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Plan B

Jul 28th, 2011 by

Roosh has a good post about date backup plans. I have little to add to the wisdom of having a Plan B for any first date, except to mention one thing I like to do. I sometimes have dates meet me at a bar on Trivia Night. (Yes, I’m a trivia nerd.) This is something I would have done regardless of the date, so I never feel like I’m going out of my way. This small tactical maneuver puts me in the right frame of mind of de-emphasizing the importance of the date. A woman likes to think that you have so many options that no one date means very much to you. Until she proves otherwise.

I usually show up before the trivia game starts and five minutes after the designated meeting time for the date. (Make it a habit to show up a little late for a first date. Women complain about lateness, but they can’t help being sexually intrigued by a man who flouts polite social convention.) If, on the outside chance, she flakes, I’m not out any of my time since I would have been there anyhow to play a game of trivia and drink good scotch. If the date doesn’t go well, I cut it short and head over to the other part of the bar where I can play. (If the girl awkwardly lingers in the bar after I say goodbye, I don’t let it fluster me. I know she feels a lot more awkward and will hightail it out of there once she sees that I have staked my ground.) If the date does go well, Trivia Night affords me an opportunity to have some fun with her, and showcase some of my most alpha trivia moves.

It helps to have friends who go to Trivia Nights regularly, because you can just join them in the fun, but it’s not necessary. I’ve played solo and with the staff, and joining other groups is not a big deal if you ask. Trivia Night is like a free love commune — superficially welcoming.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Dating, Game | Comments Off

A Test Of Your Game

Jul 28th, 2011 by

The Pacific sun glared off the sand, nearly blinding me. A shuffle at the small table adjacent grabbed my attention. A slim brunette had sat down and was reading a woman’s magazine, Self I think, or maybe Glamour. She reclined a bit in her chair, allowing the sun’s rays to hit her stomach more directly. She hadn’t bothered to wrap a mini-sarong around her bikini bottom; the stretchy material pulled away in spots from her waist, leaving a narrow gap between bikini and skin, like a portal to her nethers. It tempted an incipient chub.

I returned to my lemon-doused water, keeping my peripheral vision loosely focused on her. Five minutes passed and not once did she glance over. This is going to be a very cold open, I thought to myself.

“Hey.”

She looked over, finally. “Hey.”

“The article in there…”, I waved my finger at her magazine, “about finding your man’s hot zones… total bullshit.” (Ugh. I cringed after saying it, but it was the first thing that jumped to mind.)

“You mean this?” She held up the mag. “Really. I don’t see that article anywhere in here.”

“Oh, must’ve been last month’s edition.” I paused. “I read a lot of women’s mags.”

“That’s… weird.” She’s turned her torso to me now, and I can see that she’s given me a minute to make my pitch.

“Maybe. But you’re not going to get expert skin care tips in Sports Illustrated.”

She scrunched her mouth at the corners. “Why would you need that? Sounds a little girly for a man.”

“It’s a new age we live in. Men have to look good for their female bosses. Now I know what you ladies feel like, to be treated like a piece of meat.” I kept a straight face saying this, and avoided defensively reacting to her edgy shit test. I wanted her to wonder right up to the last microsecond whether I’m joking or not.

She pressed her legs a little closer together. I took this as a good sign, because a girl in a bikini would start to feel somewhat exposed when talking to a man who is piquing her interest. Nonetheless, it required all my willpower to keep my eyes on her face and not wandering down over the rolling meadows and velvet gullies of her body.

She smiled for the first time. “Ha, I bet you do. So… is this supposed to be some kind of come on? Because, you know, I don’t normally talk to strangers at…

“Hold it! Did you see that? Shark fin. There’s a shark swimming out there.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“You might want to put on your prescription sunglasses. It’s pretty far out there.”

“I don’t wear prescription. Perfect 20/20 vision.”

“Oh, you looked like the bookish type who wears coke bottle glasses in the library.”

She shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head. “That’s the first time anyone thought that about me.”

“People aren’t very perceptive, in general.”

I’ve begun to feel that the time had come to start delving into more personal topics when one of her friends, a short black-haired pale girl, waltzed up and inserted herself between me and Magazinegirl. She looked at me briefly, to which I returned a nod in her direction, then hugged her friend and addressed her.

