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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Sometimes a song that I’m singing in my head will escape from its skullblocked cage and make a run for it across the border of my lips. When this happens, I can go fifteen minutes, maybe hours given the retrospective nature of the discovery, before my conscious awareness is alerted to the fact that I’ve been whistling a happy tune in public like a damnfool. It’s a bad habit.

One of these times, my whistling must have been especially loud and taunting to fragile ears, because I was shocked into awareness by the shrieking of a chubby gargoylette, who whipped around from in front of me and demanded, “Did you just wolf whistle at me!?”

Caught completely off-guard, I stared at her flushed cheeks and fleshed body for a half second, dumbfounded. She continued glowering at me, as if seriously expecting an answer to her accusation. Pulling my head back a little, knitting my brow and squinting, I blurted, “Fuck no!”

She fumed. If she were a pig, which with a small tweak of one or two genes she could’ve easily crossed the species barrier, she’d have stamped her hooves in the mud a few times, threatening a charge. As it was, she turned on her heels while delivering a perfunctory “fuck you” and flipped me the fat bird over her shoulder as she walked away.

I felt embarrassed for the spectacle that had caught the eyes of a few passers-by, but also satisfied that my reflexive defensive parry poked a pig in the id.

I moved on, pissed that a pig deigned to shovel me a handful of her compacted shit, and pissed that I lost the tune in my head. smh…smh…smh… the rest of the walk I wondered, in vague outlines of indignation, how many American women were miserable in this way, cracking under the pressure of their fat and their delayed marriage schedules and their royalty complexes. How many women I saw every day were hiding blocks of TNT up their asses, just waiting for some misapprehended spark to blow the lid off their facade?

The feminine American woman harboring not a lick of resentment toward men is as rare as the HB10. I wonder, equally, if she knows this? I know it.

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A reader generously offers a glimpse into the mind of a woman stricken with “five minutes of alpha syndrome”.

CH,

Having been a regular reader of your blog for a while now, I couldn’t quite join-the-dots in the general ‘5-Minutes-Of-Alpha-Beats-5-Years-Of-Beta’ (or variations thereof)
I couldn’t quite see it working in the ‘Real World’.
Until last night.
I contacted a woman from a well-known online-dating site that requires a strong rod and large net.
The woman: 44, 5’8″, Mom-of-one, blonde, pretty, maybe a solid ‘7’ with her war-paint on, separated from nice guy husband of 12 years, recently split from relationship with BF of 7 months.
The Boyfriend: 45, 5’7″, fire-fighter…really average-looking but with serious ‘issues’.

I was initially pulled-in by her looks and IQ (she’s a smart woman, a buyer, by trade) and a comment she made struck me: “I’m scared I’ll never find the level of intensity I had with my Ex”
Me: “What, with your husband?”
Her: “No! My Bf”
(husband, apparently was a tall, handsome guy, 6’3″, but had two things not going for him: ‘Nice Guy’ and liked to crush a 6-pack each night)

Anyway, we met.
For a drink, at 20:00pm, a bar not far from where either of us live.
We left at 22:45pm, after each having a single drink each, mainly because of her life-story of the last ‘X’ months with Fire-fighter Bf.
I could wax-lyrical about it, but it’s best set out in list form:
* upon first meeting, she said “the sort of man I wouldn’t look twice at – he’s 5’7″ for God’s sake”
* didn’t even date him for at least 3 months after 1st meeting, and he pestered me daily for a date
* finally met and things took-off (in her words, “sexually, emotionally and mentally…it was intense, daily”)

Then things start to slide:
* he breaks her left-cheekbone with a straight-right
* deletes names of male co-workers and friends from her iPhone
* secretly hacks into her FB account and sends ‘Don’t contact me again’ messages to male contacts
* constantly, calls, queries and questions her about where she is and who’s she’s out with
* rips her off for 86,000
* finally after 7 months she dumps him and throws him out.

Cue:
* paint poured over her Audi A3
* hate mail sent daily
* threatening phonecalls made multiple times daily
* bogus online-dating-agency profiles created and setup to monitor her on website
* fellow friends recruited to keep tabs on her
* drives by her home multiple times a day, checking up on her

Finally, the police are involved.
They urge her to press charges, a) for the physical assault and b) threatening behaviours

What does she do?
Protects the fuck out him, claims she doesn’t want him to lose his job or get into any trouble.

And the clincher? She spent the whole 2.45 hr date talking about him (liked to call him ‘Twat-Face’, and this whole sorry episode to me, her supposed date.
No matter what I did, no matter how blasé or cool I was about it….she just looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but on a date with me….
Why?
Because I wasn’t him.

