Month: September 2015

Jimmy’s Mailbox – Yes days and no days

It’s funny how themes often come out of the same weeks. ‘Game is hard’ has cropped up on my radar several times this last few weeks. So I am going to deliver a pep talk, not too dissimilar from my last post.

After I have rambled on for a few paragraphs about nothing in particular.

I still have some infields from this summer to edit and post. I’ll get round to it. I am pretty busy with all these side projects. I have four books I am writing, two I am reading, TEN songs I am writing and recording (check out my latest here), also Krauser is putting together an album of game themed songs for his Black Book product and we’ve discussed collaborating on a few ditties there. What else? Books, blog, music, work, oh… that other thing I am involved in… not illegal but… weird.. that’s something I hope I can reveal soon.

Oh remote coaching. People seem to have taken to mailing me their infield videos and asking me to evaluate them. Now I do this for guys I have coached, I do it all the time, but somehow random people have started asking for it too. I can only presume someone mentioned it somewhere and word got out. Now they just email me and say ‘what do you think of this set’.

Surprising how many people email me with random game questions too. ‘Jimmy, how often should I swear in set?’ I am serious.  I think people see the free coaching and think, ‘well this guy’s approachable so I’ll ask him that one weird question I have that he might know the answer to, but I don’t actually want to have to pay anyone to answer’.

It’s all good though, banter aside. I like to answer them and chat to people. You never know if anyone is actually deserving of a helping hand but, let’s say every third person is… and I suppose it keeps me in ideas to blog about.

Which is partly where this post has come from. I’d written most of it in an email so I may as well maximise my labour. My helping someone out has given me something to write about which keeps my readership of 3.5 happy. So here goes, paraphrasing:

‘Dear Jimmy, I have been doing day game on and off or a year now. I am happy with my quality but I get a lot of rejection. I have done 100 plus sets and only got 2 lays and a few dates’.

Right. Game is generally a lot of graft and hard work. There’s not much glamour in the moment. There’s only glamour when you look back over 12 months. Day to day, it’s just a load of graft. Even the top guys have their tough days. Hell, even the BEST have tough days. I was actually thinking about this as I read Bodi’s book. He talks about when he first came on the boot-camp and assumed we were getting laid constantly all the time of super hot girls. Well… we were to a degree but it depends what you mean by ‘constantly’. On a week by week basis, not a lot happened. It was the year by year that brought the glories, the models, the TV personalities, aspiring models, established models, pitch perfect sets, hard won sets, great stories of wing technique, the threesomes and close calls. It was a constant drip-drip of activity.

The famous Greek God, Plato, who used to like pushing rocks up hills.

The famous Greek God, Plato, who used to like pushing rocks up hills. Turned out it was his avoidance weasel. ANYTHING to get out of doing sets.

I remember one time in Zagreb I was dating two really hot young girls, both 21, and I had two other really hot young girls in their early 20s orbiting me too. Genuinely orbiting me. I spent two weeks getting laid at least once a day, sometimes twice and the only thing that stopped me getting the other two notches was that I simply didn’t have enough hours in a day to service everyone effectively.

It was definitely one of my high points. But that came after four weeks of approaches. Between say five and ten a day, some days off, 30 approaches a week. And multiple days would go by where I got nothing. Or flakes, or dates with girls who were just boring or weird or feminist or complaining or not that hot at second glance.  Too young, too old, too loud. Blah blah.

The ‘no’ days are the ones that can grind you down. I mean, I love chasing skirt and I even love the no days, sure they’re a bit long winded and frustrating but as long as I am in field I am happy. There’s nothing like that delicious moment when your feet move. And those moments in set where you see the tumblers clicking into place. Or she says something out of place, so miniscule that most people would ignore it, but you know she wants to open up about something.

I love it when they give you the stack. You’re one minute in and looking to stack and bang, she gives it to you on  plate.