“Heeey, darlin’! We’re going to a late dinner at 9, and Debbie’s driving. You can leave your stuff at my place, but don’t use the shower upstairs. It’s cold water only.”

I sipped my drink and gazed at the middle-distance.

“Ok, I’ll be there around 8:30. Don’t wait up if I’m late.”

“Ok.” As she trotted off, she calls back, “Don’t forget to say hi to David for me!”

The dreaded pickup interruptus. The momentum lost by an inadvertent cockblock and a reference to a possible boyfriend, I pondered whether it was worth reengaging. Maggirl had begun collecting her stuff and shoving it into a gargantuan canvas bag. She glanced sidelong at me for a second, full of sass and flourish, signifying everything.

She smiled, or maybe smirked. “Well, I’ve gotta go. It was nice talking about invisible sharks with you.”

***

Now is the time to test your game. In this real life scenario, had you been me, what would you have done at this point? Winner gets my glorious recognition, plus two tickets to the movie Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. I will post an update describing how this pickup attempt resolved itself.

[crypto-donation-box]

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False Equivalence Of Desire

Jul 27th, 2011 by

There is a muddying-the-water tactic that feminists and their sympathizers employ whenever the subject of chicks digging jerks comes up. They like to ask, under false pretenses, why men prefer hot bitches instead of hot non-bitches.

Unfortunately for them, the equivalence isn’t true, except in the minds of the most gullible. This feminist meme is simply an attempt to divert uncomfortable attention from the female predilection for assholes by asserting an imaginary equivalence with a supposed urge by men to date only hot slutty bitches.* The truth is that most men like hot, loving, devoted women. Very few men, betas or alphas, prefer the long term companionship of disloyal, bitchy sluts.

Men, whose eros is largely motivated by a woman’s looks, will of course occasionally dump a raunchy fuck in some hot, slutty bitch. But when a woman is under consideration as girlfriend or wife material, her bitchiness or sweetness plays an important role in how much commitment a man is willing to give her. The bitchier she is, the less likely a man will want more from her than a few nights of feral passion.

And of the men who do find themselves hitched to bitches, we often find an assortment of option-less betas who put up with the bitchiness for the pussy, but who would, given confidence in their ability to seduce women, leave the bitches for equally hot but temperamentally sweet women.

This is in stark contrast to women, who, in numbers far exceeding the meager few high value men who actively pursue bitches for LTRs, fall head over heels IN LOVE with assholes, stick with them for years after their assholery has become apparent, and who even bear the assholes’ children, risking the stigma of single momhood in the process. Furthermore, and unlike the beta males stuck with bitches, it is often the HOTTEST GIRLS with OPTIONS who willingly choose to be with assholes and suffer their putative torments.

No, the desire for jerks is, and has always been, mostly a female phenomenon. Stereotypes don’t materialize out of thin air; there is a basis in reality for them. And the stereotype of chicks digging jerks is as widely-held and historical as any other noted difference between the sexes. Perhaps moreso now, thanks to the tireless (and fun) efforts of this blog’s crusade to illuminate the truth.

*Hey, but at least feminists have tacitly admitted that chicks do indeed dig jerks.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Chicks Dig Jerks: The Veil Of Self-Deception

Jul 25th, 2011 by

Swatting her cat off her couch before sitting down on it, I rested my eyes on her thighs and then up at her face. Cradling a tumbler of scotch, I asked, “How was ladies’ night with the girls? Any juicy gossip?”

She beamed with eagerness and inhaled loudly. “It was great! Let’s see, what have I heard… Oh, there was this girl Gillian, you haven’t met her, an old high school friend of Kelly’s, who’s been seeing this guy for eight years. Everyone hates Gillian’s boyfriend because he’s cheated on her, more than once.”

“Worse than a one night stand?”

“Much worse, but that’s bad too, so don’t get any ideas. He was cheating on her for a whole year with another girl. He had a relationship with this girl while he was seeing Gillian.”

“Wow, that is…”, I searched for a suitably ambiguous word that would simultaneously express disapproval and admiration, “…brazen.”

“It’s dickish is what it is! And then after Gillian found out, he cheated on her again with someone else. But Gillian never left the guy. Eight years together, and she’s still seeing him.”

Doing my best to affect surprise and consternation, I stentoriously proclaimed, “I would think that a hidden relationship with another woman is pretty solid grounds for breaking up, but I guess Gillian didn’t see it that way.”

