Because it's just so endearing to talk about girls among Star Wars nerds. What follows is a tale I hope you will find amusing and thought-provoking. It's super long but, I hope, worth the read if you've got the time. It's in the tradition of my girl thread antics of yore, which included posting from a girl's bedroom the night I was trying to get something to happen, much to the chagrin of Massassian audience members, who, enraged, were posting things like, "Get off the forum and DO SOMETHING!" hehehe

SWEDEN 2008
A few days ago, I flew to Sweden to meet up with an Australian friend, Scott, still studying on exchange in Denmark. Our hazy, imprecise plan was to rent bikes and tour around the countryside, ultimately exploring the fjords in the vicinity of Östhammar. I brought a tent so we could camp along the way. Sweden has "Free Man's" laws that permit campers to pitch tents pretty much anywhere that is not obviously private property.



I met Scott at the airport and we took a train to Uppsala. The weather looked miserable, and as soon as we left the train station, it started drizzling. The tourism office directed us to the only bike rental shop they were aware of in the city limits. There were only two bikes, and they were in sorry shape. Impatient to begin our trip, we took them and after many delays finally got on the road.



We hadn't taken much food with us, so we stopped at an isolated pizza shop somewhere in the countryside for dinner. As soon as we left, it began to pour, and it was almost sunset. I was freezing, so we hastily made camp out in the woods, having traveled only 37 km that afternoon and evening.

The next morning was cool but graciously dry. We left our camp intact to scout out the area and make a big loop. Everything seemed to be downhill and we were making good speed. When I started going uphill, I shifted downgear. I heard a tapping sound, which became a grinding sound, from behind me. I looked back only to see, to my horror, bolts, washers, and gears start to fall off the rear of my bike. I came to a sudden halt. We were only 13 km into the day's riding, 50 or so into the trip, and my bike had failed.

With what few tools we had with us, I tried to repair my ride, but the entire gear changing mechanism had become warped and there was no way I could reshape it. I started walking back to our camp, and Scott rode at a slow pace so I could keep up. The entire trip was canned, but luckily I had given the bike rental guy an expired ID for collateral. (This was an ethically complex situation -- how could I prove that the bike had malfunctioned and I hadn't stolen it? etc.) We decamped, found a bus station, and eventually got back to Uppsala.

Here's where the "girl thread" part begins:

Store after store had begun to close. Everything closed quite early. The tourism office was abandoned and they had told us the day before that all hostels in the area were totally booked. Thing's didn't look good. If we were going to be living in the city, though, I couldn't walk around in Underarmour and riding gear, so I went to H&M.

A girl was guarding the fitting room (the "provrum;" I like the connotation of that word better: the clothes are 'proving' themselves to you), so I dumped my monster backpack there and got some clothes. I asked her what was in vogue in Sweden, we made conversation, and I asked her where the good places were to party in town. She showed Scott and I on the map, and I asked, "which one are you going to be at tonight?" She giggled and said she'd more likely be at home watching TV as she had work the next morning. We talked about studies (we had similar majors) but when we clarified that while we were students, we were not students in Uppsala (i.e. we were only there for the weekend) she looked disappointed and said, with a brush of the hair, "oh, I thought you would have been here longer." So I peaced with no result, just big smiles on the way out.

We ultimately checked in at the Hotel Uppsala. After only one day in the bush, modern amenities seemed so much more satisfying. The receptionist was absolutely gorgeous. She was quite chatty, and after we cleaned up and settled into our room, I went back down to the lobby and asked her where was good to eat dinner. She showed me a bunch of ethnic places (Thai and Indian). She mentioned that she'd been working since 7 AM, but was excited that she didn't have work the next day. We went to the Indian place she didn't like and it was quite good.

Over dinner, Scott and I discussed my game plan. The more I talked and thought about it, the more nervous I began to get. I ordered a big beer with dinner for a little liquid courage. For dessert, I had another beer -- double the courage, right? Unfortunately, I consumed both so fast that, by the time I was done, I was a little queasy and tipsy. A summer of not being 21 in the US and working full-time had killed my tolerance.

