The Judge's Story

So, as my birthday winds down and I officially begin life as a 25 year old, I sit in front of my computer a little drunk at 11:31p.m. and plan on writing my bio – from AFC to PUA. I love relating my experiences from the field and helping guys any way I can, but I think this post is important because it’ll give you an idea where I’m coming from and the man behind the ominous appellation: The Judge.

First, you have to understand the importance of this day, it’s significance. Probably at this precise moment exactly 1 year ago, I was making out with my ex-girlfriend for the last time. I remember the thoughts that surged through my head when our lips met in my parent’s basement as “Little Miss Sunshine” droned to no one on the t.v. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have this girl – who I thought was my dream girl – back in my life. I remember how strangely good it felt to once again be in her warmth, to feel her validation. As we kissed slowly and I glanced at her face – illuminated by the glow of the t.v. – I thought she was the beautiful woman in creation.

I now know I was a complete AFC.

But let’s begin at the beginning, before I knew the stigma of those 3 letters…

January 2, 1983: I am born.

And, from my earliest conscious memory, I was obsessed with women. Back then, they were girls – little girls – but I can remember as early as kindergarten my infatuation with girls. Their shape, their smell, their everything. I can still see myself, walking in boy-girl order through the halls of my grammar school, and being the only guy to realize that being sandwiched between two girls was a good thing.

Loving women has always been a part of me.

However, as I grew older, I grew fatter. And weirder. And uglier. But my obsession never ceased. This creates the worst kind of person, the worst kind of man. The sort of boy/man who needs women’s validation yet never receives it. I remember numbing myself to rejection at an early age. I was in 5^th grade, handing a note to a girl I thought I was in love with. I remember I asked, “Let’s go on a friendly date.” I remember the girl wrote back, “What’s a friendly date?” I remember my utter happiness that she didn’t flat out say “no.”

I was pathetic.

And it only got worse. For whatever reason, I believed I belonged with the “cool kids”. Despite being overweight, unattractive, and abrasive, I had a sense of entitlement. In a lot of ways, that sense of entitlement never diminished. Now it’s probably a good thing. Back then, with no way of justifying what I was entitled to, it was a bad thing. I was able to penetrate the “cool kid” ranks, but as a clown, as their jester, as a joke. By 6^th grade, I was hanging with the cool kids, but I was forever supplicating to them, playing for their enjoyment.

And by junior high, this reached critical mass. Imagine an overweight goofball with acne and a horrible comb over. That was me. Girls dated me, but out of pity or as a joke. I remember my first kiss at the age of 12. It was with a girl I was obsessed with. Crystal. That name is etched into my skull. We “frenched” once and then she was gone. I “frenched” other girls behind dumpsters or at cheesy makeout parties but I never got the “serious action” my friends were privy to. I began to wonder why. I began to understand what to F in AFC really meant.

Then a great thing happened. My parents enrolled me in an all-boy high school in Queens, NYC. Perhaps the advantage of a socially awkward fat kid enrolling in a school for all boys isn’t obvious at first glance. It wasn’t to me either. But it changed my life. It began when I joined track. At first, it was simply to lose weight. I ended up losing 30 pounds in my first month and becoming a standout athlete. Then my social status took hold. The social hierarchy of all-boy schools isn’t like public schools. You aren’t judged by your clothes or your popularity or any other superficial indicator of “coolness” anyone from public school is used to. (Interesting side note: Much of what you’re “judged” on in coed schools is what FEMALES deem important…very similar to how society allows FEMALES to set the standards of dating and sex…) No, in all boy schools you’re cool if you’re a cutthroat athlete, if you’re dominant, if you’re competitive and aggressive. Luckily, I became these things very quickly.

After losing weight and losing my braces, I was actually a fairly attractive guy (I still had the comb over and bad style though). Girls began noticing me and “liking” me. I remember this being a novel thing – for a girl to say she found me attractive.

I noticed the significance of this when I lost a friend I preserved from my grammar school days. He was what you might call a “grammar school natural”. The guy all the girls used to love “back in the day”. But in high school, the tables turned. Something happened where he wasn’t attractive to anyone and I was. He never was able to deal with that. To this day, we still don’t talk. He’s a very jealous person.

However, I still couldn’t land the girls I really wanted. Still that hole within me gapped and the super hotties could smell the stench a mile away. Particularly, there was a girl Samantha. She was even initially attracted to me. I remember I’d wait for her name to pop up on my buddy list on AOL so I could shotgun a message to her. I’d anxiously wait for her response. I thought her compliments and validation would somehow fill the hole within me. Fill in all that time as loser. As I was hoping and imagining she moved on to better, more confident guys.