“I know, it’s crazy. And Gillian is really attractive, too. She could have any guy she wanted. There were tons of guys at the club going up to her, but she couldn’t be bothered. Why she stays with him is a mystery.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Do you have a picture of her from the night?”

She held the camera in front of me. “It’s her.” I solemnly judged. A hard 9.

She exasperated, “We’ve tried telling Gillian to dump him, but she won’t listen. All she does is complain about him, but she never leaves him. So we gave up trying to help her. If that’s what she wants. It just doesn’t make any sense why a girl with her looks would put up with that from a…”

“Douchebag.”

“Yeah, a douchebag.”

Mischievous tendrils curled around my thoughts. “I’ve noticed it’s the prettiest girls that go for the biggest assholes. Why do you think that is?”

“Well…” she stutters. “I don’t know. *I* don’t go for assholes.” She smiles and pushes me into the couch cushion.

“I think hot girls love a challenge, and assholes give that to them.”

My sexy interrogation subject looked around the room distractedly, as if the conversation had suddenly ceased to enthrall her.

I pressed. “I bet there are lots of great guys who would treat Gillian well, who she doesn’t give the time of day to.”

“I guess so. What can I say? Who knows why some girls go for these guys. I can’t figure it out. It’s not something I would do.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” I poked her cat in the anus with a pen I was holding. It meowed and leapt to the floor.

******

If you ask the typical woman why girls, particularly good-looking girls, dig jerks, you’ll usually get a flurry of denials or a shoulder shrug of bewilderment. What you will never get is an accurate appraisal of the phenomenon. There is such a glaring disconnect between the reality of girls chasing after assholes, (something which every man who has lived a day in his life has seen often enough that it has become a well-worn cliche), and the inability of girls to recognize the readily observable facts of their own behavior, that it leads one to believe women were born with a self-deception mental module that prevents them from having sufficient awareness of their sexual desires.

If this is so, then it at once must engender a sort of charmed understanding, even cooing pity, for women when they attempt to grapple with the issue of their sexuality, like children fumbling with letter blocks to form that first monosyllabic word. We want to reach out and hug them for the accomplishment of achieving cognizance of 1% of what motivates their lust. It is simply the case, therefore, that a full theory of female sexual behavior must include the working assumption that women are barred by some shadowy biological force emanating either from the brain case or the loins from, one, recognizing their actions in the sexual marketplace for what they are and, two, from properly explaining them when they do accept the facts laid before them.

Women truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND why it is they love the types of men they do. Evolution, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that it is in the best interests of genetic propagation for women to be fairly well shielded from the crass machinations of their own lust drives, in a way that men are not. So the next time a girl who is very important to you, and whose opinion you respect, bafflingly throws up her hands in complete ignorance of the ancient urges that guide her attractions, do the wise thing and cut her some slack. She really has no idea.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Girls, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

A Traditionalist Manifesto?

Jul 23rd, 2011 by

OneSTDV writes:

1) The nuclear family is the bedrock of civilization.
2) Women are valuable as more than just prostitutes.
3) A romantic relationship has more benefits than just physical pleasure.
4) Marriage has risks, but sometimes they’re very much worth it.
5) Fatherhood is a rewarding experience integral to the emotional health of children.
6) (Modern SWPL) Women can be petulant, mannish, and entitled, but also uniquely endearing as only feminine women can be.
7) MRAs express a female-like neuroticism because they whine and focus so much on what could happen.
8) A return to patriarchy should be the goal, not men going their own way.

Point by point, we’ll examine what’s true and false, right and wrong with this traditionalist manifesto.

1. True. Not only does history inform us of the value of nuclear families to civilization, but scientific studies are in basic agreement that kids, and society by extension, fare best when a married mom and dad (or long term cohabiting couple within a homogeneous culture — see: Scandinavia) live together and raise their children as a single unit. Single momhood is the scourge of civilization, and everywhere you look in the world where single moms rule, you see decay, violence and backwardness. Any government policy that weakens the primacy of the nuclear family is anti-civilization, and thus evil.

2. True (and false premise besides for any but the most aggrieved men). Women are the nurturers of the next generation. Men are simply not as interested in the shit work that goes into the raising of children. Sex and children are a woman’s prime directives, but she offers other positive qualities. A woman’s genuine sympathy for a man she loves can be as powerful as her lust for him. Have you ever had a woman cry for you when you were going through a tough time, so completely did she empathize with your pain and so in love with you she was? If you’ve experienced that, you know how much joy a woman can bring to your life as a man.

