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The Montreal Diaries (Part 1 of 3)

I landed in Montreal at about 9:00 PM on Thursday evening after spending the last ten days in Pittsburgh locked in a data center, with the occasional break to terrorize the town with my far-more-advanced Los Angeles refined game. First thoughts as I walk through the airport: Holy shit, everything is in French. No English at all. Freakin’ shithole Poland had more signs in English than Montreal.

After waiting an eternity for bags, I made my way to the bus to the city. Hopped off at the first stop and jumped on the metro which is a superior option, speed-wise, to get into the main parts of the city. For those interested in going to Montreal, three-day unlimited public transit passes are available for a whopping ~$13 USD. After hiking up the seven blocks and then four flights of stairs to my apartment, I settled in and made my game plan for the night.

Three day trips are not easy.

I do not recommend them for the inexperienced traveler or a man new to game. Quick blitzes are fun but they will take their toll. If you do a simple break-down of your time, and you must assume the following circumstances (assuming a Thursday-Sunday trip):

1.) Your first night may very well be a dud. It takes time to understand where to go and to understand the vibe of the city and it’s occupants.

2.) Unless you’re pipelining, you can forget about dates. A girl isn’t going to meet you Friday night and clear her whole life away to meet you on Saturday for a date. You’re a stranger from another city. Even if you’re high value it’s still not good odds.

3.) This leaves you with going for club/bar pulls. You must be willing to be close to the last man standing. Admittedly this is not my strength. I like my beauty sleep.

4.) Daygame is somewhat out of the question. I try not to be too much of a pussy hound when traveling. Days are my time to recover from the night before, sit in cafes sipping coffee superior to what we have in America, and eat good food.

5.) Other factors play into account, too. Certain bars are good Thursday. Some are good Tuesday. It’s helpful to do your research beforehand and know these things. You also never know if you might get hit with inclement weather, special events – and many more factors.

Yes, it does take some luck.

Montreal: Thursday Night

With that being said, I had my whole strategy for Montreal laid out. I was going to go out every night and go for broke. I had a couple of girls pipelined through online dating, but I decided I would only set up a date with one of them as a last resort.

After I failed to find a liquor store that was open at 11:00pm, I resigned myself to going out sober to start. I walked down the very famous St. Laurent Boulevard with my iPhone notes app full of places to try.

The first place was having a music show and wanted $10 to get in. Pass.

I walked by the three big clubs I had heard a lot about, Tokyo Bar, Muzique, and Apartment 200. Tokyo and Muzique both had lines snaking around the corner with absurd amounts of sausage in them. Apartment 200 apparently was guest-list only. So I wandered over to Cafe Campus, which was supposed to be a good spot for Thursdays along with Tokyo Bar.

It was dead.

An entire dance floor with two fat girls making fools of themselves with a dozen dudes sipping drinks watching them. I chatted up the cute bartender for a few minutes and asked for recommendations, but between the loud music, my non-existent French and her poor English, I didn’t really glean much useful information.

I decided I’d sit the line at Tokyo Bar out. While in line, I met a cool American student who had been living and studying in Montreal for the last five years or so. I actually gave him the blog address and he texted me about it the other day; so if you’re reading this, hey dude!

After about an hour of waiting in line at Tokyo, we got in for $5 and went upstairs. Awful place. Packed wall to wall with drunken frat boys stumbling around. There was even a line to get outside to the patio/smoking section. So we sat in that line, too. Outside was better. The noise level was acceptable and the approach I made was at least receptive. I quickly realized that these French-Canadian girls were at least going to be receptive to me – and being from Los Angeles helped. It was encouraging to know that at least the weekend wouldn’t consist solely of harsh rejections.

Nothing hooked and I left. Headed to Muzique, and were told it was $20 to get in. At this point in the night, I was still exhausted from traveling and it was already closing in rapidly on 3:00am. I said goodbye to my new friend and decided I’d be far better off resting up for the next two nights than playing Hail Mary game. Being completely sober from sitting in so many lines didn’t help the cause.

Montreal: Thursday Daytime

Woke up not hungover! What a wonderful (and rare) feeling for being on a trip.

In addition to the public transportation system, Montreal has a great bike program. $12 for three days and you can unlimited bike rentals; thirty minutes max, but if you go over you just pay a small fee. I rode around the Formula 1 track and the Old Port of Montreal.

After deciding I didn’t want to ride back up the hills to my apartment, I simply left the bike at a rack near the circuit, and hopped on the metro back towards my neighborhood. Stopped on the way to grab some groceries and some booze for the night.

Note: Only one store in Montreal sells hard liquor. SAQ. It’s absurdly overpriced. Some weird Canadian laws.

Montreal: Friday Night

After napping for a couple hours, I headed out around 9pm to get a head start on the night. I walked into a lounge-style bar just a few doors down from my apartment with the sole intention of just bullshitting and warming up for a half hour or so. But…there was a single girl who was just chilling after work and having a drink to herself. Long brown hair and hazel eyes. 5’9″ with a fantastic body. I opened her with simply, “Hey, I’m from Los Angeles. Where is good to go tonight?”

She hooked immediately.

I sat down next to her and within fifteen minutes my hands were running up her legs and she was touching me back. My same day lay sensors were going off. I bought a couple rounds and then suggested she come check out my apartment and drink some wine.

She said okay.

I get her upstairs, on the bed, and start escalating. I manage to get my hands touching outside her panties, and then she drops this bomb while shutting me down.

“I have a yeast infection.”


I take another shot and hamster myself into not caring. I try again. Absolutely nothing. She’s not having it. And frankly, I could smell something foul going on down there just from getting her legs spread, even with her panties on. I’m trying to push questioning whether or not I could catch a disease by sticking my dick in this petri dish, and if it’s worth it for the Canadian flag. But it doesn’t matter, as she’s not having any of it. On top of it, her car is parked on a meter and she’s freaking out about the time and whether she’s going to get towed.

I convince her to at least drop me off a mile away at a bar I’d heard was fantastic. So I walk her to the car, get dropped off, and bid farewell, never to see the yeast-infected girl again…


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