Friday, April 19, 2013

I think I've completely broken the women folk

These are two separate incidents that happened in two totally different environments.  Both are from this April, which is only worth pointing out because I am a firm believer that human mating behavior goes a little wonky in the early spring.

Incident the First

In advance, this section includes one of my boo-hoo-for-me cries about how tough I grew up.  If you don't like those, you're going to want to skip on down to the next bolded title.

I was out drinking with my ages old friend Art, who you may recall from one of my previous posts.  I was not feeling it very much that evening, so I was mostly drinking and yukking it up with people I knew.  (I realize the PUA types will call this "Social Circle Game", but put bluntly I don't do social circle game at all ever.)  I had spotted this one blonde chick who was giving me the distant look that implies "come try me".  I'm well aware of what eye contact means when you're at the bar.  Again, I wasn't feeling it, so I didn't follow up.

Later I needed to take a piss, so I went to the bathroom.  Along the way to the bathroom I blew past the chick twice.  I paid here no heed.  In fact, I didn't pay her any more attention than was required to not run into her.

Apparently she took extreme offense to this.  Once I got situated back with friends and talking, she comes walking down the bar and rams as hard as she can into my chest!  Then she says, "Oh, I didn't see you there."  I went completely silent.  Later the friend I was talking to at the moment said I gave her the "If you weren't a girl you'd be dead right now" look. 

One thing you have to appreciate about me, and particularly about the fact that I grew up in a fairly violent environment, is that my silence is one of the scariest things you can encounter.  If I don't engage you, then I don't want to be engaged.  If I stop speaking altogether, I am at the point where I am trying to not escalate things any further because the next escalation is the one where I may end you.  My complete silence is the very last thing that you still have to guarantee you get out alive.

Whatever the case, she looked at her friend, they both laughed.  And I remained silent.  And then they shut up and moved along.

A couple things I will say on this one . . .

First off, I apologize to every guy who would cut off his right hand for the opportunity to have a chick interested enough in him that she'd pull such a stunt.

Second, I apologize to every pick-up artist who felt a small disturbance in The Force when this incident happened.  Yes, I realize the amount of decent ass I've turned down in my lifetime is terrifying to guys who have rehearsed their entire lives to nail down routines that will get them laid.

Third, a word to the ladies: don't pull this shit!  The worst part about this chick is that in this crowd and in this bar, we were up to our necks in the poor, violent element I grew up around.  This was not even fucking remotely the environment to be trying to pull a stunt like that.  This was the kind of environment wear fights end with people losing an eye.  Or worse (maybe someday I'll post the story that ends with the loser of one such fight being tossed in a ditch and torched -- don't worry, it's not my handiwork, it was just my next door neighbor).

Fourth, this whole story does remind me of how awful my continuing attachment to the element I grew up around cripples my game.  I cannot express enough how badly growing up around the constant low hum of violence alters the way you run game.  You don't play alpha male around people who armed and prepared to kill.  Well, ya can, but I strongly advise you rethink what 2 a.m. is going to look like for you.

Sometimes when I read the Game and PUA blogs and read all these former dweebs casting about for definitions of alpha-ness, I can't help but shake my head at them.  Seriously . . . nothing about staring down a murderer makes you feel alpha.  It just makes you think about how you're going to kill him if he shows up again tomorrow.  It's easy for skinny white dweebs who grew up in middle class America to say you should cast caution to the wind.  Fuck with some of the people I grew up with sometime and we'll see where your sense of adventure takes you tomorrow.  (Hint: it's probably an emergency room.)

Anyhoo . . . enough of all that awfulness.

Incident the Second

This one occurs in an almost diametrically opposite environment.  I decided to hit up a country bar in a college town because it was the only place happenin' on Wednesday night.  If you can't guess from my previous post, I just haven't been feeling it lately.  Not a dark place.  But, not a good place to go out and game girls, either.

But, that doesn't stop me from sitting back sometimes and just enjoying the scenery.