‘I’m from St. Louis, do you know it? Most people think it’s a really horrible place ha ha ha’.

But this is the thing. This is the point about Bhodi’s book I would like to make, or one of them.

It doesn’t matter how many ‘no’ days you get, as long as you’re getting a couple of ‘yes’ days* in there with them. It’s the ‘yes’ days that count and only the ‘yes’ days that count. They are the ones that pull you a new girlfriend in. That new girlfriend fills your dance card for months and months. Over time you slowly add experiences and suddenly realise you have several amazing girls on the go and the ‘no’ days don’t matter so much any more.

I look back right now. I can only remember one blow out clearly. All the others just got sent to the recycle bin in my brain and deleted.

Several hot girlfriends might be three months work, that may well be 20 ‘no’ days and only 5 ‘yes’ days. But what does it matter when you wake up after three months and realise you have seven hot girlfriends? You can only handle so many anyway. As I said, I just about balanced two girlfriends when I was in Zagreb.

Some you close quick and some you close long, some you date for a day, some for a year. An amazing girl you met in April, you might close in September.  That’s five months, sure. But you’re fine because you have the girl you met back from January on the go in the meantime. So what’s the rush?

So what I did over my decade was accept there’ll be ups and downs and play the numbers. Don’t let it fuck with you too much. It will come over time. If it came for Bodi, believe me, it can come for everyone.

I’ll tell you something else. Right now, it’s dark, cold and boring here in this little room in Gloucester. But rewind just three months and there I am, somewhere in history, standing in the blazing sunshine on Jelly Square Zagreb, Me, Irish, Rapid and Yohan. Those boys were hitting up sets at will. We were having the time of our lives. It was like the old days. I’d be in the cafe watching Irish in one set, then he’d disappear on an instant date, then Yohan would turn up

‘I’m getting nothing but you should have seen this last chick, she was smoking, but her boyfriend showed up’.

At that moment we’d see a leggy blonde walk past the cafe and then a second later we’d see Rapid zip past us after her. We’d watch him. He’d get her number. He’d turn and see us and give us a smile and the thumbs up.

‘I’m going back out there’, Yohan would say and set off with renewed intent.

Rapid enters the cafe. ‘That went better than the last few. I think there’s potential today, where’s Irish?’

‘He’s on an instant date, he texted he’ll meet us on Tkalceva in an hour, she was hot’.

And so on. Now that’s living. That’s how you spend the afternoons. Chasing skirt with the boys. That’s fucking cool.

I can’t remember which one of the gang it was, who said something like:

‘I used to think players were suave and suited lounge lizard types who go to expensive bars in fine clothes. Like the cartoon on the Neil Strauss book. They’d be slick and sophisticated. But they’re not. They’re the opposite. They’re the guys who rent cheap rooms in high traffic locations, fly Ryanair and hit the streets day in day out. The sit at home knackered in their underpants Facebooking with targets. They troll dating sites in their dry spells and their cupboards are always bare because they live and eat on the street. They have dedicated so much of their time to skirt that they often don’t have serious careers so they wouldn’t ever spend money on clothes cars and watches. They’re cheap, charming and persistent’.

*The point of his book wasn’t lost on me. He wasn’t getting any ‘yes’ days either. I get that, but my overall point still stands.

Game is an end in itself

Firstly – Many, many apologies. I am as you know, currently back at work. I took a two month contract in Gloucester to put some much needed pennies in the bankie bank. I have had my head down working and I have also had a lot of travelling. I may be able to blog about this one day but not today – I have found myself tied up in something very… interesting. I really can’t say much more than that. It’s quite the story. It hasn’t been resolved yet but if and when it does then things could get interesting around here.

So tonight I got home after a long meeting and I just logged into my jimmyjambonepua email and I found a huge list of nice emails from some of you guys. I’ll be replying to them all. Let me just confirm – I’m still here, I am just working out this contract. As soon as it’s up I’ll be having time off – and that means coaching.