Thoughts, opinions, rants?

Yeah…

Chicks dig jerks. And Ross Douthat handwaved.

Less glibly, yet another reason to avoid a long-term relationship with a woman who has amassed an above-average number of sexual partners in her life is that the odds increase that she has dated, fucked, and fallen deeply in love with an asshole. And though she was able to extricate herself from his intoxicating grip to one day go on a half-hearted date with you, his memory continues to scour her dreamscape. What man who isn’t a desperate loser needs the extra headache?

The girl with a lot of past lovers is never alone. You aren’t sitting across from her at a bar; you’re sitting across from her and all the cockas that rocked her.

My advice:

Date virgins.

Ok, that’s a tall order nowadays.

Your next best options, should an execrable date of this nature ever occur again, are to fight asshole with asshole.

Flirt with another woman in front of her.
Text while she’s talking about her ex.
Keep changing the subject. But make it obvious that’s what you’re doing. Humor helps. “You ever wonder what it’s like to piss in a moving elevator?”
Lay down the man law, in so many words. “If you want a shoulder to cry on about your ex, there’s a gay guy I know who’s much better at this. Don’t worry, he won’t judge.”
Get up and leave without warning. This is your last card, and it’s an Ace. Don’t be afraid to play it. You shouldn’t be spending three minutes, let alone three hours, of your valuable time listening to a woman bitch about her ex, anyhow. That’s beta male scarcity mentality.

Whatever you do, don’t sound jealous or butthurt. This is a game, treat it like one.

The advantage will be yours because a clear and present asshole trumps an invisible asshole. And given her history, you may be the new asshole who helps her get over her last asshole.

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A slew of eye-tracking heatmaps reveal some very interesting sex differences in subconscious desire, (as well as revealing optimum product positioning, which come to think of it is related to the former).

In the above map we see that men’s gazes focused on the woman’s face and body (and less so on the surrounding details). Women were more interested in the photo’s context, but they didn’t gaze any less at the model’s face and body. (It even looks like women spent *more* time checking out their competition.) Conclusion: Women objectify women as much as men do.

Similar results here. Women aren’t blind to other women’s beauty. Or their shoes. (Men, as per cultural stereotype, don’t give a shit about a hot babe’s choice of footwear.)

Here are two online dating profiles. The left profile is female, the right male. Eye tracking shows that men and women viewers gaze for a long time at the female profile’s face. The male profile photo, in contrast, hardly gets any attention, from either sex! More attention is paid to his background information, aka his story and his identity.

Eye gaze experiments provide strong evidence that a woman’s sexual market value is primarily a function of her looks, while a man’s SMV is multivariate. Women’s attraction triggers are holistic. Women will subconsciously measure and judge a host of personality, psychological, and contextual characteristics of a man before their arousal has solidified into conscious desire.

Because I know it drives certain spergalicious Rainmen crazy, once more with the slash of the shiv:

Maxim #5:  A man’s looks don’t matter as much to women as a woman’s looks matter to men.

Men who grasp the innate truth of the above maxim will do better with women than men who give up all hope because they are sad their jawlines are 0.1 micrometers too narrow.

***

Taking bets now on how many bitter quasimodos and Tinder sluts with poor reading comprehension show up here to ragefroth after ignoring the part that says “as much”.

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Reader PA linked to an old video featuring four famous French singers embodying four distinctive styles of womanhood. All four are fantasizing about hitting on the same man who’s leaning against the bar. PA comments,

This is a delight in its own right. It’s also a Game tool: ask a girl which style, of the four shown here, is hers.

(Stay tuned for 3:34. Assuming it’s not electronically altered, dude has the deepest frog voice I’ve ever heard.)

The video is fun, and yes it does contain material that would serve very well reconstituted as a game routine. Which is what I’ve done.

Naturally, in most situations you’re not going to pull up a Youtube video for a girl you just met so you can ask her with which femme fatale she most identifies, (although there’s nothing wrong with doing that if you can manage it).

Do you remember the archetypical femmes fatales? The classics? The Chateau archives have posts about them and their particular gaming needs.

The golddigger.
The waif/neurotic.
The eternal ingenue.
The Amazonian alpha.

Asking a woman which female archetype she thinks she is will light up her eyes and deepen her conversational commitment. (Most girls like to think of themselves as ingenues. Be wary of the girl who proudly proclaims herself an amazonian alpha. Also be ready to bounce her home for the NSA bang.)

