The Dating Pyramid

I have a theory that the dating universe is comprised of a multi-tiered pyramid in which only lateral or downward dating is permitted.

The pyramid has three main levels. The top is filled with A-list celebrities: movie stars, authors, super models, rock stars and professional athletes. The next level are the ultra-wealthy and B-list celebrities. The third tier is the largest and is basically everyone that doesn't fit into the first two levels.

In the first level everyone is equal and are free to intermingle. The same applies to the second level, everyone has equal standing within the herd. The third tier, though, is the most complex and is made up of infinite sub-classes based on education, looks and wealth.

Here's the kicker. Once you are established in a level of the pyramid you cannot move up and date someone above you unless they are the pursuer. You can date laterally within your level or a person in a higher tier can reach down and pull you up to their level. However, it is not possible to reach up and pull someone down. Also, if you break up with the person in the higher level, regardless of who initiates is, you automatically and immediately drop to your original tier. It's the classic Cinderella/Pretty Woman scenario.

A real life example would be Jerry Seinfeld and his wife Jessica Sklar. Jerry clearly spotted her, was enamored, pursued and landed her. It's not like Jessica was sitting around her studio apartment in New York City one night watching Seinfeld and said "Hey, Jerry is kind of hot, I should give him a call tomorrow afternoon and see if he would like to go to Nobu Friday night". No fucking chance. She was a married tier-three no one from east butt-fuck Vermont running on a treadmill when Jerry reached down and pulled her up into his world. It cannot happen in the other direction, nature and society won't allow it.

Here is an example from my life.

One afternoon I was waiting for the Metro and sensed eyes burning a hole in my back. I looked around and spotted a massively overweight girl batting her eyelashes at me. Aside from being slovenly, she was dressed in all black and had big steel barbell going through the bridge of her nose. When the train came I tried to evade her by getting on another car but she followed me. On the train I avoided eye contact at all costs and focused on reading my newspaper. Hippo Girl was undeterred and eventually struck up a conversation about whatever was on the back side of the page I was reading. I made it clear I had no interest in talking to her and politely went back to my reading. I remember thinking to myself "Does she really think there is a chance we would ever get together?" She is clearly trying to pull off the impossible and reach up about four tiers and drag me down to the basement. Delusions and confidence are not the same thing, sweetheart.

Ironically, that same afternoon I was riding the Metro back to my office after the appointment when I spotted this unbelievable looking brunette sitting in my train. She was tall, had a great body, was really well dressed, dark complexion. I was feeling pretty confident that day. I had just closed a big deal and was dressed in my best suit. We made eye contact a couple of times until she finally pulled out her Blackberry and pretended to be busy checking emails. I made eye contact one last time and she made a face that could only be described as exasperation and pity. She did that thing girls do where they blink but hold their eyes shut for an extra second, hoping the guy will be gone when the open their eyes back up. Then it struck me, she was in a tier above me. I was like the goth hippo chick reaching up in a futile attempt to score someone above my level.

I honestly wish that none of this is true. I would like to believe that we are all human beings and equal. But I would also like to believe that a fat man in a red suit delivers presents to all the children of the world on one night in December. But as we all know both of those are fairy tales. Wish in one hand, my friends, and shit in the other, then see which one fills up first.

Scuttle The Ship

I am slowly yet deliberately winding things down with Tiny. Between the abortion and the fact that I have a lot of respect for her, I feel that the situation requires more tact that I generally am apt to devote to a breakup.

Most of my break ups are like scuttling a ship. I just make a few precision comments, and like holes in a hull that sucker goes strait to the bottom of the ocean. The process with Tiny is more like decommissioning an aircraft carrier. I'm doing my best to take it apart slowly and then just let it slip below the surface of the water with dignity. It's more difficult than it sounds, though.

To complicate things there is still the matter of the money I "owe" her, my half of the abortion fee. I've owed people money for lots of things: motorycles, rent, drugs, hell, even guns, but I can honestly say I've never owed on an abortion. Tiny never told me what the amount was so I haven't been able to reimburse her. The money isn't the issue, it is how to bring up the subject and ask the amount. What do you do, just say "So, what do I owe you for the abortion" and pull out your wallet? It's not like we're splitting a dinner check. The more I thought about it the more I dreaded the moment and procrastinated. I tried to think of the most tactful way to bring it up but the time never seemed right. Then I started to think of how I should pay her. Is cash more or less disrespectful than a check? If it's, say, $400, and I pay cash, are four $100 bills better than twenty $20 bills? If I write a check what do I put in the "For" line? All these things stress me out.