I've always had a strange sort of play with women when I go toward the country demographic.  I have a red flannel shirt that I basically cannot fail to get laid in.  I once got laid after doing a model photo shoot for a black urban clothing line when I wore that flannel -- you seriously have some good ol boy game when you get a black model for an urban clothing line hitting on you by saying she wants to do a "lumberjack calender" with you.  I'm also pretty certain I could have taken home a few of the fellas that were doing the ladies' hair that day!!  ;-)

OK.  So . . . Those are my good ol boy game bona fides.  I got a lot of it.  Rarely use it, but in truth I may be the world's shittiest sexual underachiever, at least within the demographic of men who can get laid on any given night.

Anyhow . . . back to Wednesday night.

I'm chillin' and not chasin'.  Lots and lots of attention.  No red flannel game, BTW.  I was actually doing Italian cotton together with jeans and desert boots.  Country enough, but I could easily roll into a hip hop club and be admitted, too.

Toward 1 a.m., I opted to sit in this very long bench area they have that's kind of nestled back in behind the dance area.  I'm just sitting and this one chick sits down next to me, but she immediately starts chatting up this other guy.  Plus, she seemed sauced as hell and I don't game the extremely drunk chicks (Italian cotton doesn't come cheap or clean easily!). 

Her friend decides to muscle in between the drunk chick and me.  I'm not wild about it, but I let it happen.  I had seen this chick dancing earlier, but she didn't seem interested, so I paid her zero mind.  I figured she was just being drunk and dumb and wanted to sit with her friend.

After a minute I did my one every-now-and-then horizontal scan of my environment.  Good game habit, BTW.  Pause every now and then and just scan.  Take a fucking bearing every now and then.  Plus it lets your present company know they're not the only thing on your mind at any given moment.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the friend of the drunk chick kind of giving me the sideways glance that is the great female "OK, now . . ." hint.  Instead of responding, I went back to scanning.  Her response was a definite first for me: she took both of her hands and waved them directly in front of my face

See what I mean when I said I think I may have broken the women folk?

After my complete lack of response, she decided to scoot down the bench past both her friend and the guy guy her drunk friend was hitting on.  She eventually wrangled one of the guy's buddies and spent the rest of the night chatting him up.  (On the bright side, I managed to avoid chatting.)

And, yes, I once again apologize to all them men in the world who wished women would try stunts like these on them.  Sorry.  I'm broken.  I concur that it's a waste for this gift to belong to me.

Well, that's enough for this post.  Tune in next week.  At the rate things are going, I assume some chick will finally jump the shark and point a gun in my face and demand I go home with her.  Should eb fun to see how she responds when I ignore her and walk away!

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Why are men so aloof and mean to the girls they love?

[EDIT, Jan 2014: If you're a woman who's coming on here just to lecture me on how you like totally chew up and spit guys like me out, please save the hysterical behavior for some other dude. I get it, ladies . . . You're a precious little princess and you're gonna put me in my place. Yeah, sure, right. Girls make as wimpy of keyboard commandos as they do real life commandos, so save me your ego trip and consider barfing out your angst over your own failed sex life on someone else's blog.]

OK, I know I'm on a bit of a tear lately doing posts centered on inbound search queries, but . . . I also know that a good portion of my readership is made up of women asking the most fundamental question out there: why are men so aloof and mean to the girls they love?

Before I go into detail, on behalf of all the nice guys out there, I just want to remind the ladies that there are nice, non-distant men out there.  And women have an absolutely horrific track record of ignoring them in favor of pricks like me.  I've long insisted one of the big problems women have is that men who don't meet their first wave screening for sexual aggression traits are not even being counted as human.

So . . . just getting that out there ladies.  Ya just might wanna at least give a dweeb half a chance before you go off complaining about me.  Or guys that are worse than me!

Now that that is out of the way, let's address the why question . . .


