The Self-Delusion Cloak Of Invincibility

Women in their late 30s are freezing their eggs because they haven’t yet found the perfect badass alpha male willing to commit to them and love them for all eternity in between time spent ruling the galaxy.

A study of women at a Belgian clinic found half wanted to freeze their eggs to take the pressure off finding a partner, a fertility conference heard.[…]

The women who had an average age of 38 did not expect to use their frozen eggs until they were around 43 and they realised they needed to undergo the procedure while they were still healthy and fertile.

“We found that they had all had partners in the past, and one was currently in a relationship, but they had not fulfilled their desire to have a child because they thought that they had not found the right man.”

The self-delusion on display here is astounding. These are supposedly smart, educated women thinking like this. They are deluding themselves in two ways. One, late 30s is too late to start harvesting eggs. The shelf life of eggs is short; the primo years for eggs are late teens to mid 20s to begin scooping them out in order to have babies at a much later date through an older woman’s bedraggled, paper-thin vajeen, just as nature intended. But the bigger self-delusion (and the funnier one from my point of view), is the implied belief of these women that they are exempt from the laws of the sexual marketplace. Do smart women really believe that in their late 30s to early 40s they are just as attractive to the alpha males as they were when they were younger, hotter, tighter? If their behavior and spending decisions are any indication, the answer is yes.

They are in for a rude awakening. Oh sure, a couple of them might get extraordinarily lucky and land their prince chumplings, but most will either fade into sexual worthlessness, crying tears of despair at night as their dreams stalk them with visions of empty children’s playpens, or they will suck it up and learn to settle for the unexciting beta lapdog with the advanced degree in domestic engineering. A few will choose to tough it out as single moms, gifting the world with yet another juvenile delinquent or slut in training.

On a side note, how would you feel if you were the “man” in a relationship with one of these cunts who was letting you know in no uncertain terms that she’s putting off childbearing because she doesn’t believe you are worthy of inseminating her? Would that be grounds for switching out her birth control pills for flintstones vitamins just to fuck with her?

[Dr Srilatha Gorthi] said the medical students gave career reasons as the most common reason for considering egg collection while the other students were more concerned about financial stability.

And she added that society needs to better support young women in having a family when they are ready without compromising their careers.

Typical wrongheaded feminist advice. “Better supporting” young women to have a family is exactly what got them into this predicament in the first place. What happens when society stitches a safety net of financial, legal, social, and cultural support under young women? Why, they ride the cock and career carousel until the parties start to get boring, and then they go asking for handouts from the state, from business, and from desperate betas to help them raise their late in life love children.

Here’s a crazy thought: maybe what the West needs to avoid a sad decline is a little less support, instead of more.

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“Suck it up”

It’s been quipped that liberals love humanity but hate humans, while conservatives love humans but hate humanity. I find there to be a lot of truth to this statement. Now, an illuminating quote from a story about Algore’s alleged sexual assault on a masseuse adds credence to the quip’s accuracy:

Finally she got away. Later, she talked to friends, liberals like herself, who advised against telling police. One asked her “to just suck it up; otherwise, the world’s going to be destroyed from global warming.”

Funny. At least we know 21st century feminism bows to the altar of gaiaism in the pantheon of liberal virtues. The feminists have been taking body blows lately. First, the tsunami of science discredits just about everything they believe in. Second, you’ve got mischievous boys like myself happily shitting in their faces. And now even their natural leftie allies are sacrificing them to the demands of their substitute mother earth religion.

Normally, I tend to disbelieve any sex accusation against a famous alpha male by some two-bit happy ending pseudohooker on the take, but with the Gores’ marriage ending so unceremoniously recently, the accusation becomes more believable. Which, in closing, brings me to another maxim.

Maxim #211: A good working assumption is that any married alpha male with options in the sexual market, no matter how religious or declarative of his love for his wife he is, is fucking a mistress.

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A Test Of Your Game

The context: You’ve met a girl (not through social connections) and exchanged numbers. You and her went on a first date to a local dive a few days later, and it was good — comfortable rapport punctuated with sensual makeouts. A few more days pass and you call to arrange a second date. This time she invites you to join her at a public event where she will be in attendance along with many of her friends and friends of friends. It is an event that was long ago preplanned, and she is obligated to go. She says you’re welcome to invite some of your friends as well.

The quandary: Do you, or do you not, agree to meet her and, presumably, all her friends, at this event for a second date?