Bear. Tenant. Sears.

Here are three things impacting my life at the moment: I almost get arrested at Sears yesterday afternoon over an air conditioning unit. Tenant is blowing me off. Bear wants to "show me pictures from her vacation" at her place tonight.

Sears:

Monday night my super-hot blond tenant called me and said her AC unit died. I told her I would replace it ASAP. Turns out that was a little harder than I thought since it's almost fall and stores aren't stocking air conditioning units anymore. I called around to almost every store within 35 miles and all I could find were huge units, ones far too big for a little bedroom.

Finally, yesterday afternoon I found a Sears in Maryland that claimed to have three units in stock that were the correct size and only $150. I told the rep on the phone "OK, great, I'll take one, let me pay over the phone and set it aside for me". The reps response was "I can't do that", which is total bullshit. That just means he doesn't want to do that, he's a lazy fuck and wants to get back to sitting on his ass or walking around the store pretending to be busy. I said "Well, then can you set one aside from me and I'll come there right now and get it". He said "We got three of them, they aren't goin' anywhere, I don't need to set it aside for you, just come down." I had a bad feeling about this but immediately got in the car and drove the thirty minutes to the store.

When I arrived there was one person working the whole floor of Sears. One person covering like 50,000 square feet! I waited ten minutes for him to finish up with two other customers then said "Hi, I called earlier about the AC units", and he brought me over to an area that had five boxes sitting on the floor next to a display. He said "This is all we got left". All the units were huge and cost $400-600. I said "But when I talked to you on the phone you said you had three of the 5200btu units left, these are all 12,000btu's, they are way too big for a bedroom. What happened to the others? I drove thirty minutes to get one and now they are all gone?" I was beginning to unravel. He said "Well, the computer said we had three in, but it was wrong." Fair enough, I can see how that can happen. Would it have fucking killed him to look and see what they had? No, but I said "OK, you have the display, I guess I'll have to take that one then." The prick immediately got defensive and said "Nope, we can't sell the displays."

And-I-snapped. I said "Let's go through the again. You told me you had three, which you didn't. Then had me drive all the way out to Maryland for nothing. Now that I'm here, and you actually do have one in stock, you won't sell it to me?" He said "That's right, because it's a display." I said "So Sears is in the displaying business, not the selling business? Go get a manager, anyone with authority to sell this." The dude left and I heard him say over the loudspeaker "We have a code two in appliances." Great, now I am a code two. I was expecting tear gas canisters to come blasting through the windows at any second. A minute later a young woman walked into the area and asked the dude where the code two was, and he pointed at me. She walked over and said "Is there a problem, sir?" I said "No, I don't think so. I'm here to purchase this air conditioner." She said "I'm sorry, but we're all sold out".

Lest you think I'm dense, I understand that stores don't usually sell the displays for a variety of reasons. However, given the circumstances you would think that someone would try to locate me one at another store, or cut me a deal on a larger unit, or try to fix the situation in some way. You know, use a little salesmanship. I'm a ready willing and able buyer, and Sears is presumably in business to sell merchandise and turn a profit, so let's make a fucking deal here.

Home renovations, abortions, traffic jams, ambulance sirens, cabbies that can't speak English, every aggravating thing that I've been suppressing in my life for the past month now boiled to the surface in one ugly black moment. I snapped. I pulled out my wallet, handed the girl my credit card and started unplugging the AC unit from the display. I said "Here's my credit card. I'm taking this unit. I'm willing to pay you full price for it, and you can either charge me or not. I don't care either way, but for the record I'm not stealing it." I wrapped the cord around the front of the unit, gathered the remote control that was on top and was about to lift it up when she said "I can see you need to speak to a supervisor" and jogged away.

Literally five seconds later another woman came out of the back room. She asked the original salesman what the problem was and he explained how ridiculous it was that I might actually want to purchase something from the store. He was actually mad at me. I don't know what the supervisor thought, but she looked at the salesman, and the girl and I and said "So sell it to him!"

Done. Sold. NN is a happy customer. I'm I the crazy one here?

Tenant:
Tenant is blowing me off and I'm not happy about it. I talked to her Monday and she said she had a hectic week and couldn't get together. I was the bigger person last week and reached out to her. I feel like I clearly expressed I was interested, then reaffirmed it this week. I'm not called or texting her again. If she wants to get together she knows how to reach me.

Bear:
What's with this girl? She sent me a text and wants to get together tonight so I can see pictures from her vacation.

I need some new prospects.