I ambled over to the receptionist's desk. We talked and I asked her where the good places were to party. She pointed several out, and I suggested she accompany me that night, to show me the local side of Uppsala. She said, "Well... I'm not entitled to associate with guests," and looked up at a wall clock, "but I get off work in seven minutes. I'm probably going to have a shot at the bar, my sister's the bartender, and then call it a night."

"Ok..." I said, "I guess I'll see you there." I ejected.

"Yeah, see you there!" She called out after me.

I scurried over to the lobby's computer for guests and stared at the screen, surfing facebook to pass the time before she got off work. Minutes felt like hours, then like days, then like years. My heart started pounding hard and loud in my skull and I was gripped by a basic Fear. Before I knew it, fifteen or more minutes had passed. I bugged out. I made excuses why I shouldn't go in and went back up to my room.

"So what happened?" Scott asked, munching on some chips and watching MTV. The Real World was on, and a bunch of American kids were romping through Sydney, Australia.



"Nothing. I didn't even go into the bar." I groaned, flopping onto my bed. I was totally disgusted. "When I finally get to talk to this dream girl, and she wants to hang out, I don't even know what to do or say with her." I said, muffled by the pillow that I was burying my head in. I probably hoped it would suffocate me.

This was a low point. Scott hadn't wanted to go out to bars or clubs; he'd been budgeting for living in the woods, not rolling through the Swedish night life scene. I was in no mood for partying anyway. I completely crawled into my self -- I wanted to diminish into a point of nothingness in a dark closet. My ego withered and... well, you get the point. It sucked and I felt like ****.

(continued in my next post...)

You got to go to Sweden

EDIT: Sorry, can't seem to delete post. Please continue to Grismath's story below. I found this line particulary funny:

The next morning, I went for a fantastic, refreshing run. Scott eventually got up and flipped on MTV "SUNRISE." We got some breakfast, but afterward, Scott remarked that he suddenly felt very drowsy. He passed out. I was wide awake. After an hour or so, I got fed up of waiting. I hadn't come all the way from America to watch MTV and sleep. I told him I'd meet up with him at the hotel later and got on the next train to Stockholm.

Solo in Stockholm, I hit up the old city and did some touristy stuff (including eating a "meatball sandwich" that looked like someone vomited on a slice of bread in a 14th century dungeon that was blasting Enya from the speakers...???). On the way to the Modern Art museum, I saw some ferries docked and, on a whim, I hopped on board. Before I knew it, I was in the Stockholm archipelago. I got off on the island of Grinda and hiked into the woods.

At last I was alone in nature, free from the judgment of others and myself. I let the anxiety of the previous night dissipate and tried to be at peace... when I looked at the ferry timetable and realized that I'd been looking at the Monday-Friday times. I flipped the timetable over to the Saturday listings and noticed, to my great alarm, that the last ferry of the day was arriving in twenty minutes -- on the other side of the island.

I sprinted through the woods, jumping off rocks, hurdling over fallen trees, and running through a bedsheet's worth of spiderweb threads. The ferry was pulling into port just as I got there.

That night, back in Uppsala, I was determined to make up for my sins of anxiety and skittishness and hit the town. I found Scott in a state of utter vegetation; he had watched a The Real World marathon of back-to-back episodes all day long. He claimed he had gained a new understanding of American culture. He didn't want to come out clubbing. He had to find out who would win a trip to Europe and whether or not Corey and Jen were going to get back together. I was solo again.

In the general vicinity of one of the clubs I'd heard about, I stopped two girls who were obviously on their way to a party. As a bassline thudded in the distance, I asked where exactly the club was. They were giving directions, but mentioned that the club was for ages 25+. The other nearby club was 23+.

"I'm twenty!" I said, "is there anywhere in Uppsala that I can go?!" The girl said there was only one place: People (the club). I set off in that direction, but got totally lost. I was going in circles and back around my hotel, when I saw another duo of girls, one finishing off the last drops of a wine bottle. These girls definitely would know where the party was at.

"I'm looking for People," I said. "I know we're people, but I mean, People... the club..."

"We're going to People!" the blonde one said.

"It's just that way!" the other blonde one chimed in.

"Come with us!"