The crux: You are not a newb at the game. You understand that a “group” date will put the brakes on moving the seduction forward to a juicy climax of lustmaking. A girl is not likely to risk slut labeling by physically escalating with you, a new man, in the company of her friends. In the past, you would have balked at such a date suggestion, and offered her the opportunity to meet you another time when she is free of obligations, but you are not so easily dissuaded anymore by these kinds of traditional dating momentum killers. Your spirit flows with the essence of the rakes of seductions past and the life lessons of years of experience, and you sense opportunity where lesser men see obstacles.

What do you do?

The analysis that should be going through your head:

If you are confident in your social savviness, a chance to meet a date’s friends is a chance to work the room. In other words, it’s a chance to demonstrate higher value on the cheap. If you get bored of the usual first-second date routine, (and, truth be told, if you are even semi-decent at game you should be going on enough first and second dates that they get boring after a while, no matter what the girl is like), then a date where her friends will be present is a way to spice things up. You can stretch your abilities and challenge yourself by striking up conversations with strangers and making her girlfriends, and whatever guy friends she has, laugh and enjoy the pleasure of your company.

If you are less confident in your social skills, a group oriented date could ruin your chances. It’s bad enough when a one-on-one date goes cold; it’s irrevocably worse when a one-on-twenty “date” winds up with you the odd man out because you’re too shy or awkward to command a room and handle multi-threaded conversations without turning spergy. Nothing will lower your value faster than meeting a group of people and slowly disappearing into the wall, nursing your drink despondently, as everyone around you has fun.

But, high risk high reward. The flip side of crossing the event horizon of a massive DLV implosion is the chance to explode in a glorious DHV supernova. No guts no glory.

What about the motivations of the girl? You don’t know her well enough yet to get a sense of that, but you do know that her motivations aren’t necessarily bad. Sure, a girl may invite you on a group second date because subconsciously she is taking a step back from you, unsure if you are the knight of her 463 bullet point mental checklist. The “meet the friends” pre-sex date is often better termed the “meet the buffer zone” second date. If that is the case, you would be right to decline the date.

But a girl could just as easily like you so much that she blithely sees nothing wrong with the date+friends formula. She is happy to see you whenever an opportunity arises, whether on a conventional date or in the company of her friends. Remember that cute girls, being the discriminating sex accustomed to passively accepting approaches by men, have never had to learn in any great depth the reality of the sexual market and what constitutes a dating faux pas. They simply lack the awareness of how precarious the mating dance is for men, who must jump through many more hoops to get sexytime than women do (that is, until those women get older or fatter and their bond rating downgraded). If women were subjected to the same dating rules as men and understood how seemingly trivial social missteps can mean the difference between getting rejected or loved, I doubt many of them would be able to function at all in the dating scene, their egos relentlessly hammered into pulpy globules of self-doubt and anxiety.

There is another explanation for her motivations; she may like you and want to a) show you off to her friends, b) observe how her friends react to you (a form of preselection), and c) observe how well you handle her friends. All these motivations could issue from a desire to want to find justifications for her feelings of attraction to you. Many times girls are psychologically stampeded by their own growing attraction. A girl risks a lot more than men do in the relinquishment to arousal — pregnancy, for one. In the state of nature, pre-safe abortion and pre-widespread contraceptives, a surrender to womanly desire could spell disaster. A man has no equivalent worry. And so, in an effort to justify her desire and “make it OK” for her to continue surrendering to you, she will sometimes throw dating curveballs to test your mettle, ease her conscience, and pave the way for her arousal to find fulfillment. These curveballs can be banal, like the oddly suggested group date, or invidious, like the bitchy shit test.

In the final analysis, if your game is shaky, you may want to avoid any pre-sex group oriented dates as a rule. The risk is probably not worth the potential upside, and it won’t cost you much to simply decline in favor of a future one-on-one date in dim lighting. If, on the other hand, your social savvy is impressive and you’re confident that the girl is really into you, meeting her friends could be a fast track to intimacy.

******

UPDATE

What I did:

I told her I’d stop by. I went and chatted up her friends while she darted about catching up with them and performing event duties. She went out of her way to introduce me to many of her friends, which I thought was cool. And, as a nice bonus, one of her cute female friends flirted with me for quite a while, which wasn’t much of a surprise as girls tend to become more intrigued when they see you in the company of one of their girl friends. I left by myself a couple hours later, after I told her to enjoy the rest of the night with her friends. Our next date was very good.

