playing video games. True, people do tire of the game, but I would uphold that with marriage, a new game simply emerges. The rules are slightly different but the principles remain the same.

So there I was Friday night, sitting across the table from a gorgeous girl—petitioned to be a model, by the way, always extra points—praying that I wouldn’t screw things up too badly. It was after all my first date in like seven years. From the get go, I started things off super playful, busting her balls (ackkk, weird expression!) about being late, and how I would remove fingers if it happened in the future. Immediately I could tell that she was into me. She lifted her left hand constantly, playing with her hair, and displaying the undersides of her wrists (a big sign in the body language world). I took her out for a drink at the Caranguejo de Sergipe, then on to an Italian place for meatless pizza, as she is a vegetarian. We had a lot in common, and she laughed at my jokes—one of the most important factors in my book. She was intelligent, a law student, with a penchant for adventure and a love for dirty funk Brazilian songs. Hehe, two thumbs up.

We finished the night by folding our paper placemats into little boats, and then setting them free into the salty waters of the Bay of all Saints. I got hit by a large wave and was soaked from the calves down. The night finished with, what else, a beautiful lingering kiss, which I cut off just as things started to get interesting. Push, pull. Push, pull.

Our second date was more the same, albeit with vastly increased doses of kissing in public places. This is, I have come to find, a very Brazilian thing to do. It’s almost as informal as a handshake and no one else around seems notice. As usual, I was determined to immerse myself in the cultural peculiarities of my new country, and with little hesitation I might add.

The date ended with a conversation about ownership, boyfriend-girlfriend status, and the necessity of maintaining singleship prior to carnival. This, again, is rather normal. People want a guilt free holiday.

I got back to the apartment around 9:00, and by 10:00 was out on the town with another group of girls. I’m rather interested in one of them, a small spit fire of a lady that has the tendency to slap men for the simple joy of seeing them in pain. I think I’ve received six or seven of them by now.

Ahhh, the single life.

Happy Valentines Day all.

(Valentines Day me)