3. True. Sex is great, but sex with love is transcendent.

4. Insufficient data. If you are not planning to have kids, marriage is a raw deal no matter how you slice it. Long term committed relationships will offer a man the same happiness he can get within a marriage without the knife’s edge of divorce theft at his throat. If you are planning on kids and you are a man, marriage may be for you. However, you may still be better off informally married; i.e long term cohabitation without any contract signing (though femcunts and their lawyercunt mercenaries are currently hard at work trying to change this). Know that when you enter a marriage every conceivable institution — judicial, media, cultural — is arrayed against your interests, male-hating to the bone as they are in the twilight of America’s grand epoch. Go into marriage with open eyes and you give yourself a chance to fight back the grasping reach of its subversive tentacles from your wife’s psyche.

5. Post hoc rationalization. Once you have kids, would you want to accept that fatherhood isn’t as rewarding as you thought it should be? Of course not. What father would admit that those early years of crapping, vomiting, screaming, crying, babbling ingrate tantrums were really a hell on earth he’d have rather spent playing poker with his buddies? After a certain age — say, 9 or so — when kids become old enough and emotionally mature enough to have quasi-adult conversations with them and impart the wisdom of your fatherly experience upon them do they switch from being net buzzkills to net blessings. And then it all goes to shit once again when they hit adolescence. Nonetheless, fatherhood is integral to kids’ emotional health, despite the fact that kids are a huge fun suck for many, many years. So if you are willing to accept the sacrifices, know that your fatherly guidance will help keep your daughters off the badboy pole and your sons out of juvie.

6. True, but irrelevant. It is possible to meet plenty of endearingly feminine women who don’t possess the suite of unfeminine traits that are the battle cry and parasitic infection of the modern careerist SWPL. As a man with game, you already know that being choosy is your right and your duty. And chicks dig choosy men.

7. Insufficient data. Do some MRAs whine? Sure. Just like some (most) feminists whine, or really any identifiable group of people whines over some unfairness, true or not. Anyhow, one man’s effeminate whining is another man’s truth to power. It’s all in the perception. As men are the expendable sex, the perception will always be, by both men and women alike, that men complaining about injustice or unfairness is tantamount to an admission against interest, tautological evidence that the complaining men wouldn’t have anything to complain about if they were winners in the sexual market. In contrast and in accord with evolutionary theory which posits that the woman’s reporoductive capacity is scarcer and thus more valuable than the man’s, complaining by women is something to be taken seriously. Do MRAs have grounds for complaint? They do. Sometimes complaining is the whine of the loser, and sometimes it’s entirely justified. Similarly, the past may not have been as great as we fondly remember through rose-colored glasses, or the past may have indeed been objectively better than the present. So the next time some feminist cackles about whiny MRAs, ask her (while sporting a most devious smile) if MLK Jr. was a whiny little bitch for agitating for civil rights. Use their liberationist icons against them.

8. True and false. Overeager extrapolation. A “return” to an Islamic-like patriarchy would be a disaster for the West, not to mention a disaster for my dating life. The USA had it about right for two hundred years, before the whole thing began to unravel. Decay follows decadence as surely as decadence has followed success. The Chateau has previously outlined a plan for a return to an American version of palatable patriarchy. As for “men going their own way”: it’s almost a malapropism it’s so utterly inconceivable. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, a big load of sour grapes in the nominal MRA movement. Men truly going their own, vagina-free, way (and not simply men trying to score internet debate points by claiming to go their own way but still banging on the sly) are likely mating market losers who find comfort in pretending to wish away the allure of women. No one’s buying it, just as no one buys the claptrap by fat feminists insisting that fat women are lusted after by winner men and only social conditioning prevents these men from dating all the grotesque and ill-mannered fatties they really desire.

I give OneSTDV’s traditionalist manifesto a B+. Not that it will make a lick of difference. The gears slicked with the sweat and blood of obedient middle class beta fodder have already been set in motion, and the machine demands tribute. Trying to stop and reverse the gluttony of its belching maw is a fool’s errand. There is but one tried-and-true solution: nuke the beast from orbit.

