livinlargeinsf

i really don’t mean to stroke myself.  in fact i don’t consider it boastful.  i simply tell it like it is.  one could make the case that i am slightly egomaniacal but that certainly doesn’t mean i’m a chauvinist,  nor does it mean i am a pig ( ok. i might be a little bit of a pig.) 

that being said,  i am no misogynist.  i mean, my mother is a woman.  if anything,  i’m a hopeless romantic.  i am in love with being in love.  i also love women.  i love the way they smell.  i love the way they walk.  i love the dimples in their lower backs and their silky smooth skin.  anyway,  i think you get the point. 

i am fortunate to have always done extremely well with women.  since the summer after my sophomore year of high school my life has never quite been the same.  as long as i didn’t speak i was money.  as soon as conversation entered the picture i was like a runaway train derailing into a crowd of terrified spectators.  needless to say,  it wasn’t pretty.  we all have our awkward stages though and through years of therapy and thousands of dollars of anti-depressants i am now able to say complete sentences to girls who are atleast kinda’ cute and i can rattle off a few uninteligible mumblings to the really hot ones.

hey,  i’m no superman.  part of the whole dealio is putting yourself in the right places.  through my years of experience i have discovered that the two best places in the entire world to meet women are behind a bar and on a stage,  or rather right after walking off stage.  the list of stories i have from my bartending days is full of things which would make most anyone blush.  i also remember more than a few times where some lucky schlub went home with a girl i had been making out with in the back.  i couldn’t leave and she couldn’t wait… 

even better than bartending is the huge ‘wool magnet’ which immediately forms in one’s pants as soon as one steps foot on a stage strapped with a guitar and a microphone.  i can only say that it is truly magical…

you say “but mr. dardozzi,  i don’t play an instrument and in fact i’ve never shown any indication of even having rhythm…

also,  i really don’t have the interpersonal skills necessary for a job tending bar.”

or for others of you, “mr. dardozzi,  the oozing wound on my cheek prevents me from working in the service industry…”

do not fret young warrior.  all is not lost. whatever the case,  there is an answer which has been right in front of you the whole time…….sure it’s a tiresome cliche but it’s one which consistently rings true with all the veracity and clamoring of the liberty bell.  chicks dig money.  it doesn’t matter who you are or how genetically gifted you are,  women past a certain age are consumed with it and by it. 

so do you understand?  am i getting thru?  “yes, but mr. dardozzi,”  you say,  “can reality truly be as bleak as the picture you paint?  truly there is a woman who will love me for me.  she won’t care that i am working part-time at the payless shoe store in the mall.” 

oh my young warrior,  your naivete is both laughable and boob-like.  i have lived a life full of enjoying the spoils which accompany the fact that many,  many women desire ’the dar-bar.’  any girl who gets involved with me now seems to be more interested in my bank book than my abs. 

of course the obvious answer,  i guess,  is to start hitting on younger girls instead of the biological clock-challenged 30-something.  or you can just say fuck it,  get with the program, scream out ”i gotsta’ get paid,  homey.” and start slangin’ cane ’cause otherwise it’s gonna’ be you and your pillow beeatch!!! 

don’t be a little bitch!!!!!