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Pregnant Women Are Smug

Finefantastic you so deliciously cynical.

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Chinese Women Toughest Girls To Game?

This may be the quote of the year:

The hard-boiled bachelorette, Ma Nuo, has gone on to become one of China’s most recognizable bai jin nu [golddigger]. Marry for love? Fat chance, said the material girl: “I would rather cry in a BMW than smile on the back of my boyfriend’s bicycle.”

That’s from an article about the rank materialism of Chinese women. Hmm, now what does that quote remind one of? Oh yeah:

Maxim #101: For most women, five minutes of alpha is worth five years of beta.

You go, future time oriented girl! Now, normally, only the hottest chinagirls are gonna have a realistic shot at crying in a rich man’s BMW. Most of them will have to settle for getting pumped and dumped, sans engagement ring, in the beemer’s back seat. But these are not normal times in the middle kingdom. For one, their sexual market is all kinds of dysfunctional; armies of single men prowl for whatever scraps of single women they can sniff out. With a ratio that bad, it’s no wonder men have to advertise flat ownership (15 square feet!) before some chinese version of a dumpy jelly splingerette casting call reject deems him worthy of a peck on the cheek. We’ve come a long way since foot binding, baby.

The Chinese, being the massively Special K-selected race that they are, are likely the world’s preeminent, badassiest provider betas. This is the land of niceguy hugs, excruciatingly long courtships, the zippered non-fling, and video game substituting for… well, for just about everything. You drop your typical soybrained China dude in America and he is gonna get chewed up and wetly expectorated by our badboy loving women, house or no house. Which system is better? Tough call. Personally, as a fan of love and being human, I’d wither in an environment where chicks were so calculatingly miss roboto about dating and all that slimy emotional stuff that lubes the whole process. On the chubside, you can straight buy your way into some fairly loyal, and non-obese!, vertically epicanthic vaj. No game needed. Of course, the price of entry is steep, and climbing like a stripper reaching for a hundred windexed to the top of the pole.

The Sino-sordid spectacle reminds me of stuff I read from somewhere about how the English evolved mucho smarts and were able to kickstart the industrial revolution, and eventually, America. Turns out they practiced good old fashioned eugenics, the way nature intended — all the smarties and upper classmen had way more kids than the poor and smelly, who were left to die in the streets very uncompassionately, and after many generations of that, a new people was born. (Any current reversal of the process is a figment of your imagination. Ow, my balls!) But you religious bleeding hearts can sleep easy; God watched over the unfolding dirty Darwinian events with an eye toward a future kinder, gentler humanity, so you know it had His heavenly stamp of approval. Back to the point: I see the same thing happening now in China.

I’d say Chinese men need an infusion of game, stat, but they’re probably constitutionally incapable of understanding the concepts, let alone applying them. These Chinese chicks may be megamaterialistic, but I’m nigh certain that you drop a nuclear neg on a moonfaced gaggle of them and suddenly that legalistic mental mate checklist (house? car? sinecure with the Party? Now we talk long time.) evaporates like so much empty bluster. Why do I think this? Because I’d bet coin of the realm that in a country of 500 million men, not more than three girls have been negged, and I’m counting the whores. The conceptual reality of Chinese men couldn’t be further from the world of pickup.

Hey, if a lonely sex-starved Chinese man can’t get a nibble, he could always pull a van der sloot. That’s guaranteed to get him an avalanche of marriage proposals. And it’s a lot cheaper than paying for a house 22 times the cost of the median Chinese annual salary. But seriously, let’s hope this banal, arid materialistic quid pro ho doesn’t infect the rest of the world. Last thing America needs is another layer of absurd entitlement on top of the noxious layers currently defeminizing our women. Remember, every time you buy a fat girl a drink, or a house, Satan smites a beta.

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Staying One Step Ahead Of Suspicious Women

Match.com has an article called ‘Are You Dating A Player?‘ which warns women away from players by identifying some telltale signs of the inveterate philanderer (i.e., the man most attractive to women).

He’s bold. For the player, the pickup is a game. He doesn’t approach women with the same nerves or awkwardness of a normal guy. He’ll walk up confidently, with a big smile and great eye contact. His manner will be smooth and put-together. This doesn’t mean you should look for the opposite — a stuttering wreck — but be wary of a guy who acts completely bulletproof. A little anxiety is natural.