In the meantime, I’ll be poolside, getting my tan on.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Hope and Change | Comments Off

Are Short Women More Desirable Than Tall Women?

Jul 21st, 2011 by

In particular, are short women more desirable as girlfriends? Note I used the word desirable, and not “attractive”, which bears an important distinction. Female desirability encompasses more than physical attraction, such as femininity, selflessness, loyalty and temperament. There is evidence that short women are more feminine than tall women because estrogen levels, which inhibit bone growth, are higher in them.

traditional girl writes:

High levels of estrogen halt bone growth. Have you ever noticed that shorter, more finely boned women are (on average) kinder, less competitive, and more feminine? Tall, muscular women with sturdy skeletons and jaws are more likely to have low levels of estrogen and high levels of testosterone.

An article referencing the bone-growth-halting properties of estrogen: http://articles.latimes.com/2007/jan/15/health/he-staturegirls15

In any case, it seems to me that in our ancestral environment, a woman’s kindness, sexual loyalty, cooperative spirit and fertility would have been more important to her mate than her physical strength. She would have been too busy with pregnancies and infants to slaughter a bear.

As an aside, as a heterosexual women, I greatly prefer small-boned, large-breasted women for friendship. They’re more likely to be loyal, sweet, and share my values. I try to avoid tall, large-jawed, small-breasted women. I always get the “I want to screw around, break up relationships and eat babies” vibe from them.

Men are attracted to a woman’s looks first and foremost, but after a while — a few weeks to a few months — a woman’s other assets become important to men, especially men seeking long term relationships. Is she sweet and affectionate? Does she like to cook him dinner? Is she nurturing and does she coo over other women’s babies? Is she an animal lover? Does she prefer to avoid getting into arguments? Does she frequently cede decisions to her man? Does she shy from logic and debate? Is she quick to tear up during sad movies?

Most men, their curmudgeonly ribbing to the contrary notwithstanding, really do love these attributes of the feminine woman. Yes, we may complain about a woman’s runaway emotions, her focus on seemingly trite household matters, or her bleeding heart worldview, but we love them for it. The alternative — dating a woman with a man-like personality, ambition and outlook, however sexy she may be — leaves us feeling like we’re dating an alien impostor, and our instinct to protect and provide for an intrinsically vulnerable lover is muted with such masculine-essenced women.

Looking back on the women in my life, I think there is something to this. The shorter women have been, with few exceptions, more feminine and sweet-natured than the taller women I have dated. (And also more full of charming neuroses.) The short girls were the ones begging me to return to bed after sex so they could get their cuddle fix, while the tall girls would jump out of bed first after getting their rocks off. Hey, if I have things to do, I don’t mind a girl occupying herself after sex, but in the big picture I greatly prefer — and I suspect most men do too — a woman who acts like a stereotypical woman in and out of the bedroom. Unfortunately, women like this are running out in the West.

So maybe estrogen explains why everyone isn’t over six feet tall. Men of all heights are drawn to the feminine allure of shorter women with higher levels of estrogen, and have families with them, rejuvenating the next generation with shorter descendants. Perhaps men also choose these shorter women for family formation subconsciously knowing that they are less of a cuckolding risk than masculinized tall women.

Not that tall women don’t have their advantages. You’ve gotta love those long legs wrapped around you, for one. And if you’re a tall man you don’t have to prop up a tall woman’s behind for easier doggy-style access. Plus, tall women make for more striking arm candy as long as they meet a minimum beauty threshold. It’s just too easy for a hot short girl, sexy though she may be, to get lost in the crowd.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, Inner Beauty, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

Confident Dork Game

Jul 19th, 2011 by

Over at Roosh’s active pickup forum, there’s a discussion about a daygame video featuring the (self-identified) PUA Sasha. Here is the video:

For a quintessential example of the type of, what I call, confident dork daygame Sasha runs, watch his attempted pickup beginning at the 11:30 mark. Sasha clearly comes from the school of thespian PUAs. Very animated, to the point of hyperactivity. Even his hair is histrionic.

I don’t know what percentage of pickup artists selling their services employ this sort of goofy, theatrical game, but I’m seeing more of it in marketing videos released for public consumption. Sasha’s video suffers a shellacking over at Roosh’s forum, so I don’t want to pile on here except to note that in their zeal to push product and distinguish themselves a lot of the newer generation of pickup businesses are abandoning basic, fundamental game principles along the way.