I can only speak for myself.  But, my aloofness begins with trust issues.  As in, I just don't trust any fucking person.  That's not completely true, but the amount of time it takes to become a person I trust is prohibitive to a romantic relationship.  I expect loyalty from people.  I mean, old-fashioned "you grab the arms and I'll grab the legs and we'll throw this body in the pit" loyalty.

You gonna give a guy you just met that kind of loyalty?  Probably not.

Safe operating distance

Truth be told, I find that humanity and I operate better at a particular distance.  Just as you don't want to stick your face right into a smelter, I've found interpersonal relationships work better for me at a distance greater than arm's length.

Young women are a complete fucking joke

To put it brutally, women of breeding age aren't particularly worthy specimens when you get right down to it.  And women of non-breeding age . . . well, I'm not trying to breed with them for the most part.

The average female in her 20s makes a complete embarrassment of herself.  She humiliates herself chasing bad boys.  She ignores nice guys.  She tells herself a slew of ridiculous lies to protect her ego from her own incompetence.  And then one day she wakes up 30 years old and wonders how it all went to shit.

If I treat a chick like dirt, she follows me around like a lost puppy.  If I treat a chick nice, she picks on me.  If I ignore a chick, she goes out of her way to draw my attention.  If I pay attention to her, she acts like I should go fuck myself.

If we're being honest, why would anyone take such a creature seriously?

Only a complete imbecile (or a guy) would fail to figure out the pattern.

Life's tough and you're a terrible fit

I have never met a woman who I thought was even remotely up to the task of being the mother of my children.  So precisely why the hell should I care?

Maybe you're deluding yourself?

Are you so sure this aloof man who is being mean to you loves you?  Maybe your brain should cut off the line to your ovaries for a couple months and see if you get better results.

Maybe I'm just a prick

Be honest.  Go back and read everything I've posted.  Consider how similar to all the women in my life you are, sunshine.  It might just be a wake up call.

I'm 35 years old and I have never told a woman I love her.  Think very hard on that.

Maybe you're broken and just like chasing aloof guys

One thing I absolutely hate about women is their propensity to think they're somehow exempt from all the bullshit other women have gone through.  It is un-fucking-real the number of women who truly believe they're a unique and beautiful snowflake fluttering through life looking for their one and onliest soulmate.  Please stop doing this.

Consider the other possibility: you are broken and you enjoy chasing aloof men.

To paraphrase a line from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I'm some kind of notion to women.  I'm the brooding, distant, difficult man that just needs the right girl to come along.  And of course every girl who goes for me thinks she's The One.

You might want to consider that I am not worth the effort.  Consider the astonishing amount of years that women have wasted waiting for me to come around.  Again, take a read of the shit I have posted and just think of all the wasted human life all that shit represents.  Happiness postponed.  Relationships postponed.  Lives postponed.  Children postponed.  All waiting for one guy to come around because, by jove, you're The One and he's worth it!

Bullshit.  You're a dumbass.  And I'm a prick.

The Those Other Bitches Problem

One of the big problems women have is what I call The Those Other Bitches Problem.  Women's perverse need to think they're special leads to the belief that when they in deep for a guy that his faults aren't his faults.  Women believe that whatever didn't work out in that guy's previous relationships, it was the fault of . . . Those Other Bitches.

Those Others Bitches . . . they didn't understand him like I do.

Those Others Bitches . . . they didn't love him like I do.

Those Others Bitches . . . they didn't try hard enough.

Those Others Bitches . . . they aren't me.

Let's be clear: you are just the latest chick to sign up to be added to a list that some future chick will call Those Others Bitches.  You are a Future Other Bitch.  That's a dumb idea.  Don't let it happen.

Women always think they're so fucking special.  And they always think their love is so fucking special.  And they always think that this broken guy they crave is just waiting for her.

No, I'm not.  Too many of Those Other Bitches have already tried.  And ya wanna know the truth?  A lot of Those Others Bitches were better options than you.  Yeah, it's a nasty deal.  But, tough shit.  Not my problem, kitten.