This is a good point. Overqualification is a bigger problem than most men realize, and can kill a pickup in its infancy. Advanced players understand that demonstrating a hint of vulnerability is integral to the seduction process, particularly when the target is insecure about her looks. It’s OK to be cool as a cucumber when approaching 9s and 10s (or even 8s if you look like the type of guy who shouldn’t be dating 8s), but for any other woman, showing a flash of nervousness while still maintaining state control can go a long way toward endearing you to her. I wouldn’t show nervousness in your body language, though. Confident body language is too important to pressing women’s attraction buttons to risk mucking up. Instead, look down after you introduce yourself and say something like “I can’t believe I’m doing this”. All it takes is a subtle gesture to communicate a touch of anxiety. The uglier the girl is, the more you’ll have to pretend to be a marble-mouthed nervous wreck. But then, why are you hitting on ugly girls?

He declares his feelings right away. Players employ a “fast come-on,” according to Dr. Kalish, making sweeping statements of affection (e.g., “You’re the most perfect woman I’ve ever met”) from the word go. These declarations can feel very welcome, especially if you’ve been in a string of relationships that lacked such intimacy. Just remember that true closeness takes time, and it’s normal for a guy to be more guarded about his emotions.

This is wrong. *Phony* players who imagine they are Don Juan of the downtown declare their feelings of love right away. Actual players who know the score do no such thing. They know that women crave the challenge of winning a man’s affection. Direct game like this can work, but generally only in limited contexts, such as with women who aren’t especially hot. And players who advocate direct game usually revert to indirect game soon after the opener.

He always plans romantic dates. Dating for the player is kind of a performance art. And he’s going to be good at it. “He won’t just bring a box of chocolates,” Dr. Kalish warns. “He’ll take you to a state fair and offer to share cotton candy.” Nice guys can be romantic, too, but life with them won’t always feel like a Robert Pattinson movie. Nonstop rooftop picnics and weekends at the cottage could be too much.

I wouldn’t worry about this. Women universally love men who take them on creative, inspired dates. (NOTE: Creative != expensive.) But there is such a thing as overkill. I wouldn’t put much date effort into a chick I haven’t banged yet. If you want to be on the safe side, save your creative, romantic dates until after you’ve banged her.

He has lots of acquaintances, no close friends. The player tends to be a lone wolf. That doesn’t mean he lacks for golfing buddies. The same way he charms women, he can charm lots of people in his life. The key is that, in friendship as in romance, his affections run broad but not deep. If solid pals are hard to come by with this guy, consider yourself warned.

She’s not going to find out about the structure of your friendships until well after you’ve fucked her, so this supposed red flag should be of zero concern to you. I don’t even think this is true. I know ladies’ men who have very deep friendships, with both men and women.

He’s a thrill-seeker. A guy who spends his spare time looking for a rush — fast driving, bungee jumping, kite-boarding, heli-skiing — should give you pause. This type, says Dr. Kalish, craves the excitement that comes from conquering a difficult challenge, and that goes for his relationship goals as well. Once he’s “conquered” you, your allure may quickly fade.

Yeah, I suppose this is a tipoff. If you’re really worried about pinging a girl’s play-dar, then just cut back on the skydiving, champ.

***

The second half of the article describes five signs that the man she is dating is a niceguy. Thus, you should pay attention to this advice if you want to do nothing but masturbate for the rest of your life.

He’s goofy. The sincere suitor is not suave. He doesn’t always say the right thing.

Vulnerability game. Just don’t overdo the goofiness. The niceguy is effortlessly goofy because his lack of confidence gets the better of him. This is not what women want. What they do want is an effortlessly suave man who is occasionally goofy. This will make him seem attainable without sacrificing his raw sex appeal.

He remembers personal details and events. It’s the most basic way to show someone you care — by learning about his or her life and interests.

Awful advice for any man. Women don’t want you to remember personal details about them; at least, not until it matters, like when she’s hinting at marriage and she wants to see signs of commitment from you. Caring carebears do not get laid. Careless assholes do.

He treats his mama right. Generally speaking, a loving family begets a loving person, and the opposite is also true.

Don’t Lotharios have a reputation for being mammas’ boys? Regardless, this is a stupid sign to look for. Men with even half a brain are not going to introduce girls they haven’t had sex with yet to their mothers. If you’re not a complete feeb, she’ll never know what your relationship with your mother is like until well after many sessions of intimacy have transpired.