As I’ll explain in a moment, coaching is very important to me. I don’t pick up any more and I am pretty sure I’ll spend the rest of my life with JJ. Kids, the lot. But I love game and I love ‘the life’ and coaching is a way I can stay involved, at least prolong the adventure a few years. So believe me, there’s a huge will within me to respond and get involved.

This contract I am currently on is awesome. I took over from some other kid who fucked up. Made a few changes and boom, touch wood, I have his department running smooth as a Swiss clock. I am a month in and I reckon I am up for an extension until about November. Soon as I have an end date I’ll announce it here and schedule in some adventure.

Another thing. I’ve been reading Bodi’s book. I’ll have to work on a post on here for that too. Lots of things I have to add to his observations. If you haven’t read his book, do so. Yes, he’s one of my best mates and you’ll be lining his pockets but his book is funny as fuck. I personally like his writing and that’s one of the reasons I started to hang out with him, I like how he makes his misery and hopelessness absolutely hilarious. I feel a bit bad about it, but it’s his fault, if he writes, I’ll enjoy. The scene in the nightclub toilets is just too much. It’s £20 well spent. I hope he doesn’t kill himself one day and I’ve spend the last five years falling about laughing at his trials and tribulations. That’s a weight I’d have to bear. My God… the guilt!

I think I’ll give him a call later, just make sure he’s alright. I’ll let him know I care and that way, if he does top himself, I’m absolved from any guilt.

I bet this is what he sees when he looks in the mirror

I bet this is what he sees when he looks in the mirror

I love how he rips old Nick too. ‘Skeletor, says I am a male 10’. Jesus, he’s an 8 at tops. Nick told me he’s not read it yet, but he’ll be reading it this Friday. Bullshit, I bet he pre ordered it and skimmed it for mentions of himself.

Here it is. If you buy it and you tell me hand on heart you didn’t like it, then I’ll let you have a free copy of my own book when it’s done.  Yes, I am writing my book too. I really am and it’s not just talk. I am 400 pages in. The problem I am having is it’s going to be long. I started in game in 1996. It’s a decade of pickup, rock bands, fashion parties, Euro jaunts and the occasional football violence and casual criminality. I think I get laid a few times in it too. It could be another year of writing the way it’s going.

It’s going to take a while for it to be right, but I’ll pack as much value in for as few pennies as possible. Whatever Nick and John can do, I can do better.

I’ve read both their books, Nick’s and John’s. It’s quite hard for me to read some of those stories and remember all those amazing times we had, long in the past now. I get a bit melancholy. Spurred by Bodi I’ve booked New Year in Malaga with JJ, Lee and Wisdom. Try to not let the old gang slip away too much.

Every now and then, a slice of the past is revived casually during the day. It’s a sad feeling at times, I’ll be honest.

A little anecdote from when JJ visited me last week. She took a photo of us both. She showed it to me and it was beautiful. (If Skeletor saw it he’d probably say I am a male 10 too. Definitely if I were paying him as richly as Nick was. ‘It’s obvious you would be classed the catalogue couple’, he’d say. ‘Now can I have my £50?’).

‘I like it, but the frame is ugly’, she smiled.

I winced, because, once upon a time, the primary meaning of the word ‘frame’ meant something completely different to me. Once upon a time, in that house in Hampstead, when I wore almost another man’s skin as it seems now, it was a word my friends and I used a lot. There is still some trace remnants of that man inside me.

I assumed firstly the reason it made me wince was just that the alternative meaning made the word distasteful. I realise now that it was just upsetting to hear the life calling me. A tiny reminder of the fun we used to have, the conversations in the Hemingway Suite, the joshing and the adventures.

It was that the little part inside me that I’d tried to kill three years ago was still there and chiming in. 100 memories flashed through my mind quickly before I could suppress them. ‘That was then’, I told myself.