For instance, little of the game literature advises men to specifically ask a girl if she has a boyfriend, which Sasha does a lot, using it as a springboard into a stacked routine.

Sasha: Do you have a boyfriend?

Girl: Why, yes I do.

Sasha: Is he a real boyfriend or an imaginary boyfriend?

Girl: Real.

Sasha: Name.

Girl:

Sasha: Oh, you hesitated. What does your imaginary boyfriend think of you chatting up guys?

Cute. But probably counterproductive. Reminding girls of their boyfriends, or giving them excuses to get away from you, would not constitute tight game. Mystery specifically admonished against asking about BFs, instead preferring to ignore the subject unless the girl brought it up, at which point he would evade or turn it around in a humorous way that demonstrated alpha cool.

There are some other things Sasha does that violate some core game concepts, such as crossing his arms when talking to a girl, speaking too quickly, self-deprecation, jumping like a sex predator or a circus clown in front of them, and excessive complimenting. Despite that, I’ve little doubt he bangs some hot chicks. (And credit goes to him for approaching mostly hot babes and allowing his failures to be videotaped.) Confident dork game, however ridiculous, will get you laid more often than no game, the latter of which is what 95% of the world’s men actually run. But the useful comparison is not between game and no game, but between different schools of game. And it is my belief that Sasha’s dorky direct street game comes up short as a learnable and effective game system for the majority of men.

55% of the general male population are introverts. (This number may be higher for men of East Asian ancestry and lower for men of African ancestry.) Introverts dislike striking up conversations with random strangers. Unlike extroverts, introverts become mentally and physically drained from social interaction, and this is compounded when they are talking with strangers. There is no way this group of men will enjoy running anything close to Sasha’s in-your-face entertainment monkey game. You can only bend a human being’s psychosocial profile so much before he gives up in disgust.

I doubt many *extroverted* men would enjoy spastic direct game of this sort, either. You have to be really comfortable with making a spectacle of yourself to pull off what Sasha does with any degree of success. (By my take, most of the women in Sasha’s video did not look as enamored of him as the chick in this video looked when Yad ran somewhat more restrained direct game on her. A lot of the chicks Sasha talked to had that rocking body motion going on, one foot ahead of them ready to make a break for it.) Confident dork game seems very limited in appeal, let alone efficacy.

Which brings up a point: there is an underserved market ready to be plundered by the pickup business which can capitalize on the specific needs of introverted men. These are the guys who make up the majority of warm bodies sitting in seats at PUA seminars. Naturally extroverted men likely have less need for game, so Sasha-type game really targets only a small slice of potential customers. The guys who leave bootcamps with a sour experience and demand their money back are probably the introverts who couldn’t shotgun approach thirty mixed group sets in a night without having a mental breakdown. They were forced to do something that stretched their comfort zone and their skillset too far, and they responded with resentment.

Good game should serve this group of men equally as well as the extroverted group. Indirect openers, confident but muted body language, sustainable talking points and plausible routines and lines that don’t sound outrageously contrived and don’t require a CV filled with acting experience to pull off should be the goal of most pickup businesses. In other words, the FUNDAMENTALS.

Truth is, I tried Sasha-type dork game… once. I felt like an idiot. The girl was nice enough, and giggled a little bit, clearly flattered and embarrassed by the public attention, but I got the BF line and that was that. Dancing around, swinging my arms, twirling, and peppering the girl with compliments and questions just didn’t seem to me like any sort of effective game technique. I returned to doing what brought me success most frequently: indirect game.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game, Videos | Comments Off

Softening Your Negs

Jul 18th, 2011 by

In relationships, the neg has to be toned down. A girl in love with you will easily misconstrue negs and teasing in the worst possible light.

For example:

COCKY YOU: “I like your hair style. There’s beauty in imperfection.”

HOT SINGLE GIRL: [open mouthed stare] “Haha, I can’t believe you said that.”

***

COCKY YOU: “I like your hair style. There’s beauty in imperfection.”

GIRLFRIEND/WIFE: [genuinely butthurt, verge of tears] “What’s that supposed to mean? What are you saying?”

