Monday, October 22, 2012
Why so aloof? Because I think she'd mindlessly kill someone if she thought it would make me happy
One of the things I have always hated about being aloof is that women who show even the slightest hint of attraction toward me don't hesitate for a second to gobble up a big heaping plate full of rejection and distant attitude. And then keep coming back for more. Relentlessly. For anywhere from six months to two years.
I always see it coming. I know what they look like when that goddamned switch goes on in their heads. There's just an earnestness to their posture. You can see they're holding back a whole dam full of emotions. In truth, it reminds me a lot of when teenage boys are trying to do everything in their power to not be overtly, physically sexual around girls in order to play it cool. They just have a bounciness that betrays their feelings.
A while back I mentioned the current title holder of Most Relentlessly Earnest Chick Trying to Get Me.
A couple weekends back, she and I talked a bit -- she always initiates the chats. She commented about the fact I had cut my hair -- I wore it longer than shoulder length for a couple years. Now, she has ridiculously long hair, the type of long hair that frankly looks immature as fuck on an adult woman. I mean, down below her ass hair.
She said something to the extent of "Ermagerd, I could never cut my hair, I'd be so scared."
My response was, "That shit's a choice." End of conversation.
Now, this chick is worse than most of the women who have been dialed-in on me. And that's some pretty tough company -- go back and read my story of the chick who let a couple weeks of casual sex end with "Do you think I'm the kind of girl you could ever see yourself having kids with?"
A couple months back she saw me pushing up on a really slutty biker chick. The next time I saw her out, she went from being dressed like a typical American sweatshirt bum to a full-on, tits-out slut.
So . . . I should have known better than to tell her what I thought of her hair. This Saturday, there she was with her hair cut to a normal adult length. Just a shade below the shoulders.
One of the central conceits of being a woman is the notion that every guy is a horny beast who will bend to a woman's will if the offer of a good fuck is on the table. It's one of the big reasons chicks go full retard for an aloof guy.
But, it also carries with it something problematic I've noticed with how women respond to me. Once they get dialed-in on me, they become convinced that the aloofness is a product of something they're doing wrong. Which is sort of true, but earnestly trying to fix it just makes an aloof guy more and more suspicious. Aloof men don't trust easily. And we don't trust emotions. And we sure as hell don't trust people who act in earnest. And emotional woman who dives into love face-first will cause an aloof man to burrow as deep into his aloof psyche as he possibly can -- right down to the bedrock.
The thing is, this retreat by the aloof guy causes her to get worse. These women keep thinking if they just keep turning the knobs eventually they'll hit the right frequency and the aloof guy will hear that perfect tone and suddenly stop the aloofness and begin pursuing her the way she desperately wants. So, as he burrows down deeper and deeper trying to get away from her earnestness, she becomes more and more earnest, like a made scientist who can't just hang things up and go to bed, because she just knows in heart, in her bones, in her soul that if she can just fix that one more thing she'll have her run of the perfect guy.
And this chick's in bad. I mean, she's in full "I'd totally have your babies" mode. In truth, she's in full "I'd kill for you" mode. She's in this mode where she just keeps seeing me respond to certain women and she imitates what they do. She hears me say something and she immediately does exactly whatever off-handed thing I say to her implies she ought to do.
With a true aloof guy, that's so the wrong direction to go. You can't do that. We aloof guys don't trust intense emotions. That's the primary reason we are aloof! Come at us as hard as you can from as many directions as possible as often as you can makes the problem much, much worse.
Worse, I've seen this shit so many times before that I can game it out in the first couple minutes after I've met you. I'm accustomed to women taking thirty seconds to decide they would surrender their entire lives to me. I know that goddamned look in their eyes when it happens. I know the tilt of their heads, the change of their postures, the emotional swell followed by the slow letdown each time she sees me and she once again realizes it ain't happening today -- but godammit, it is going to happen soon, just as soon as she throws out tonight's batch of love potion and works on next week's batch.
And they do this over and over and over again in this painful, fucked-up cycle.
And the truth is, I enjoy it. My ego soaks that shit up. I love it. Seeing those girls who are hopelessly in love with me is one of the reasons I leave the house. It's probably my favoritest thing in the world. I love watching them deflate and die a little bit every time she sees me and once again that little play in her head -- the one where this time I show some interest, set aside the aloofness and ask her if she wants to go out sometime next week -- doesn't play out.