Brester's Millions - Hamptons Style

Arriving in the Hamptons is a lot like arriving in OZ: it's a fantasy land filled with funny little people in colorful costumes who sing and dance a lot. I had a good time, but aside from my friends I detested most people I came in contact with.

If you're not familiar, the Hamptons is where New York's uber-rich go in the summer to show off. It really has nothing to do with the beach, these people generally hate sand because they are so germaphobic. This is about guys showing off their cars, houses, and Eastern European girlfriends, and where recently divorced Cougars go to prowl for their future ex-husband-benefactors. If you haven't guessed by now, I'm not a fan.

There is so much to talk about from the weekend because it's such a "scene". However, I'm going to focus on the party I went to Saturday afternoon.

The party in question was billed as a "BBQ" and was being hosted by a friend of a friend. The guy, Raji, was a 30 year old Wall Street millionaire. As we pulled into the driveway of his house (which was pretty huge) I began to understand what I was in for. Parked in front were a Maserati, two Porsches, many BMW's, a Bentley, two supercharged Audi's, a Land Rover or two, a McLaren F1 (in the garage - told it was leased) and a Jeep Wrangler - identical in both color and year to mine. I later learned that the Jeep belonged to the cook.

My buddies and I walked into the house and could hear loud techno music coming from the back yard. There were people in bathing suits walking around the gigantic marble entrance way of the house. In the kitchen was a chef chopping and skewering meat. As I took all this in some guy came up to me, handed me a glass and a full bottle of Champagne then walked away. I put the glass and bottle down on a coffee table and pulled a beer out of the fridge in the kitchen. My friend's girlfriend walked in from the backyard and said to me "Have you been outside yet?", I shook my head saying no, she said "It's like Entourage out there, check it out."

I walked out the back door which led to a deck. Ten steps led down to a huge patio with a pool and built-in jacuzzi and behind that a tennis court. On the patio were about thirty exceedingly drunk people in bathing suits bumping and grinding. There were two games of Beirut going. Two girls in tiny little bikinis were in the pool straddling inflatable "log" water toys playfully bashing the tops off each other with inflatable "clubs". Some dude in a straw cowboy hat had a microphone and kept saying "infinity...infinity...infinity" over the techno song while he flexed and puffed out his chest. On the far side of the pool a goofy little Indian guy was kneeling in front of a young girl and pouring Champagne from a bottle down her giant exposed breasts and catching it in his mouth. I turned to my friend Chavez and said "That must be our host...". He laughed, nodded his head and said "Yup".

When Raji finished his Champagne he came over to my friends and welcomed us to the party. Bottles of Champagne and glasses were brought out to us (what is it with the Champagne?) and introductions were made. Overall, I guess the guys were nice enough. They were just a little affected. It took me a bit but I eventually realized that these dudes were all dorks in high school in college who never learned how to interact with people. Now, they have all this money, and they act however they want (which is to say, like douche bags) and girls still hang out with them because they own Ferrari's and have giant homes in the Hamptons.

The BBQ turned out to be a catered event and the chef kept walking out onto the deck with platters of food and would make announcements like "Asian wasabi vegetable spring rolls with rice philo wraps and soy tahini dipping sauce, bon appetit", or "Braised soy chicken on baguette with sesame mango chutney". He kept bringing out food but he simply couldn't keep up with the endless river of Champagne, and eventually everyone was hammered except my group, who had arrived late.

The Human Louge walked over and introduced herself to Uncle Charlie and I. In a jumble of slurred words she asked who we were and how we fit in. We explained who we knew, but the reality was we didn't fit in at all. We asked her similar questions and she said she worked with Raji, to which I said, mostly to Uncle Charlie, "Hmmm, might be a little awkward in the office next week, no?", but the Human Louge didn't pick up on it. She then dropped the following bomb on us "But that's temporary. What I really want to do is make erotic female porn, all the porn out there sucks, it doesn't get me off at all." ... Not many responses to that, are there? Long story short, I asked why she needed porn to get off, why not just go to a bar and take home a guy? She said she never lets guys take her home from bars, which I said "Well, I doubt that very much, but go on." Uncle Charlie laughed and walked away, leaving me there with the Louge and no Champagne in sight. I turned tail and followed Uncle Charlie.

One little Indian girl, who was drunk as could be, but beautiful kept walking over and talking to me. Chavez told me she was the easiest of the group, but she was so drunk I actually felt a little guilty taking advantage of her.