In the video, the singers represent, respectively (and commenters are free to argue with my categorizations):

Singer #1: The shy girl-next-door with a secret raging passion.
Singer #2: The fun-loving free spirit with a naughty side.
Singer #3: The elegant romantic who can throw a dinner party as well as she can flirt.
Singer #4: The take-charge seductress who might walk out with your wallet in the morning.

(Timeout to note how crazy beautiful and feminine Frenchwomen can be. I’d even consider monogamy with that first singer, and it takes a lot to inspire me to that sacrifice. Tragically, the times, and our women, have changed.)

If the girl you’re hitting on can watch this video with you, simply asking her which type she relates to will get the comfort stage ball rolling. Without the video, you’ll have to keep the above four (or eight) femmes fatales stored in memory for retrieval as part of the Femme Fatale Game Routine.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Women love to put men in boxes — you know, the frat bro, the nerd, the momma’s boy, the player — but there are types of women too. Femmes fatales. And men can tell a lot about a woman by her type. [pause for her curiosity to get the best of her. look away during this moment, so you don't leave the impression that you're anxiously anticipating her reply.]

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Really! So what type am I?

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: That depends. You see a man you like. You want to grab his attention. Do you look at him, then look away, blushing? Or do you bounce up to him and act flirty?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Act flirty.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: So you see yourself more as the free spirit than the shy girl-next-door. Ok, now if the choice is between being a free spirit, or sidling up in a sleek cocktail dress and remarking on his sense of style or whatever, which do you choose?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Ooh, I like cocktail dresses. I’d do that.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Ok, so you’re more of an elegant romantic than a free spirit. Now you have to choose between being an elegant romantic, or wearing a sexy dress with a plunging neckline and whispering racy innuendo in his ear. The take-charge seductress.

LITTLE BO QUEEF: That’s too much for me. I’ll stick with being the sophisticated romantic in a cocktail dress.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Typical American woman. Great! Now I know what type you are. Ready?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Yes!

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: The elegant romantic is passionate, but not crass. She’s no prude, she just likes a long build-up before going for the kill. She thinks herself sophisticated [ed: note that this is a challenge], and tries to dress stylishly [ed: another challenge]. She’s emotionally mature and has that natural sexiness which makes other women jealous, but not so jealous that they feel threatened. Men feel good about introducing you to business associates.

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Yay!

If words aren’t your thing, you can run an abbreviated version of the Femme Fatale Routine.

DEVIL’S REARGUARD: Shy girl-next-door, or naughty free spirit?

LITTLE HO’S SHEAF: Both!

DEVIL’S REARGUARD: That’ll do.

***

PS I understand that the “style” PA refers to may be the man’s style, but I think the routine works better as a pickup tool if you ask the girl about female-specific styles.

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Men instinctively know to avoid single moms and BPD headcases. No man wants to help raise another man’s kid, and crazy drama whores aren’t much fun after the post-coital glow wears off.

Now we can add another archetype to the list of women to avoid: The Credentialist Whore.

Reader Dr. Giggles explains,

Perhaps we’ve found another type of woman who, like the single mom, should be avoided by men at all costs. Call her the credentialist bachelorette. She carries baggage like the single mom in the form of spiraling college debt which you end up subsidizing, by either paying for everything during the relationship, or outright paying the debt itself once married. Unlike the bastard spawn you can kick to the curb once it turns 18, the debt may last into her golden years, according to a recent Beta times article.

A woman who whores herself out for useless college credentials like an MA in Vagina Pondering, and amasses a mountain of debt on her quest for status feels and anonymous urban fucking, is a horrible long-term relationship prospect. Not only will you invariably get stuck directly or indirectly paying off chunks of her debt, you will have to deal with her insufferable “credentialed girl” entitlement lovingly honed from years fobbing her bills off on her daddy. If you’re really unlucky, she might be the type of CW to unload on you about the patriarchy during a first date.

File the Credentialist Whore, along with the Single Mom and Crazy Bitch, under “pump and dump”, and don’t even think about moving in with her. Sex is a lot more satisfying when you’re not paying for it in some form or another.

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What is “the No Girl”? Reader Sentient explains,

Another FRIDAY CHALLENGE… If you have been out opening girls, you will come across the NO girl… Like before you even get a word out, she shoots up her hand and says “No”… and there you are! (fwiw – seems to be the younger girls who do this the most, may be something they are taught?).

By scared, sharting betas who allow them to get away with it.