He can mingle. “The sincere guy doesn’t mind being in a room with people who are more accomplished than he is,” Dr. Kalish says.

Wrong. Players are almost universally better minglers than are niceguys. Niceguys may be good listeners, sure, but that’s because they’re too boring to contribute to the conversation.

He says, “I love you.” As fawning as a player’s affections are, there’s still something sacred about the L-bomb. Kalish found that insincere men would say, “I want to grow old with you,” or “I want to have children with you,” but “I love you” remained somehow off limits. A guy who says those three magic words may very well mean them.

I see the problem here. The author is conflating “insincere men” with “players”. The two are not the same. A player can easily fall head over heels in love with a woman, and declare it from the rooftops. He just happens to do this with a lot of women, instead of just one.

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Breaking The Seal

I had two conversations going on. One with my date (first date) sitting next to me and one in my head.

“They call this game the beautiful sport. Personally, I think bowling should have that title. What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t call bowling a sport.” She smirks.

“Sure it is. Hand eye coordination. Groupies. It qualifies.”

I lay my hand on her forearm. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t return my touch with one of her own. Not a positive sign. Also, I’m turned to her and she’s still facing forward. I’ll try mirroring.

“That’s a very disturbing stick figure drawing. Does your mother know you have all this pent up aggression?”

“Hey, it’s your game. If you can’t handle it you shouldn’t ask to play.” She puts the pencil down with authority.

She brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. I put my hand to my face in a nearly identical gesture. Then I tug at the hair in back of my head. Almost instantly, she plays with a lock of hair on her head. Progress!

“Sounds like your parents have one of those relationships that most people envy.” I’m genuinely impressed.

“It hasn’t always been perfect, but yeah, I’m lucky to have them. They’re a good role model.”

I have my hand on her shoulder when she says this. I’m escalating kino by the book, but she’s not touching me in response at all. Her body language, while not cold, is not warming up either, although her punchy voice tone, her sincere smile, and her glittering eyes betray a deep emotional engagement.

It has been an hour and two drinks since we met this night. People are around us, but not much paying attention to us, except for one Slavic looking girl sitting with three men on the other side of the bar who keeps checking me out. Naturally, I notice this. When women’s eyes are on me, I feel a pleasant disturbance in my calm. A nuke could go off downtown and I’ll still take mental note of some random chick looking at me curiously.

Normally, this is the time of the date when I go for the kiss, but she has sent no signals that an advance toward her lips would yield victory. I’ve had girls faceturn on me before during a lip approach, and it’s an invisible blow to the solar plexus, but I always remind myself that the rejection of a spurned kiss is nothing to the regret of a kiss not taken. Yet… she is inscrutable. Not leaning into me, not leaning away from me. Smiling, but not licking her lips. Accepting of my touches, but not returning in kind. I absorb the tension of the moment, silent and serene, careful to avoid lurching clumsily into try-hard, but the seconds are ticking and the silence is expanding. I could put off the decision and move this conversation in a new direction, but then I risk losing momentum. If seduction were a balloon, overtalking is like pinching the knot to let the air escape slowly.

When I was new to the pickup arts, I defaulted to Mystery’s kiss routine to break the seal and kiss a girl on a first date (or first night). The routine was simple.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

If she says “Yes”, I go for the kiss.

If she says “No”, I say “I didn’t say you *could*… you just had that look on your face.”

If she says “Maybe”, I say “Let’s find out.”

It was a good routine, and never let me down, but as I (re)discovered through the accumulation of experience and memories of past seductions, it was totally unnecessary. The perfect first kiss is ushered wordlessly, imposed on the woman by sheer force of masculine will, intoxicating in its bold, unspoken grandeur, sophisticated in its exquisite timing. Cleverness and calculated filibuster, more often than not, detracts from its simple glory.

But still, I needed a sign. There is always a sign if you look for it.

As I finished speaking, I stared at her. In the silence, my pupils vibrated along a beam of mental wire connected to her pupils. An unmoved girl would quickly glance away. She would have, but not before a telling second passed when her gaze met mine and lingered, and I had all the excuse I needed. Plunging headlong into her aura of feminine repose, I struck the softness of her lips with purpose, and she answered with abandon.

The only kiss routine you need is this: does she hold your gaze for a second longer than is comfortable? If so, you must move. Failure to do so will constitute the loss of a magical moment that will never quite be recaptured in the same way again.

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