I was in the gym the other week and started talking up this juiced up meat head that I’ve come to know from seeing him day in day out for over a year. He’s a big dude no joke, not really cut but just massive. He’s got the juicers body acne and doesn’t really care. He’s also one of those club rats who’s known in the nightclub industry circles and probably does coke, again not my cup of tea just saying. The thing is he’s always had a hot bird on his arm every time I ran into him on the streets. Probably the type of girls who strip and do side porn and coke but whatever, who am I to judge. He is now engaged to a silly hot chick, tall brunette and gorgeous. We got to talking about Memorial Day weekend and how he was up at Secrets Ocean City at some VIP part y with high rollers, strippers and playboy models. He was complaining how this one kept throwing herself at him even though his girl was right there and how he had to tell her repeatedly to step off. The fact that he was going through his phone calling up his boy to come take this hot hoodrat of his hands.

We exchanged some stories then he dropped this on me and for some reason it just stuck. “Honestly, when I was single… I slayed so much pussy it got to the point that I refused to fuck normal girls. Straight up, if you weren’t at the top of your game in whatever you did I don’t even fuck with me. If you haven’t been on the cover of a magazine, in playboy, walked on a runway (CA weak sauce fashion shows at clubs), or been in the pages of something… get the fuck out of here. If you don’t have fake tits (he’s into that) and you’re not killing it in the gym on the regular…. Get the fuck out of here and keep it moving.” He said it with such charisma you know he was keeping it real. Even though he rolled in the type of circles that produce coke whores and wanna be models the type of girls that come with a price tag. He was pulling the ones at the top of the food chain. I was inspired nonetheless. I mean if zit back could pull that top tier talent then what was I doing? This was the mentality to adopt, that regular bottom bitches where too much hassle a waste of time to even speak to. But it was the confidence that you can pull the top because why the fuck not?

CA, my city, she’s a cold hearted mistress in the winter. Deserted and empty, no fly girls anywhere. The most powerful city in the world but you can’t find anything decent to fuck. Friends leave and dates flake. Who can blame them? So you come spring you gotta take a couple of vacations, hit up Vegas, holla at some real fly material. But when you come back to CA after Memorial Day weekend, she embraces you with open arms and even better open legs. We belong together like Patty and Walter Berglund in the end of Freedom. It all comes down to this, veterans of the game, people who really do this and have been doing it for a while now. They know that it’s a game of streaks. No matter how good you are at the game you’ll go on a cold streak. Where it seems like you couldn’t close with a one eyed prostitute if you just won the lottery. But these are the times you double down and train harder, mentally go over you game in your head, your approaches, nights you failed and nights you pulled. Hit the gym harder as if you were training for a Mr. Olympia. And you wait. Patiently like a hungry bear in a cave, like a surfer between waves, like a boa constrictor for its prey. A cold streak turns into a hot streak in a blink of an eye. You don’t know how long it will last but the only thing you know is that it’s coming. I don’t care if Reggie Miller missed his last 50 shots in a game, at the end of the game he was still the most dangerous man on the court (ask that dude Spike about it). So wait because when that time comes and the hot streak is upon you, it’s time to go H.A.M like that alpha Khal Drogo on the Game of Thrones tip.

So summer has come to my city as Chris “don’t make me use my pimp hand” Brown says, “I’m fresha than a mother fucker”. Certain things you need to roll in this city. You got that fly light grey suit from United Color of Benetton right. You got your different bright color V neck T’s (medium V not that extra deep down to your navel homo V them hipster kids be rocking). You’ve got your upscale white tuxedo dinner jacket with the silk black pocket square. You’ve broken in the light pair of Levi 501s and 514s because no man who really runs game would be caught dead in cargo shorts or any shorts at night… sorry… real talk. I know you have a pool at your crib and the golden rule of always inviting three different girls because at least two of them will flake. If you don’t have a pool at your crib then I guess you’ll be running into me at Dubsplash at the Capitol Skyline Hotel, only for the grown and sexy of course. On Fridays you can catch me at Circa in Arlington sippin wine with some grown mommies before hitting up Ballroom rooftop just to keep my name in the streets with the young ones. You know where all the happy hour spots be at on Thursday to keep your expenses down, we in a recession after all.