But then another great thing happened. My cousin – who is a complete Guido and therefore understands style – dragged me to a barbershop. My silly combover was replaced with a stylish shorter hairstyle that better fit my face. Then she took me shopping for new, better fitting clothes. In a matter of days, I looked like a new person.

And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Just as all this was happening, my all-male social group was merging with a group of girls from a Long Island all-girl school. In fact, the harbingers of our group brought back pictures (like recon photos in wartime) of the women of this group. We (about 5 or 6 dudes) perused the pictures perversely – rating the women in the crassest ways. There were fat girls in this group and hotties and in-between girls. But there was only one who stood out as a “perfect 10”. Her name was Dana. She’d be my first real girlfriend. And I wouldn’t get over her for 8 years. Presupposing I already have.

I remember the night we finally met with these girls. There were 5 or 6 of them and 5 or 6 of us. I knew all the guys were set on Dana. I knew the dynamics of all-boy schools was no different than the wild west: man versus man, no holds bars. We were all vying for the ultimate prize: a girl we’d all decided was the hottest chick we’d ever seen.

And I remember my expectations were completely fulfilled the first time I saw her. She was standing in her social group under the streetlamp by a bowling alley. The way the light flecked her blonde hair and perfect skin looked angelic. We all knew beforehand she was “shy” and her body language evinced it. She just sort of stood there, looking unsure of how to handle 6 guys ogling her.

Luckily, I perform my best under pressure.

That night I had the most incredible proto-PUA night in the history of my life. We all ended up going to this tool’s house to hang out. I remember I commandeered all the attention that night. Guys in the group tried to steal my spotlight but couldn’t. My stories were too funny. My wit was too quick. While the other losers were trying to kino Dana as she listened to my stories, I kept plowing and acted disinterested. Later in the night, I offered her my jacket (ultimate lock-in prop). The next day, when her friend IMed me to tell me “Dana likes you”. I literally fell off my computer chair. I thought the hole was finally filled.

I was wrong.

I dated Dana. I even made out with Dana. But it didn’t take long for her to see all those stories and wit were just an act. We dated for 6 months, but, in retrospect, she lost attraction for me after our first month (if that long). I reverted to acting like I thought women wanted: telling her she was the most beautiful person on the planet, buying her things, kissing her ass. I was average. I was frustrated. I was chump.

I quickly dated another super hotty immediately after Dana, but ended up in the “friend zone” a month later as well. But, after a few more failed relationships, a third amazing thing happened.

I met the Crusaders.

I know this sounds absurd now, and writing about it as a 25-year old makes me feel retarded, but the Crusaders were a group of “naturals” who showed me the ropes with women. Literary we were 4 guys who drove around in my mom’s purple minivan and fucked chicks. Our code word for sarging was “crusading” and we did. In one summer, between us we hooked up with 40 women! While we were never systematic about what we did, we simply made our agenda public (“we fuck woman in a purple minivan”) and allowed girls into this reality at their own discretion. As you can imagine, we have a canon of absurd stories from our Crusaders days (roughly my junior and senior of high school) which maybe I’ll post on here (I’ve written them in scenes for my novel).

Though, while I got tons of action with the Crusaders, I never completely kicked my AFC habits. For one, I chased Dana constantly, begging her to “try one more time” (again, I have a canon of hilarious stories of trying to woo her as if I was a horny Wile E. Coyote). I also acted like a little bitch with every girl I didn’t just use for sex or blowjobs.

Ultimately, this led to a resentment of women that brought me to my summer before I left for college. This incidentally was my best summer of sex and random hook ups in my AFC life. Since I no longer cared to even try getting involved with women (since every time I seemed to try, it ended “horribly” or as “just friends”), I treated every woman as a sex object, which was a surprisingly effective approach when you’re in high school and gaming HBs.

But then a horrible thing happened. College. Notably freshman year. After weeks of not hooking up with anyone, I regret to say I lowered my standards. The only time I’ve ever hooked up with beasts and fatties (barring times I was absurdly drunk or passed out) was during this time. The only respectable girl I hooked up with was right before finals when one of the Crusaders came for a “surprise” visit and I made out with a cheerleader. However, even this hook up was ruined when an obese football player threw up on both of us in the backseat of a cab (sort of a fitting metaphor for my entire first semester in college).

Then I met my girlfriend of 5 years.

(Wow, my history is longer than I thought so it’ll have to be “To be continued…”)