So now I was in a group, we picked up two guy friends on theirs on the way who didn't speak any English, and we got to the club. There wasn't a line, but the lead girl was going back and forth with the bouncer in Swedish.

"What's going on?" I asked one of the guys. He shrugged, but made more or less clear he didn't know what I was asking.

I asked the girl, and she claimed that they had left their IDs four kilometers back. She said to go in and she would see me in there. I highly doubted that but got their names and said goodbye.

The club was typical Euro fare. Everyone was chanting/singing along to a Swedish song when I got there, so I headed for the bar. I went from the bar to the bathroom to the wall. I didn't know anyone, I didn't have a "support group" or "home base..." but it forced me to get out of my element and meet people. I ended up working the whole room, meeting some hot Swedish nurses, a girl who worked at UBS (the Swiss financial institutiton. I was all, "wow! I'm a business student, I want to work there, too!" She responded, "yeah... I work as a phone operator." oops), and I even ran into the girls from the street again, who gave me hugs and kisses and promptly left the club to find their guy friends.


(pic from that night, the dude in the background might as well be me ;))

I didn't have much "success" per se, but what I had succeeded in doing was getting out of my shell and interacting with people, and having a good time in the process.

The next day, at the airport, Scott and I went to the bookstore for some reading material. "No way," he said, pulling a book from a shelf, "I'm surprised they have this." He handed me Neil Strauss' The Game:



It's written by this journalist/author who's assigned to do a story on the "pickup artist" subculture/community and ends up getting sucked in. He starts out as a disciple on the "best in the world," meets self-proclaimed gurus of various competing schools of thought, and eventually rises to become himself the "best in the world." He devotes himself full-time to picking up chicks with ridiculous success, but finds that a lot of people doing it became shallow "social robots" and interpersonal manipulators. While I took it all with the necessary grain of salt, it was a fascinating read.

I got a chance to put the vicarious confidence boost I gained from reading Strauss' successes and his theories into practice as soon as I got back to Boston. Karina is a smokin' Danish exchange student who was apartment sitting for me while I was off on my adventures and while she was hunting for an apartment of her own. I invited her over to return my spare keys and although she only wanted to come for a moment, she stayed for a while. Conversation turned stale, so she went to leave, but things picked up as I tried to hail her a cab and she suggested we hang out soon.

She met me a day or two later after class and I took her for a walking tour of the city, culminating in a picnic overlooking a perfect sunset across the Boston skyline.



As the tour went on, she'd warmed up and become more and more flirtatious. She also mentioned her boyfriend on three occasions, whom I'd met for a moment in Copenhagen. On the way back from the harbor and into the now-lit-up city at night, I ran her through Carl Jung's personality test. She picked a body of water (the Thames River) which she described as "dirty" and "connecting." This was the most suggestive and hilarious response I've ever gotten to the question, as I revealed that the body of water was meant to symbolize one's sex life. She gave a mischievous laugh. On the subway ride back, we had a staring contest and other silly things. When we parted ways up top, she suddenly gave me a big hug. As she pulled back, we looked into one another's eyes for a moment and then abruptly gave our "see ya's" and parted ways. Any possible moment came and went.



Now I'd like to think that my conscience reared its head and apprised me of the ethical faux pas that I would have made in "sealing the deal." However, my argument is that study abroad is notoriously deleterious to relationships. If I had made a move, I would be fine with her accepting or her denying (based on fidelity to her man)... but what would kill me would be her denying me (based on a lack of game/slickness/whatever) and then, as her resolve weakens, hooking up with the rest of Boston. I'd like to think that we came to the edge and turned back, and next time we'll come to the edge and I'll take one step over, but I don't think this is the case. Did I blow it for good? What's a Massassian to do?

Neil Strauss writes about "one-itis," though, and that you rarely get the girl you really, really want, so to vanquish these freeze-up moments and get more comfortable, I've started meeting girls all over my university. I got two numbers today, one which turned into a lunch right after and the other which would have turned into a concert tonight had it not been sold out.

Do you find it strange that I'm going out of my way to be outgoing and meet a lot of people? (one friend did) What have been your recent experiences and success with meeting girls randomly?