I'm fucking addicted to it. It's vastly superior to sex.
So, with this chick, she's really feeding in to the problem. I'm never gonna fuck her. Not even if we were talking uncommitted, meaningless, unemotional sex -- the only kind I ever consent to these days. She's not attractive enough for me to fuck. She's only even allowed to talk to me because she misread a shitload of obvious signs of my disinterest.
But, it doesn't stop me from vulturing that ego trip off her earnestness.
In other words, this hair cutting thing? Wow. Wrong . . . fuckin . . . move . . . It's just so much the wrong move I can't begin to express it.
There are basically two type of involvement a woman can have with a guy like me. There's the sexless emotional vampire relationship. And there's the emotionless sexual monster relationship. And there's nothing in between. If the emotional vampire relationship drifts toward sex, I'll kill it. If the sexual monster relationship drifts toward emotions, I'll kill it.
It's hopeless to think you're going to find the emotionally and sexually fulfilling middle ground with a guy like me. It's not gonna happen.
And every woman I've every known in my life who got dialed-in on me emotionally ends up pissing away months of her life trying to turn the knobs slowly and hit that perfect frequency where the signal gets through to me. And it's horrifying, because I know about two minutes in how it's gonna go. And there isn't a goddamned thing I can do to stop her from going through the motions, over and over and over and over and over again for months on end.
Only months later do I see the next big sign. That ugly, slightly sick to her stomach look. She'll look like she needs to cry, but she sure as hell isn't going to let it happen. She'll look like she needs to scream. I can always see it.
There's this ugly, dark, horrible moment when she can see me standing there -- this man that she's lived a whole perfect life with in her head -- and she realizes it's never going to happen and she starts to just hate herself for ever allowing it to come this. I can see how stupid she feels. I can see her anger. I can see just how gross and miserable and ill she feels.
And that's what I hate right now with this current girl. She is so dialed-in that she's just going to jam everything she can think of in there sideways and hammer it the fuck in there until it works.
I hate it because she's only getting to mid-process. I wish there were some socially appropriate way to just stop her. I wish I could just tell her, "I know you're in this really fucked-up place right now, but you need to stop this shit. Now."
Not that it would work. Women love distant, unavailable men. Overtly telling her I'm distant and unavailable would only make the problem worse. There's nothing sexier to a woman than a man who can do without her.
One of the central conceits of womanhood is this idea that some day you're going to find this perfect guy. This guy who doesn't need you, but who nonetheless wants you. He's going to be this big, tough, distant man who has his shit together and he just your love to open him up. All he needs is the right coaxing.
So what if he's 34 years old and has never been in a real relationship?! It can't possibly be your fault that every other woman on earth sucks!! Fuck those bitches! They aren't you, baby. You're The One. He's The One. This shit's going down. Everyone else just needs to get the fuck out of the way. This is happening.
And then there's the big comedown. That awful fucking week when it finally sinks he. You're not special. He's not The One. All the coaxing in the world isn't going to make him stop being who he is.
And that's actually the most awful moment. Because you can see that moment when she's right at the emotional cliff. When she's really, really thinking about throwing all caution to the wind and just having a big emotional blow-up in front of everyone. Over a guy who has never even told her his fucking name.
And then it hits. If she's pull that shit, she'll look mental as fuck.
One of the biggest fears that looms over women is the fear that if she ever laid it all on the line, everyone around them would wise up to what a fucking nutcase she is and never talk to her again. This fear runs parallel to a fear that if she never lays it on the line, one day she's going to die alone and her body will be slowly eaten by the house full of cats she owns.
One thing that sucks about being an aloof, distant man is you get a front row seat where you can see it written all over her goddamned face. You can see that exact moment a little piece of her soul goes dark, extinguished. You can see the moment she realizes that part of her is dead, never to return. You can see the moment she realizes that all that's left to do is amputate.
And every time I go out and run into one of these women, I know it's coming and there isn't a thing I can do to stop it. Two minutes after she says hello, I can see that moment her pupils dilate too much. I can see that moment her posture slackens. I can she that moment where she decides she's going to jump on me. She's going to fuck my brains out, cook for me, have my babies and no other man that ever meets her ever again should even bother.
At that moment, I just set the clock in my head. Because it's happening again. And I know how it ends. And I can't do anything to stop it.