Negs are one of the most vital parts of game, and yet they are also the most misunderstood, and consistently misapplied, part of game. Aspiring PUAs tend to mistake negs for insults, and to use them on the wrong sorts of girls. Recap: Negs are primarily meant to be used on girls who meet at least two of three of the following criteria:

1. She’s a 7 or higher (8 or higher if you could conceivably intimidate girls upon first meeting them. 6 or higher if she’s an Entitled American Chubster living in a big blue state city).

2. She’s under 25, or under 30 if you are an older guy.

2. She’s not in love with you.

Once a girl has fallen deeply in love with you — the kind of love that means she has surrendered her ego and much of the insufferable female caprice that goes with it — she no longer needs daily affirmations of your higher value, something which the neg wonderfully fulfills early on when you and her first start dating. The Woman in Love (WIL) needs something else foremost; she needs validation. Validation that you love her back; that her love for you isn’t going to waste in a one-way mission. The neg which works so well to attract new women that you meet can backfire on you if you use it on an LTR who already loves you, because a WIL is psychologically groomed to overanalyze any word out of your mouth for evidence that you aren’t 100% emotionally committed to her. A woman in this state is fragile, ready to splinter into a million tiny glassy shards of sadness at the slightest provocation.

This is not to say that negs have no use in LTRs. Quite the contrary. The neg, and its generalized cousin flirty teasing, are never abandoned once an LTR is established. Any man who turns his back on the game which got him the girl is tempting the fate of a low down dirty breakup. The difference between pickup game and LTR game is one of degree, not kind. All you will be doing is lessening the intensity and the frequency of your negs and teasing once you have landed the girl, and throwing in a few more sincere compliments than you otherwise would with any girl you haven’t been dating for long.

Remember, the blissful state of ego-less love that a woman will experience with a man (and what a great time this is!) only lasts between six months and two years. Four years if you don’t have kids. So, yes, you can ride out this love bubble as a regressed beta herb who has virtuously forsaken the crimson arts and suffer few ill consequences, but the more beta you are the quicker you hasten the day when the love bubble pops, and the girlfriend or wife who couldn’t get enough of your love slowly finds herself annoyed by your kisses and cuddles.

An LTR gives you a larger margin of beta error, at the cost of insidious complacency. You can be more beta with a woman who loves you, but the downside is that you will be less likely to notice when you have reversed the sexual polarity and her feelings begin to assume a darker cast. A WIL won’t have a sudden conversion to lovelessness. What will happen instead is that your betafication will annoy her once a month, then once a week, then once a day, and finally every second she is with you. She won’t know why it’s happening — to her, you still look the same, still pay her compliments, and still shuffle off to a job every day — but something about your behavior which she can’t put her finger on is pushing her away. The anger inside her will compound because she’ll hate you for making her feel anhedonic resentment toward you, and for making her feel like she’s the bad guy. No woman wants to be with a man who makes her feel bad.

Zero game = woman formerly in love feels bad that she despises you.

Overgaming = woman in love feels hurt that you might not love her.

Like baby bear’s pickup porridge, find the right balance of game, (not too hard, not too soft), and you can extend the useful love life of an LTR beyond what most couples accomplish.

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The Folly Before The Fall

Jul 15th, 2011 by

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Cutter Lover

Jul 15th, 2011 by

We were laying down side by side on her bed mid-afternoon. It was muggy in her small and untidy bedroom because her window unit A/C wasn’t working properly. She was naked and I was resting my left hand on her mons pubis, as if it were the lacquered mahogany end of an arm rest. This was the first time she exhibited her naked body to me under the shadowless light of daytime. Every dimple and flaw she no doubt imbued with outsized importance was freely visible to my appreciative eyes. Before this moment, sex was a nighttime activity only.

As we lied on the bed staring at the ceiling and her collection of carved giraffes on her bookshelf, my hand wandered down her thigh. A geometric pattern of tiny raised obstacles tickled my palm. I looked over at her leg where my hand was perched and saw three thin reddish-purple lines, barely a millimeter in width but each more than three inches long, carved into the flank of her thigh and hip like claw marks from the angry swipe of a cat.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, these?”

“Yep. It looks like a cat got you.”

She steadied her gaze and paused, an odd hesitation that told me she was quickly weighing the options of lying or telling the truth. “I… they’re cut marks.”

“Cut marks?”

“Not from anything. I did them to myself.”

“You cut yourself? With a razor blade?”

“Yeah, I use a blade from my leg razor.”