If you had asked me if I could give up sleeping with other women for my girlfriend, then the answer would be ‘yes, easily, I already have’. I’m not so interested in notches any more. I am not at all interested in notches any more. She’s not keen on a swinging boyfriend and so monogamy is a no brainer for me. I’ll take 200 coffee dates with JJ over another 200 notches on my bedpost with random, albeit hot, chicks any day.

But giving up pickup? That’s a big deal. It’s a question that looms on the horizon for me. You think you have worked it all out, you’ve seen the marriage and monogamy trap for what it really is, you’ve pulled the curtain back on ‘love’ to show it as a delusion and then you meet literally a one in a million.

But giving up the life?

I travel to experience the world and part of that is the new people I meet. I can no longer just go to Madrid, I have to go to Madrid and hit the streets. It’s almost a genetic drive the same way a salmon swims up stream.

There is nothing like it. It’s the passion of my life. While I settle into the seat on the plane as I fly out, I KNOW that in the next few days there will be someone new in my life, a new friend, a new smiling face, who at this moment I simply do not know and who does not know me. Imagine that. On the seat back, I’ll know her name, her hopes, her dreams.

I am going to create destiny, history, out of thin air.

You land, leaving the airport you see flashes of what’s to come here and there. That girl waiting by the arrivals door, she must have been an underwear model. Is that the quality you get here?

You get to the apartment, bag down, fix a drink, unpack. Check the time. You’re not saying too much to your wing. You’re both keyed up. Time for ‘food’.

From the moment my fat feet hit that tarmac, I’m home. The street is my home, my trusty Converse pad around fresh plains. I’m looking for soul food. One there. One there. Destiny in the making. Silly heads full of hopeful dreams and feminine waffle. Pleasant natures all waiting to be rewarded with some manly company and a warm smile. I love hot, feminine girls and I can pick them like apples off a tree with a few well-tuned, well-honed phrases.

And then you’re off, you see someone. Your feet begin to move, pad, pad, pad – the sound that you hear so loudly in the infields, that unmistakable pad, pad, pad as a man grabs his will in his hands and simply makes shit happen. It used to be a moment of nerves, you’d be, for a few seconds alone and confused, you against the universe, it was a beautiful thing in those days. These days, it’s calculated and cool. Like a hawk swooping down on a mouse. Except you’re a force of good. A force of value. A force of love.

You stop her. For a few seconds she is startled so you have to calm her, you keep distance and quickly smile, half laugh, talking slowly with smiling eyes. She has stopped moving, she is listening, she is in the phase where she’ll either tumble into conversation or make it difficult. It’s down to you now, there’s a brief introduction and a slide into a stack. Before you know it, you’re in conversation, talking about a film. It’s plain sailing now, just a matter of time. The game is over, the rest is so simple. You enjoy the conversation, two days later you’ll be having coffee together.

You’re satiated and you part. You may not even call her, see what happens, see what other options you uncover. Pad, pad, pad, there goes that familiar sound again. Now your wing is in set. She’s nice. His body language is awesome and she’s laughing. It’s one step closer to being your town now. A real pair of rock stars. No one you see is unavailable to either of you; all you have to do is walk up to them. It’s a game. It really is a game. Each set is a little puzzle, some you win, some you lose, but the process of trying is exciting and challenging.

What else is there to do in a foreign city if you’re not working the streets? It IS what there is to do. Those moments from setting off to being in conversation, her legs crossed, your feet locked, are exhilarating. Like riding rapids.

Game is adventure and an end in itself; whatever happens, there’s always sex, but lads – sex is just a bonus by product of game. I am telling you, it’s a lifestyle, like being in a band was a lifestyle for me, but pickup is ten times cooler and 100 times more fun than rock and roll.

Taking game out of the equation removes half my reason for bothering to get out of bed in the first place. But I love my girl with a passion I have not known.

So it’s over to you guys, you’re going to have to come with me and do the approaches I can’t.