The Scenario:

You are in a bar, see a girl (maybe a single, maybe with a girlfriend, let’s say no guys in her group) and you go over to her and start to say something and she shoots you the hand and just says “No”… That’s it… “No”… and turns away…

What can you do to salvage and optimize the interaction? Let’s see your tight game, albeit it may be a Hail Mary…

The No Girl is usually a 6 or 7 who thinks she’s a 9. Her autonomic rejection is an act put on for the purpose of self-medicating her ever-vigilant ego. Truly beautiful women will rarely do this because 1. they aren’t approached that often by men and 2. they don’t have to prove their worth with SMV striver antics. The No Girl is more often found in groups, because it’s fun to insta-reject a man for the amusement of your cackling bitch friends.

Of course, displaying resentment or feeling insulted will redound to the No Girl’s victory. If you want to turn a No Girl into a Good To Go Girl, you’ll need a honed reaction that at once conveys your imperturbability and your cocky disregard for her faggy theatrics.

Having been the recipient of a few No Girls in my time, I can offer suggestions:

GIRL: *hand shoots up* “No!”

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE: “Hey chill out, I was just gonna tell you you have food on your face.”

The “chill out” part is important. You want everyone within earshot to understand she’s a crazy bitch for reacting so hostilely. Social shaming is bitch taming.

Alternate version:

GIRL: *hand shoots up* “No!”

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE: “Hey chill out, I came over to talk to your friend.”

There’s also the nonverbal response:

GIRL: *hand shoots up* “No!”

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE: *high five the girl’s outstretched hand* “All right! On the flip side!”

Then there’s the silent stone wall technique:

GIRL: *hand shoots up* “No!”

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE: *sit down, look at her in silence with a wry smile for a few uncomfortable seconds, force her to make eye contact with you* “Charmed, as well.”

This one, if done with the requisite composure, can quickly turn her crowd to your side.

Finally, I’m a fan of the “make lemonade out of lemons” school of game:

GIRL: *hand shoots up* “No!”

BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE: “No, you don’t use Palmolive. Have you seen your callouses?”

Now it’s your turn to solve this sexual market riddle. Best answers featured in a future post.

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Two girls fighting over one man. This delightful menage a twat won’t be the theme of any mainstream rom-com any time soon, because the alpha male these two babycakes are fighting over is, allegedly, Arron (sic) Lewis, mystery meat marekiller currently suspected of murdering Arkansas real estate agent Beverly Carter.

“Well I guess you made up your mind cuz you are still texting him.”

Chicks dig jerks. Chicks dig taken jerks. Chicks, at least as far as we can tell by their actions, dig taken jerks who lie to them. Bonus digging points if said jerk has a rap sheet.

Indignant white knights nursing an excessively protective instinct toward women which helps themselves feel useful in the world will doubtless wail, “But he lied to her! She didn’t know he was a jerk!” This sort of thinking betrays a lack of exposure to the jungle dating market. I don’t see either of these cute-ish girls giving their sex to honest, law-abiding beta males. I see them fucking a lying, murdering sack of filth. And getting into girlfights over who will be his number one. The alpha male soft harem in action.

If you have any sort of experience with cute girls, you know that when they hook up, and stay hooked up, with lying assholes they know on some level with a quickness that these guys are lying assholes. Now of course their spinning hamsters will rationalize away their gnawing suspicions and oddly exciting discomfort, because these sexxxy bastards are just so intriguingly sexxxy and arousingly bastardly. It’s similar to how a smitten beta male, unable to think straight because his brain is awash in nutritious fresh squeezed pussy juice, will spin or ignore or sugarcoat evidence that his hot girlfriend is drifting out of love with him.

Hm, she hasn’t texted me since yesterday. Probably forgot to charge her phone.

The pricked self-preservation senses of the jerk-loving girl and the girlfriend-loving beta male tell them one thing, while their captured hearts tell them another. As love is the second most powerful emotion in the universe after jealousy, and tied with hate, the heart usually wins these contests of wills. And never really stops winning, even when it is finally denied the satisfaction of fulfillment.

***

A confused commenter avers,

The women we’re talking to each other about LEAVING him not about how much he makes their vags tingle from the power.

This is exactly the kind of misreading that one would expect from a Pollyanna pedestal polisher. Women don’t argue with each other in novella format over a man they don’t love anymore and truly wish to leave. A woman who has fallen out of love and wants to leave a man won’t turn over her decision a thousand times, nor argue about it with the man’s other lover. She’ll just leave, and her reasoning, if her spurned boyfriend demands it, will be uncharacteristically — for her sex — perfunctory. “I just don’t feel it anymore. I wish you the best.”

Only experience with women will enable a man to understand their different reactions to men they no longer love, versus men who have hurt them but whom they still love. Let’s put it this way: If two girls are fighting exhaustively over how to leave you, you’re in the gina seat.

Ya gotta read between the id-storm of lines, brethren. Or should I say sistren. *eyebrow raise*

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