Fixing a broken man isn't worth the effort

I realize that women roll their eyes at this because all the subpar specimens make them want to barf.  Who wants to buy a new Toyota Camry when you can fix up an old '64 Shelby Daytona?  (Just look them both up in Google image search to comprehend the metaphor.)

The problem is that men aren't cars.  You order parts to fix an aloof man online.  You know it;s true, because you're reading this because you went online looking for ways to fix an aloof man.  You are reading this right now because that was, in fact, your entire clever plan in sum.

Disabuse yourself of this notion now.

I'm not some abstract notion

This is the biggest mistake women make with a guy like me.  I exist right at the junction of the female need to nurture and the female need to fuck an aggressive male.  Lots of women like me because I am at once a broken little boy they want to fix and a mean old man that will fuck someone up.  It's potent mix for women.  Women like the idea that big, scary, distant, violent man can also be a quiet, distant, kind boy.  That shit is catnip for women.

The problem is, let's say it works out for you.  Now you have to live with me, dumbass.  You have to raise kids with me.  Pay bills with me.  How do you think that's going to work out?

The problem with women is that they're always fucking the guy in their head.  And of course, the guy in her head is special.  The guy in her head is going to break out of his shell and love her.  The guy in her head is just being distant because he doesn't know how to love -- and guess who is going to teach him, amirite?  The guy in her head is just mean because he needs someone to pull him in.  The guy in her head is just a wonderful mystery waiting to be sorted out.

The problem is you don't get to live with the guy in your head.  You get stuck with me.

Maybe you just like pining because it safer

Some women love aloof guys because they know it isn't going to work out.  And all those months of pining and pining allow her to just going on fucking the guy in her head.  No need to bother with the real thing.  You've got something better!

Guess what, shithead?  That's clinical neurosis.  Enjoy.

So, the problem is you, dear

It's not healthy to chase guys like me.  Fix yourself, bitch.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

The hispanic waitress story (long overdue follow-up to an ancient post)

This is a post about race and sexuality.

OK, upfront fact: not only am I white, I am about as white as they come.  I am one half Ozark white trash and one half Appalachian white trash.  Blonde hair blue eyes ruddy skin -- the whole fuckin white boy package.  Just check off all the goddamned boxes, including a wee bit of Native American ancestry on the Ozark side -- the single whitest thing a white person can claim, in fact!!! 

My dad was a runaway from Oklahoma who grew up on a farm.  My mom grew up in an unfinished basement that never got the actual house built on top of it -- in the middle of coal country.  Hell, her dad died of lung cancer contracted from work!  How fuckin Appalachian is that?!

So, no disputes are allowed here.  Genetically, I am as low a form of white trash as you can get without anyone actually blowing up a trailer trying to cook meth.  Hopefully that provides a bit of inoculation to what I am about to say.  Maybe not.  Maybe I'm just an asshole.  That's quite possible.

I like to read things that fall a bit outside my portfolio of expertise.  I was reading this blog post on the problem of black women having trouble finding marriageable black men.  I have no intentions of commenting at any length on that whole issue.  Suffice it to say, my viewpoint is that being a black chick in America is a shit deal, IMHO.  Frankly, all the raw data you'll ever need on the subject comes from a slightly infamous post on OKCupid's data blog that they used to give a fuck about.

Consider this infamous quote from OKC:
Black women reply the most, yet get by far the fewest replies. Essentially every race—including other blacks—singles them out for the cold shoulder.

Now for my story about race . . .

This got me to finally post something I've been stewing on for a long time without posting about. 

Now, this is all personal and anecdotal.  So, try to treat it accordingly.  OK?  OK.  Thank you.

One of my oldest posts still on this website is about a waitress who was trying to hit it off with me.  One detail I never imputed into the post is the component of race.  Other details I managed include never mentioning where that all went.