A third girl, a French exchange student (I've been running into an unusual number of them lately), remarked, "Why does everyone keep asking me for my phone number?? I guess it's the American way..."



Hmmm... yeah, I'm also baffled how she could possibly be getting so much attention.

well, i'm meeting a girl from the internet tomorrow

hopefully she doesnt kill me

Holy photoshopped jailbait euroman.

and yeah, swedes are ****ing hot

hopefully she doesn't have a surprise for you either

this is the only girl thread I want

http://www.cracked.com/blog/2008/09/05/the-issue-sarah-palin-must-address-i-want-to-see-her-naked/

Only obliquely related, but I was talking to a guy at a bar last night who brought up The Game. I've been aware of the book and Strauss for some time, but that was the first time I'd heard about it in awhile, and now Gris posts this. Weird.

No stories of my own to add, but I've heard encouraging rumors of undergrad girls "studying" in the law school library.

I'm telling you -- combine the forces of Grismath and Jep and Ruthven, and the women would be flocking!

Anyway, I don't think it's odd that you're doing the whole social thing. I've been trying to do what I can too, though I'm no longer in college and have had far less success than you so far. Keep at it man! You'll be in hot lady action in no time!

I've been trying to be more friendly and less misogynistic towards females recently. In the past I haven't really valued any females as long-term friends, but I managed to make a work-friend out of the receptionist at the office I'm interning at. It's pretty weird because I mess around with her as if I were still in high school (I'm pretty immature at 21) but she still seems interested in being friends. Today I found out she's like 32. I thought it was pretty weird that I was able to forge even the most superficial of friendships with someone given my standard social behavior.

Just how exactly do you "mess around" with this receptionist?

CRAAAAAAWWLING IIIIIN MY SKIIIIIN!

Seriously though, wtf? The approach is usually the hardest part for guys and you seem to have that down. Follow up is easy.

What, no condoms? (jokes people, jokes)

Also, as "The Game" points out from your description, people who center their social lives(or even lives period) around picking up as many chicks as possible and treat it as some kind of epic conquest mission tend to become complete husks of human beings that completely lose the point of social interaction in the first place.

I don't know. The approach might be harder from a psychological standpoint, but from a technical standpoint it's a lot easier to not **** up "Hi, how's it going, I'm _______, pleased to meet you," than it is to not **** up an extended conversation. I can definitely understand being bad at small talk.

I actually find the approach relatively easy myself. It's going from approach to stepping beyond more than friends that kills me.

STICK IT IN HER POOPER

/b

You're a very good writer, Gris. You're also my new hero.

I've seen Gris in action (trying to pick up girls, not sexing me, shame)
so i have a different spin on things.

Grismath has looks, personality, and confidence, he chatted up a nice girl at the bar when he came to woking to visit me.

Theres one thing about his style i have a problem with.

Josh, you care too much. You see the evening as some kind of failure if u dont get anywhere with a chick. If u try too hard it wont work.

You need a healthy amount of apathy (not like mine, i'm not asking you to be an arrogant ******* to women like me), but relaaax.

And also, stop hitting on blondes. Blondes are rubbish.

if(getThingFlags(source) & 0x8){
  do her}
elseif(getThingFlags(source) & 0x4){
  do other babe}
else{
  do a dude}

i read about half of it before i gave up
MAYBE I'LL TRY AGAIN LATER WHEN I FEEL LIKE A BOOK NEEDS READING

Yeah, ever since I got to college I've found that those who attempt to go out with the intent purpose of trying to pick up a chick, are 99% of the time *******s. I gave up on it long ago. It's amazing how much more confidence you can have when you just talk to girls without the intent of picking them up, but just talking to them as a new person you've met.

Also, you feel a lot better with yourself after a night. If you go out with the intent purpose of picking up a chick and you don't, it feels like you"failed". If you just go out for the purpose of partying, you did, and you feel good. "Hey, I wanted to go out and have some fun, and I did".

prank calls, 'misplace' her paperclips, cover her entire dest with post-it notes... you know...

jeesh... you have an amazing talent for writing about your excursions.

I saw this thread and immediately thought of this comic: