|
THE YEAR OF LIVING
DANGEROUSLY
CHAPTER THREE:
THE MISTRESS BOOK
Written by Rick
Archer
|
My defeat at Colorado
State had turned me into a failure at love and a failure at
career.
There
was no Plan B after Dr. Fujimoto eliminated my plans to
become a therapist. As for
women, Vanessa had turned me into a quivering coward and the
apathy of the Nifty Fifty had made things worse.
I needed a new career and I needed to do something about my
acute loneliness.
However, I was
also
broke. Before anything else
I needed to get a job. That was the easy part. I had a
natural inclination towards social work. That is why I
had chosen to become a 'therapist'. Since the
therapist
option was down the drain, I decided investigating reports
of child neglect would allow me to continue my desire to
help people. However, I never saw this job as a career
path. It was something to do while I tried to put my
life back together. There were several professions I
was interested in. High school history teacher. Computer
programmer. Sports writer. Unfortunately, each of
these directions required further education. Due
to my bitterness towards Dr. Fujimoto, the last thing I
wanted was to head straight back to college. Since
finding this social work job allowed me to postpone a return to
college, I put thoughts about career on hold
and turned my attention to solving my acute loneliness.
|
During my long
drive from Colorado to Houston, the concept of the 'Epic
Losing Streak' had begun to form in my mind. I
knew I had a long history of running from my problems with
women. However leave it to Vanessa for making me realize just
how serious this problem was. In the past I had used
the next stage of my education as a reason to postpone
facing my problems. Feeling inadequate around the
girls at St. John's, I told myself to wait till college.
After a series of painful rejections in my freshman year of
college, I
decided to take a brief siesta from girls and concentrate on
school for a while.
Unfortunately, the Land without
Women made it really difficult to find women to talk to,
much less date. Frustrated, I decided it was easier to continue my
siesta than to tackle solving my problems with women.
I decided to wait till graduate school to try again.
Unfortunately, not only did things fail to improve in grad
school, they got
worse.
And that brings
us to Houston. It is July 1974. Unfortunately,
there is no 'next stage' of my education, at least
not at the moment. I decided it was time to tackle the
most urgent problem in my life once and for all.
However
there was one major difference. I had spent the past
ten years kicking this problem down the road. Now that
I had been tossed from graduate school, there was no
tomorrow. Unless I wanted to risk being lonely for the
rest of my life, this problem could not wait any longer.
|
 |
Determined to solve my problems with
women, I was in for a nasty surprise.
My return to Houston revealed that my problem was far more
serious than I realized. I found myself so paralyzed
by the fear of rejection that I turned into a hermit every
night after work. Sitting in the solitude of my
apartment, I had never been more lonely in my
life.
|
 |
It had been easy finding
50 young ladies
to chat with in the CSU Psychology
Department. There were so many women on
campus, I was always bumping
into some girl I knew.
Knowing
I would be returning to Houston soon,
perhaps my lame duck status explains my half-hearted
attempts to approach them. Whatever the reason, it was
alarming to see how easy it was for each prospect to ignore
me. As one woman after another failed to show
interest, my fear of approaching the next woman grew
proportionately. My repeated failure weighed heavily.
Vanessa had started my downfall, but it was the ongoing
disdain of 50 women that put the 'Epic' in my Epic
Losing Streak.
Now that I
was back in Houston, there was no one to
talk to. I had no friends to look up. My
apartment project was devoid of women.
The women at my job were married.
What
should I do? I
could try visiting a nightclub and try my luck. However that was out of the
question. Due to the Curse of Vanessa, the mere thought of approaching a woman in a bar was
enough to trigger a major panic
attack.
The idea of going up
to a girl I did not know was so intimidating that my heart
was thumping and I broke out in a cold sweat.
This was way beyond
normal. I trembled with a strong sense of dread.
I was lightheaded and dizzy.
I had sweaty palms,
increased heart rate, shortness of breath,
muscle tension. These were the
classic physical symptoms of extreme
anxiety.
Shocked by the
intensity of my fear, at least I knew what the problem was. I had
developed a Phobia known as 'social anxiety disorder'.
Why did Vanessa choose Kenny over me? Convinced that
Kenny was so much better looking than me, I
became obsessed over the scars on my face.
My feelings of ugliness became so
severe, this turned into a form of
mental illness.
|
People
are Strange
When you're a Stranger,
Women seem Wicked
when you're alone
-- The Doors
During this tough stretch, the words 'Creepy Loser Kid'
ran through my mind on a daily basis.
I thought of Jason, my graduate student
friend back at Colorado State. Jason
had tried to persuade me that my
negative self-image was unnecessary. He said my scars were
not nearly as bad as I thought they were, so quit worrying
about it. I wish it was that easy. One look in the mirror
was all it took to lock me right back into my self-image as
ugly. In my case, at age 14 I had been truly hideous for
a year and a half. I would look
in the mirror and stare at my face covered with wall to wall
pimples. I was so repulsive, I would scream in despair.
Then came the scars. The
acne may have been temporary, but these scars were forever.
I was convinced a woman would take one look and
cringe. They probably would not say it out loud, but
inside they were repulsed. My experience with
Vanessa and the 50 women had caused my fear of a woman's rejection
to turn from 'Neurosis'
into a far more serious problem known as 'Phobia'.
Quoting the
definition from one of my textbooks, Phobia
is "a persistent, abnormal, and irrational fear
of a specific thing or situation that compels one to
avoid it, despite the awareness and reassurance that
it is not dangerous."
Phobias
are weird. They
make no sense to
the outside world, but the fear is real
to the afflicted person. Phobia is also very embarrassing to talk
about. It seems so silly to a
healthy person. "Just go up and talk to a girl,
Rick. How hard can that be?"
Easier said than done. It did not
matter that I understood my condition. The bottom line
is that I was stuck.
The intensity of my
fear had grown so great I could not even leave my apartment at
night.
Until I could find some way to conquer my fear, there was no
way I could force myself to look for a girlfriend.
|
 |
So what was I going to do about it?
One solution was therapy. No, that wouldn't work.
I had seen a therapist during the second half of the school
year after Vanessa left town. I had also spoken
extensively with Jason. Both men had done their best,
but I could not seem to conquer my fear. It was so
much easier just to hide from women that I refused to take a
risk. Another solution was medication. I was
totally opposed to that route. Unable to think of a
solution, I asked myself a scary question. Is it even possible for
my diseased mind to heal itself?
The answer was yes,
but only on one condition. I needed
to find some way to regain a sense of hope.
I learned the hard way at Colorado State
that failure breeds failure. I had 50 women to thank
for that realization. So now I needed success to breed
success. The first step was to
find a way to leave my apartment at night and approach women
I did not know. To do this required a confidence I did
not have. What would I talk to them about? Where
would I start? I did not even have to see a woman for
my fear to kick
in. Just the
fantasy of approaching an attractive
woman I did not know was enough to make me violently sick to my stomach.
It was even worse in person.
If I saw a
woman I was interested in, I would sweat and tremble with
anxiety.
The thought of striking up a conversation
with a woman I did not know threw me into panic. What
would I say to her? I didn't know any pick-up lines.
I had no idea where to even begin. Unless a woman
spoke to me first, I was helpless to say a word. I
understand how pathetic this all sounds. How can a
grown man be so pitiful? Well, take it from me, it is
possible. I had been hurt in a very cruel way.
Cursed by wounds that refused to heal, I was crippled with
fear that betrayal could happen again with the next girl.
That fear cost me my voice.
|
My paralysis continued for three weeks in
July.
The vision of a
pretty blonde in a nightclub should not be able
to evoke the level of panic typically reserved
for life-threatening situations. However, that was
exactly my problem.
Every night for three weeks I
sat there for hours thinking of ways to
approach women. Each night I would
tremble at the mental image of a girl
laughing at me in disgust. How long was
this going to continue? Probably forever. Maybe
it was time for another very long siesta.
Fortunately I caught a break. As I drove home one night in
late July, Vanessa was on my mind as usual.
This
Phobia was Vanessa's fault, it had to be.
I
was angry to discover the Curse of Vanessa had followed me from
Colorado to Houston.
Just then I
passed a
bookstore.
That
gave me an idea.
Maybe there was a book that could explain the ABC's in developing a
conversation with a stranger. I had always been pathetic when
it came to small talk, but maybe I could find a book with a recipe I
could follow.
Scanning the racks,
I saw nothing in the self-help section with any promise.
However I did notice a used
paperback titled The Mistress Book. The
book promised to explain how to get a Mistress of my very
own. Given that my father's Mistress had ruined my
life, how could I not be curious? Besides, more than
likely the task of
finding a mistress and finding a girlfriend would require
similar skills. I decided to take a peek.
|
 |
 |
The author was a
self-proclaimed ladies man who trumpeted his many conquests.
In essence, Jim Deane had
written this book as tribute to his well-honed ability to get laid.
Deane was also a self-improvement junkie. He worked tirelessly
to make himself more interesting, thus improving his ability to
entice women to his bed.
As I
read Deane's explanation of the steps he had taken to become
irresistible, his
hostility
towards women was so thinly concealed that I was about to
put the book back. However, for some reason, perhaps
due to one of those curious suggestions we get every now and
then, I decided to see what year this book was written.
Which, in retrospect, was a very odd thought. I cannot
remember a single book before or since where I cared about what year
a book
had been written. But it mattered today, so I took a look. The page I turned to said, "To Vanessa. Who's sorry now?"
The coincidental appearance of Vanessa's
name was so surprising,
I stopped breathing.
Was this some sort of omen? As painful
memories of Vanessa's lies and cheating flooded in, a dark
smile crossed my face. I doubted this was the same
Vanessa as the one who put the stake in my heart. But
the way I looked at it, any man
with a grudge towards a woman named Vanessa was sure to be a friend of
mine. Was this God's way of telling me to read this book? It
sure felt that way. I was
so shocked I pulled out a pencil and circled the phrase.
Then I headed to the checkout counter.
For
the princely sum of one dollar, I purchased the book that would change
my life.
|
JULY 1974
LEARNING TO
DANCE
|
|
Deeply shaken
after seeing Vanessa's name in the dedication, I
had reconsidered my decision to forget the book. Now I
was glad I did. When I got home and started to read, I
came across a section on "How to Meet Girls".
That was clearly a subject I needed help with, so I read for
a bit.
Chapter Three was titled "Develop
Interests Which Facilitate Socialization."
The chapter listed the three
easiest ways to meet girls:
Cooking, Talking, Dancing.
I discarded
the "Cooking" idea first.
Be a great
cook, invite a woman to your apartment for dinner,
supply
copious amounts of wine to loosen them up, then
seduce them after the meal. That's what it said; I am not
making this up.
Although the seducing part
sounded like fun, my cooking skills were far too
limited to expect any success. My idea of cooking was
heat a hotdog,
boil an egg,
make a
peanut butter sandwich, pour a bowl of cereal.
Copious amounts of wine with a hot dog? It would never
work. Since I had never felt a bit of interest in learning to cook, the thought of using food
as a way to seduce women
was too far-fetched to consider.
I studied the
"Conversation" option more carefully. This had
some potential. After all, I had once thought
"talking" was one of my strengths. However
thanks to my black widow girlfriend, I had been rendered
totally unable to speak to any
woman I found attractive. Due to my arrested development
(no dating in high school, minimal dating in
college), I had never been much of a charmer around
girls. Now things were
much
worse.
My lethal
relationship with Vanessa had left me scared
me to death
around practically any woman who was close to my age.
Most
people would say a pretty girl is harmless, but I knew
better.
A rabid dog could
not have terrified me any more than a pretty girl who smiled
at me. In my mind, a pretty girl and a growling dog
were equally dangerous. Actually, a pretty girl was
more dangerous. Mere stitches would solve a dog bite,
but I knew from bitter experience that a pretty girl could
shatter my life.
|
 |
The thought of going up to a girl I did not know and
striking up a conversation was out of the question.
Although I needed companionship in the worst way, the thought of "talking" to a woman
literally scared me to death. I felt so completely
defenseless that I was sure I would end up getting hurt
again. Given my speech impediment, what I needed
was some way to get a girlfriend without having to go up
and talk to her.
Okay, cooking
was out and so was conversation.
The only thing left was
the third suggestion, Dancing. Hmm. Maybe I could
hang a sign that said "Would you like to dance?" around my neck. Surely some girl would take me up on my offer.
Once she was in my arms she
would fall completely in love. Hey, if it
could work for Beauty and the Beast, why
not me? But that was a fairy tale. And there was no
guarantee I had the necessary ability.
Nevertheless, I mulled it over. The more I thought about it, the
more the idea of
learning to dance intrigued me.
I
studied the book's Dance Suggestion with the fervor of a Bible scholar leafing through Genesis.
|
 |
 |
"As old as you
are or young as you are, there is
something... somewhere... that you can
become expert at if you just take the time
and trouble to explore it. Believe me,
both the time and the trouble will be
greatly rewarded. There are certain
skills which can stand you in good stead
wherever you go. These skills may even
on occasion prove to be the fillip that
turns a girl's head in your direction
instead of the guy who's competing for her.
Dancing is one of them. I won't say
that everyone can be a great dancer, but
most men can be good dancers. And in
certain situations there's
no easier way of
meeting a girl than to ask her to dance.
Furthermore there are
certain skills which on occasion might
stimulate a girl to turn her head in your
direction
instead of the other guy who is competing
for her. Dancing is one of them.
I won't say that everyone can be a great
dancer, but most men can be good dancers.
The stakes of the game being
what they are
and
the effort involved being as slight as
it is, there is no reason why a man should not learn to
become a good (or at least a tolerable) dancer."
-
Jim Deane, Mistress Book
I read that
passage over so many times I practically had it memorized. There
was one line that caught
my eye... 'no easier way of meeting a girl'
.
That sounded good to me. I definitely needed "the
easiest way". Another line claimed
that 'dancing was a skill that might turn a girl's head in my direction' rather than the other guy
competing for her. Since I had just come up on the
short end in the contest for Vanessa's heart, I was eyes
and ears for any trick that could turn the tide in my favor
the next time around.
|
"The
stakes of the game being what they are..."
Seriously, given the seriousness of my plight, could more
powerful words have been written? No. To this day, I
am sure that Fate intended for me to see this passage.
The Mistress
Book emphasized the importance of finding a location
where a man could look his best. Women have been attracted
to excellence since the beginning of time. If a man was
serious about meeting women, first he should develop a skill which women could
appreciate, then locate a venue to display his skill. The name of the game is to be good
at what you do and find a place to be visible while doing it.
Take
Mick Jagger. Put him on a beach where no one knows who he
is. Pale, scrawny, stringy long hair, 5' 10", 130 pounds,
not a muscle in his body. If he's smart, Mick will leave
his shirt on. But what difference does it make?
Jagger is likely to be completely ignored. He's in the
wrong place. Put Jagger on a stage and watch the women
scream.
Not everyone can
be Jim Morrison or Mick Jagger. Fortunately there is
a place in this world for lesser lights to shine.
I would place 'Dance Teacher' in a category similar
to 'Piano Man' at the neighborhood bar. If a
man puts his skill in the right place, women will notice him.
The Mistress Book said that women love to dance.
That turned out to be true. Disco music invited women to
move their bodies in the most exquisite ways. Pulsating
beat, suggestive lyrics, and the revealing outfits all went hand
in hand. Ladies took great delight in wearing outfits that
displayed their figures to perfection. The music invited women
to lose their inhibitions... and so they did. On any given
night, I would spot a dozen women who took my breath away.
All I had to do was ask them to dance.
|
 |
There was,
however, one
great irony at work here.
"and
the effort involved being as slight as it is..."
Those
words bounced around in my mind for days. I remember
exactly what I thought. "Well, gee, if
learning to dance is that easy, why not give it a try?"
I have always
felt like the Universe played a trick on me. Before I
read this book, I already knew I could not dance a lick.
So why would I agree to learn a skill I was unlikely to
succeed at? Because I was desperate. Because the
book said the effort involved was "slight" and I was
foolish enough to believe it. But mostly I did it
because I believed God had intended for me to follow this
path. Did I ever imagine this could lead to a career?
Absolutely not. I was just trying to find a way to get
to First Base with a girl.
Unfortunately it took THREE
YEARS to learn to dance. It took ONE MORE YEAR to get
established as a dance teacher. How many girlfriends
did I find in those four years? One. Celeste
lasted a month. She was awful. The point is that I slogged through four
years with virtually no payoff. What a ridiculous
waste of time! Given the lack of results, why did I
continue? Because I thought this is what God wanted me
to do. That is the absolute truth. I never
intended to be a dance instructor. It was all a fluke,
a Cosmic accident based on a series of lucky breaks.
And the luckiest
break of all was running across The Mistress Book
when I did.
|
 |
|
THE
LOST YEARS |
| |
|
036 |
Serious |
Coincidence |
1974 |
| |
Seeing the Mistress Book dedicated to 'Vanessa' was so improbable,
it felt like an Omen. This convinced Rick to buy the book that
begins his Magic Carpet Ride and takes his life in an entirely new
direction |
|
| |
|
|