First thing first: race.  The waitress is Puerto Rican.  Her mom is on the rather Afro-Caribbean side and her dad is kinda standard swarthy, light brown skinned hispanic.  She grew up in a very black American neighborhood.  Every guy she dated in high school was black.  She herself could be passably white if she wanted to go that direction.  She doesn't.  She angles more toward laying the hispanic on super thick.

By the time she was waitressing, she was in college.  Different environment at the college.  Predominantly white.  Well, as white as you can expect in a public American college in the 2010s, anyhow.  I'd call it about 55-45 split between whites and minorities.  Which, again, in the 2010s is a very white college.  To add a bit of LOLs, a lot of the minorities are in fact Asian.  (And oooooh do the other minorities on the campus not like them at all.)

Second thing second: she and I got to know each other a bit without dating. 

Don't worry, the Aloof Guy doesn't disappoint you by suddenly becoming needlessly kind or social or romantic.  I gave her a proper good ignoring that puts her in the top tier of all the chicks who have ever made the mistake of falling for me and then orbiting me in the vague hope I'd ask them out.  In fact, she has since graduated and she still comes back on occasion looking for me!  She's more than two full years into pining for me and orbiting.  Added LOLs: it's a five hour drive to get here.  Top tier Aloof Guy orbiter.  No question.

Third thing: there is strange event that occurs in the life of every educated light-skinned hispanic girl I have ever known.  It's the moment she discovers there is a whole world of white boys out there.  I swear, every light-skinned hispanic college chick eventually has a white friend who turns her on to hockey.  And then the hispanic chick looks at all those rough faced, athletic white boys beating the shit out of each other and exclaims, "OMG, I never knew there was a female-centric porn channel on regular cable!"

That's a big thing I've noticed with hispanic women.  They're not open to all white guys.  Blonde hair helps, don't get me wrong.  But, they have a hard time perceiving white men as masculine.  But, if you are a white man who comes off as masculine, then you can roll in as much hispanic pussy as your dick can handle.

I mention this in the context of the earlier "black women can't find good black men" post because it fits in the stream of that notion of black men pursuing white women.  There is a very similar problem with hispanic women pursuing white men.  It just happens to be that hispanics don't take shit for doing it.  (In fact, this should be considered a subset of the growing trend of hispanics ticking off the box next to "white, non-hispanic" on the census form.)

The life of an Aloof Guy orbiter

By my math, this girl signed up to be an orbiter back in March of 2010 (holy shit does that make me feel old).  At the time she was too young to even serve alcohol at the club she worked at.  That's why she was a waitress in the restaurant portion of the bar section.

My orbiters always go through various phases of frustration.  (The classic case, IMHO, here.)  And the waitress was no different.  Making things worse for her, this was phase in my life where I was coming into money and starting to travel.  This is the phase in my life where I started getting into shape.  This is the phase where I started fucking around with various women in a much more deliberate manner.

In short, this was a really terrible time to be the orbiting female around me who had just gotten her ass friendzoned.

On the racial front, it was funny to go back and look at her posts online on Facebook and Twitter.  Her time around me is like the K-T Boundary in the geological record.  The time before me she posts nothing but stuff about how black guys are hot.  The time after me it's wall-to-wall white guys. 

There's a brief period where you can watch her old high school friends challenge her credibility, basically saying "you're no longer legit" and she protests back protesting that she still like black guys.  Then there's a sharp line where she just stops giving a fuck and stops protesting altogether.

More horrifying, she starts posting shit on Twitter feed cryptically aimed at me.  Positng song lyrics and quotes to the effect "You need to tell people you love them" and "You'll never be happy if you don't open up".  And a whole legion of guys who were pining for her all pop their heads and start asking if the quotes are about them.  And she brutally smacks them all down.

In the club -- because amazingly enough she often spent her off-nights there, too -- guys were always getting pissed at her for not giving them any play.  And the only guy she ever sought out was me -- and by sought out, I mean she stood there jumping up and down like a Jack Russell Terrier on meth, waving her hands to signal me from across the room.  She'd park herself on my left arm and just lean there against me.  She yacked my ear off and I seriously cannot remember a single conversation we had.

Further LOLs: during this time she ignored every guy who hit on her, but she managed to end up in a casual lesbian relationship with her roommate!  I might have broken this girl on men.  I'm a little too proud of that.

Even more cruelly, I would disappear to go travel and not tell her.  So, I sometimes disappeared for weeks or even months at a time.  She would never overtly seek me out.  Never messaged me.  But, she would be glad when I got back.  Until the fifth time I did that. The next time I came back and she saw me she didn't talk to me and she just glared at me as she walked past.

That night, on Twitter, I called her out on it.  She didn't reply.

The next time I saw her a week later, she waved me over to talk to her and apologized saying she was just having a bad night.  She was very bubbly, very drunk and was very touchy.  I told her it was OK and walked away from her to order my drink.  She parked herself on my left arm and I continued to ignore her.  Then I got my drink and walked away from her.

That's the last time we made any real effort to talk to each other.  I disappeared to do a lot of traveling, including my epic Europe trip that I still need to post someday on here.

I think she stopped going out as much, because I had a hard time running into her even after I got back from Europe.  I ended up running into her again the night before her graduation ceremony.  She didn't say much and then that was that.

Until a couple months later she started coming back to the area every few weekends to hangout with her friends.  The one night she saw me.  I saw her lean forward to look past her friends and saw her eyes get huge.  I stopped walking that direction when I spotted her and instead parked myself along a rail at the club, away from her and her friends.  She decided to hop past her friends and park herself near without saying anything.

After a couple minutes, I just walked away and went to sit somewhere else by myself.  A couple hours later she spotted me when she went to order a drink at the bar area near where I was sitting.  She gave me the big-eyed look again.  Still didn't say anything.  She grabbed her drink and sat down two tables away from me for a couple minutes.  Then she got up and left.

About twenty minutes later, I saw her standing by herself, leaning on the rail, looking right down at me in my seat.  She wasn't even bothering to be subtle.  She was looking straight at me.  When I looked up and made eye contact with her, she looked like she was going to bust out crying.

But, girls never let me catch them crying.  We have rules about that sort of behavior.  Instead, she just kept locked right on me.  I looked away.  A couple minutes later I glanced up and she was still there staring right at me.  Rinse and repeat a couple times until she finally disappeared.  I later spotted her with her friends.  She didn't notice me.  I let it go.

That night on her Twitter she was posting song lyrics about "I've done all I can do" and "I need you to do something too" or whatever the fuck it was and such.  I've since started monitoring her Twitter feed to make sure she isn't around the area when I go out.  And if she is, I go to another town to troll for ass.

Funny thing is, through all of this, she never just overtly asked me.  In fact, there's a funny episode in her online postings where she's whining about why women can't bring themselves to ask a guy out.  Painful stuff in a way.  For all the beating herself up over me, she drew the line at leaning on me.  That was her limit.  If it couldn't be boyfriend-girlfriend, well then she was just going to sit there leaning on me like I already was her boyfriend.  She'd just sit there until she became embedded and then I'd have no choice.

OK . . . I'll admit it.  I'm a fuckin prick.  When I put all this down, I see it.  I'm just mean.

Oh, well . . . that's enough picking at this particular scab.

Friday, April 12, 2013

An interesting query from the logs

I was reading through the site stats and I ran across this very interesting question: "would you date an aloof guy"?

My knee-jerk reaction, as an aloof guy, is to say "no".

But, then I think about the alternatives that are available to women.  And I start to think maybe that answer is a bit too terse.

Hmmm.  It's a tougher question than I'd like to think.  Of course, part of the problem is that I read that question as "Would I date me?"  To which the answer is a resounding "Aw, hell no!"

I think one the problems a lot of women in general have with men arises from their unwillingness to make peace with the idea that when they go off trying to date a man, they may end up with a man.  Modern American women, in particular, have been steered toward some really bad ideas.  They've been told a whole bunch of shit that runs counter to both biology and simple reason.  They've been told to look for a soft, sensitive soul mate who is also a millionaire entrepreneur and a firefighters and who rescues kittens, has a PhD and can win in a bar fight.  In truth, women are looking for a fucking unicorn.

Biology tends to tip women toward seeking the more masculine aspects of the male.  And then they complain that their man acts like a man.  But, of course, if you're a guy and you try to tone the manliness down . . . well, good luck with that, sunshine!

That brings me back to the problem of dating aloof men . . .

Let's break it down into its pieces:

1. You're obviously attracted to him. 

2.  These men things often act manly.

3.  You may be attracted to the manly thing.  That's probably what you like.
4.  Aloof beats douche-y!
5.  Stop overthinking.

In fact, fuck it.  Let's just call "stop overthinking" the official answer.  You like him.  Try it out.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Holy wow!

I rarely link.  Bear this in mind.  And I also rarely link anything PUA, "manosphere", etc.  Bear that in mind.

For your consideration: this gigantic bucket of holy fuckin wow.  Posted at Roissy's blog. 

If you're not familiar with Roissy, in my humble opinion, you're not really familiar with any thing PUA, seduction, men's rights, etc.  Certainly, you're not familiar with anything that represents the political right wing of all those elements in modern male internet subculture.

As to the linked story, it's a breakdown of this old chick's hagiography of her bygone alpha male lover.  Definitely make sure you click through and read her version, too.  I'll link it direct here for your perusal.

First off, you know you're about to hear some shit when you hear an opening paragraph like this gem:
He was easily the most handsome and intriguing-looking young man I had ever seen in my life. Dark, brooding and with a hint of world-weary danger, he was a cross between a 19th-century decadent poet and a Hollywood heartthrob.

Holy fuck.  An adult woman capable of writing in full sentence chose to write those two full sentences.  Seriously.

If ya ever want to know why a fairly liberal guy such as myself would ever want to read a lot of the right-wing manosphere stuff, it's shit like that right there that keeps me coming back to the well.  However I may feel about how I wish the world were arranged -- FTR, I'm comfortable with a world where men and women occupy different roles -- it's hard to get past the number of women out there who engage in hormonal swooning over alpha males.  Simply put, it is not possible to examine the female of the human species without accounting for this issue right here.  I don't give a shit what your politics are (mine, BTW, make me an old school American FDR era Democrat).

If you read through the whole article, basically this chick drones on and on and on about how for a couple weeks in college she got her girl parts drilled by this uncaring asshole and how she never got over it.  As in, she let it fuck with her marriage so badly she ended up at a therapist about it.  I mean, if you're versed in women's lib (I was fucking baptized in women's lib, BTW) reading this woman's relentless, swooning hagiography of her now-dead long gone alpha male lover is painful.  I'll be honest: even if you are a dyed-in-the-wool woman hater, reading this woman's hagiography of this dude is painful.  Hell, even if you take no stance and just think words should be used to convey meaning, THIS WOMAN'S HAGIOGRAPHY OF HER DEAD ALPHA FUCKSTICK IS PAINFUL.

Reading it through my own filter

As an indifferent, aloof man, reading this woman's overly long story of how she overly longed for this guy's overly longness just . . . I hate biology, because I wish I could just find some sort of gay relationship with a straight-acting man and completely divorce myself from a reality where women like this exist.  Ugh.  I acknowledge reality.  It doesn't necessarily mean I am reality's biggest fan.

This gem right here got me thinking . . .
From then on, we started a sort of relationship. We would meet at parties and other functions — at which, I have to admit, he paid me scant attention. But I would interpret any little crumb of affection or interest as undying love on his part.

The emphasis is mine. 

Typing this, I had to go through the archives to find what in my own writing seems like the perfect counterpoint.  And then I found my own gem from my own treasure trove:
Things with J went like this off and on for two years.  I used to give her all kinds of vulgar, degrading nicknames and she took them as terms of endearment.  In truth, she stuck as long as she did simply because she was persistent.

One part of me wants to feel like I'm a complete bastard for writing that.  I probably am.  But, given where I am at now, mentally and emotionally, it's hard to feel a lot of compassion for the average lovestruck young female.  It is difficult to feel pity for anyone who would actually let a "lover" give them overtly vulgar nicknames and never call him out for it.  Seriously?  What the fuck is wrong with you?!

And while I'm engaged in the very gauche act of quoting myself, fuck it, have another:
The next weekend, she resumes orbiting and eventually works up the nerve to approach me.  She approaches with something to the effect of "We talked last weekend over at the bar, blah-blah-blah."
Remember this fact guys: once you're in a chick head you are living there rent-free until the very day she dies.

Truth is, this is why I struggle to take women seriously.  I have never had a serious, intelligent romantic conversation with a woman of breeding age.  Dick makes women retarded.  Correct that: Alpha dick makes women retarded.  Beta dick makes women treat a man like he's retarded.

It's so fucking rinse-and-repeated.  If I had a soul, this shit would be soul-killing.  People (and by people, I mean entirely just the women who know you) tell you that it's OK and there's a One Out There For You.  Bullshit.  When you see how women behave -- and OMFG to read that article at the beginning of this post -- it's impossible to believe there is One Right Woman for Me. 

No.  Fucking.  Way.  Does.  Not.  Exist.

Once you have watched a number of women -- each separately and self-interestedly in pursuit of alpha dick -- it simply becomes impossible to believe in them.  And gawd forbid you are ever on the receiving end of the attention a woman lavishes upon a man she deems to be a potential alpha male suitor.  At that point, you will start to struggle to take even your mother seriously.

There just comes a point when you see the human female in pursuit of the human male where it all becomes some tragic cosmic joke.  It becomes an indictment of humanity's professed intelligence.  It just becomes fucking pathetic.  And soul-killing.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

I think I badgered Google into getting my point

I've been checking the search terms today and I noticed that my all-time personal worst "please make it stop" query has stopped appearing: how to be aloof with a man.  (BTW, the answer is DON'T.)

On the downside, it occurs to me that Google is doing a good job of eliminating this blog from the list of places where you can find an answer to that question.  That scares me a bit, because it means the Google algorithm is driven more by self-perception than is healthy.  Apparently, the algo is a yes man.  Ick.  That can't be good.

On the upside, I don't have to see that damned query anymore!

Sorry, it's just a subject that makes me really shake my head.  I can't imagine in what universe a woman would think ignoring a guy would work.  Men are visual and driven to take.  You're either in our line of sight and drawing our interest or you might as well not exist. 

If you're not going to put yourself right in the gunsight of a man, you might as well not even bother trying to game.  If you really wanted to game a guy, you'd grab his hand, stick it on your tit and ask him if he's too gay to appreciate a nice boob.  That would be a killer way to game a guy.

And, yes, I realize women don't like being forward.  So, in the broader context what I just said in the previous paragraph is a joke. Although it would work . . . just sayin'.

But, as a girl if you want to game a guy, engagement or orbiting are your best options.  And, yes, I get that we aloof guys are tough quarry to hunt.  But, you don't have a lot of options.  Playing distant or playing girl games with aloof guys is abject failure waiting to happen.  Forget trying that shit.

Aloof guys are driven by their emotional distance.  They value their personal space.  They aren't going to just let you come into their lives.  That's not how aloofness works.

That leaves you only one real option: aggressive engagement.  Possibly even repeated aggressive engagement.  Trying to game him into taking a shot he doesn't want to take isn't going to happen.  You're going to have to open up the bag of goods and convince him you're worth his time.

If you don't like that, then you probably needs to find a different type of man.

So, in conclusion . . . thank you Google for getting the point.  I think.