“Oookay.” I moved my hand away and focused on her slim vulva and then her face. “That’s strange. Why?”

“It helps when I’m feeling crappy. I get into these moods, and the only way I can feel better is by cutting myself.”

“So hurting yourself makes you feel better.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. Don’t be a judgy jerk about this.”

“It is crazy. Why not try running to lift your mood? Or alcohol? It won’t leave scars.”

“There are no scars. I make sure not to do it too deep to leave a scar.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No, just you. Although my mom once saw the marks and I lied to her about them.”

I fingered the congealed blood of the narrow cuts. “You do them on parts of your body that won’t normally be seen in public.”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve been doing this a long time?”

“Since ninth grade.”

“Are you depressed?”

“You know I get depressed sometimes.” She waved a hand at her superficial wounds. “This helps me cope.”

“We need to find you a new coping mechanism. I like your skin to stay silky smooth.”

I never talked about the cutting with her again. Fact is, it didn’t much bother me. We were together for another nine months or so, and the sex was always hot. She was up for it anywhere, anytime. Like me, she especially liked doing it in front of mirrors. She had an incredibly high libido even for a crazy chick. I briefly wondered if it was the inherent drama in our relationship and my flirtatious ways with other women which caused her to cut, but she never did it again while we were together, as far as I could tell. (The possibility exists she found a harder-to-locate patch of land somewhere in the nooks of her body to hide her cutting from me. But I’m pretty thorough when it comes to exploring the savannah of a lover’s body.) I believed her when she said she cut to feel better. As a man, I can understand the impulse. We men often relish the pain of crunching blows from fights or sports or body blows from self-discovery adventures gone awry. Testosterone makes us men want to feel life for all it’s worth, and there’s no better mental stimulant than the physical stimulants of pain and sex.

But not too much pain. We’ve got our pretty boy faces to keep in mind.

Pain takes us men out of our minds, away from debilitating introspection and toward living in the moment. Maybe for some women, pain from cutting performs a similar psychological analgesic for them, taking them away from worries and stress and into their exquisite bodies where their truest womanhood resides.

***

Do women, then, cut because of negative emotions filling their hearts? A study states it is so, drawing relevance with ancient religious practices of self-flagellation to cleanse the soul of impurities.

Psychological scientist Brock Bastian of the University of Queensland, Australia and his colleagues recruited a group of young men and women under the guise they were part of a study of mental and physical acuity. Under this pretense, they asked them to write short essays about a time in their lives when they had ostracized someone; this memory of being unkind was intended to prime their personal sense of immorality—and make them feel guilty. A control group merely wrote about a routine event in their lives.

Afterward, the scientists told some of the volunteers—both “immoral” volunteers and controls—to stick their hand into a bucket of ice water and keep it there as long as they could. Others did the same, only with a soothing bucket of warm water. Finally, all the volunteers rated the pain they had just experienced—if any—and they completed an emotional inventory that included feelings of guilt.

The idea was to see if immoral thinking caused the volunteers to subject themselves to more pain, and if this pain did indeed alleviate their resulting feelings of guilt. And that’s exactly what the researchers found. Those who were primed to think of their own unethical nature not only kept their hands in the ice bath longer, they also rated the experience as more painful than did controls. What’s more, experiencing pain did reduce these volunteers’ feelings of guilt—more than the comparable but painless experience with warm water.

According to the scientists, although we think of pain as purely physical in nature, in fact we imbue the unpleasant sensation with meaning. Humans have been socialized over ages to think of pain in terms of justice. We equate it with punishment, and as the experimental results suggest, the experience has the psychological effect of rebalancing the scales of justice—and therefore resolving guilt.

Guilt is one emotion that can be absolved by the self-administration of pain. I wouldn’t be surprised if pain lessened the burden of other negative emotions as well. My cutter lover may have felt guilt about spending the best years of her life with a man who gave no hint of driving the relationship toward a marital resolution, and being unable to extricate herself because of her attachment to me. Or she may have just been a naturally depressive person, inherited from some long ago depressed ancestor, and cutting was her cheap Prozac.

The most important lesson I took away from that relationship was that cutters are a great lay. I now look for the telltale signs on all first dates. If the cuts are on her face, I know she’ll be wearing no panties underneath her skirt and will be ready to fuck in an alleyway before we’re even halfway home.

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