As it got dark the many hours of drinking caught up with the main partiers. People playing coed semi-nude Beirut would hug for almost anything. Champagne glasses and bottles kept getting smashed. People were getting thrown in the pool. Things deteriorated just like a high school party would. Just as we started to leave it was announced that the beer was all gone and that the rest of the Beirut games would be played with strait gin.

Strong Island

Two weeks ago my buddy, Uncle Charlie, sent me an email that said only "what are you doing weekend of 28th" in the subject line. I said I didn't have anything going on. His reply was "Hamptons. Bernie coming out...". Done and done. I immediately booked a flight.

I'll give a full update next week if I'm not dead or incarcerated, but it is probably helpful to understand who I am hanging out with this weekend. Uncle Charlie is my very good friend from college and the guy I went away with two years ago to Argentina and Uruguay. Bernie is his friend and business partner from Buenos Aires. My guess is their combined net worth is some positive number followed by seven, eight or even nine zeros. If you saw them in a club you would either think they were the scariest stock brokers alive or very well dressed drug lords. These men do not embrace moderation and even a two-night excursion in a place as benign as Long Island may well lead to rehab (drug or physical), federal indictments, sex with (but never in) Ford Models, or all three.

Just packing for this type of weekend stresses me out. Do I need a black suit? A white suit. A sub-machine gun? Parachute? Bear repellent? - No, it won't be exactly like last time. Fuck it, I'll just bring a lot of cash and my passport.

Shoot the Moon.

I'm in a fog today and it has nothing to do with the wine last night. I took Tenant out last night and I think I may have been a little over confident in Standard Date No. 2. I have a sunken feeling in my chest. Pressure like I am waiting for bad news. There is also a tinge of regret, or remorse.

The evening started off well enough. We went out on the bike and cruised around the city. After an hour the weather turned and it started to sprinkle so we headed back to my place and cooked dinner. Tenant helped with the cooking, we drank some wine, conversation was good. Everything seemed to be going fine. It stopped raining so we ate outside and moved on to a second bottle of wine. After dinner we cleaned up and Tenant said she had her bathing suit, so we changed and went into the hot tub.

Tenant looked fantastic. Her body was even better than I had imagined. It helped that she had a great bikini. It was one of those skimpy little ones that has a very narrow "V" in the back and only covers about a third of each cheek. She's a solid 7 maybe even an 8.

We swirled around in the tub for about thirty minutes then started kissing. After a while I took her top off and flung it over my shoulder, but on its way over the side of the tub it caught a wine glass which fell to the ground and shattered into a million pieces.

This is pretty much the point at which the evening took a turn.

We were making out and Tenant kind of sat back and put both her hands underwater near her hips. I thought she was taking off her bikini bottom. After a second she scooted back over to me and we continued kissing. I reached down and put my hands on her hips and felt that her bottoms were still on. I was confused since I thought she had already taken them off. I didn't know if she had second thoughts, or trouble getting them off in the water, or what, so I hooked my index fingers around them and gave a little exploratory tug down. Tenant stopped kissing me and leaned back, a clear sign that she was not interested in taking those off, which was fine.

I thought it was best to relax for a bit and sat back in a seat. We were talking then Tenant bum-rushed me. She swam across the tub, mounted me, grabbed my head and bit my lip. We started going at it again and she was being much more aggressive. We tumbled around and eventually I propped her up on the side of the tub and kissed her chest. I slowly made my way down her stomach, then kissed her on the inside of her thighs. She spread her legs and I pulled her suit to the side and went down on her. A couple of minutes later she stopped me and slid back into the tub. She wanted to slow down again.

After we stopped Tenant said she had to go to the bathroom. We had been in the tub for around an hour and my fingers were pruning up nicely, so I said "Have you had enough of the tub, should we go in?" She said "Sure", so I got out and handed her a towel. Tenant went to the bathroom and I closed up the tub. The AC was on inside so it was kind of cold. When Tenant came out of the bathroom I said "Are you cold, want to jump in the shower?" She said no and toweled herself off. And just like that the night was over. She changed back into her jeans, I walked her out to her car, kissed her good night, then flopped onto the couch with a beer.

I can't shake the feeling that I came on a little strong last night and hope I didn't make Tenant feel uncomfortable. The whole night was too scripted and she picked up on that. I think I was also pretty cocky. If you asked me yesterday what I thought my chances were of getting lucky I would have said 99%. The other 1% was simply modesty.

It's now 11:20 and I haven't heard from Tenant since she left last night. I would feel much better if I got some sort of text, whether it be a "thank you" or "had a good time last night", anything would do at this point. I feel like I fucked up, like I tried to shoot the moon too early.

Determinism vs. Free Will

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