What To Do When A Girl Starts Crying For No Reason

When you date a girl for longer than two months the odds become better than even that she will erupt into spontaneous waterworks for no discernible reason. All girls do this, even the stable normal ones. In fact, you should be concerned that you are dating a stone hearted bitch if she doesn’t inexplicably cry on occasion. If women crying makes you break out into sweaty hives you should probably limit yourself to dating lawyers. They never cry; they just subsume their womanly instincts into raging competitiveness and piston-like screwing. Thankfully for the state of femininity, their breed is dying out.

The last time I was confronted with a woman’s tears I had just finished banging her in a satisfying position — doggy. (The most spiritually nourishing sex positions are those which are closest to the primitive positions practiced by the animal kingdom.) She hopped off the bed, went to the bathroom, exited the bathroom 20 seconds later, and then stood in the middle of the room, wrapped in a bath towel, as tears started to fall.

Most betas when confronted with such a spectacle will turn the finger of blame inward and wonder if it was something they did. A beta will tenderly, cautiously, approach the girl and touch her shoulder while asking if anything is wrong, did he do something that bothered her? Naturally, as my readers are well aware by now, this will paradoxically fill her with resentment for the beta. Even though his dick was only moments earlier inside her womb, she will become agitated by his presence for reasons even she can’t fathom, and her disgust will grow as she pushes his arm off and insists that nothing is wrong.

The experienced man, on the other hand, has seen all this before. Through trial and error, or through honed intuition, he has learned how to deal with these emotional pressure releases that plague women. He knows that sometimes a powerful rogering will rattle a woman’s soul so deeply that tears are shaken loose. He will let the sob show play itself out, knowing that she will come through it on the other side a happier woman.

When she began crying, vulnerable in the middle of the room clutching her bath towel, I looked at her intently for a few seconds, walked up, gave her a strong hug and a cheek kiss, wiped one tear with my thumb, and then let go to pour a couple of drinks for the both of us. I didn’t ask what was wrong, I didn’t ask if there was something I could do, I didn’t ask how I could make it better. I didn’t even ask if she wanted a drink. I just put the drink in her hand. Everything was done in silence. I grabbed a magazine and read it on her couch while she took a shower.

She was emotionally cold for about a half hour after that, then as we were lying in bed later falling asleep, she rolled over and nuzzled her head in the nook where my arm meets my chest. She was smiling.

Here are the rules for dealing with a spontaneously crying woman:

• Don’t worry about why she is crying. It doesn’t matter if it was something you did, or if it had nothing to do with you, your reaction should be the same either way.
• That reaction is warm, nonverbal reassurance. Don’t say a word. Odds are you will say something to worsen her erratic emotional state.
• If you suspect that the cause of her tears is something you did, you should let her express those reasons on her own time. Don’t try and pry the reason from her.
• Give her a glass of water or wine while she is crying. If she refuses the drink, don’t loiter questioningly. Simply put her drink down on the counter and go about enjoying your drink.
• For the love of god, DON’T PLEAD WITH HER TO COMMUNICATE HER FEELINGS. This goes against everything that every women’s mag and self-help relationship book says, but the truth is that there’s nothing a woman despises more than a mealy-mouthed sensitive beta playing new age psychotherapist.

I have found that after a good cry a woman will often feel closer to you than ever. She will give her sex lovingly soon after her tears have dried. For this reason I recommend provoking your girl to cry as it will open up new and exciting possibilities in bed. You’ll want to incite her tears in such a way, of course, that you maintain plausible deniability. One way to do this is to get out of bed after sex to watch some porn on the computer.

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Women Want You To Cheat

Here’s a quote from a female commenter to an article about emotionally unavailable men that was posted over at one of those loser feminist sites that rhymes with Jizzabel:

This is me, I love my husband but every once in awhile I wish he weren’t so into me. I think I’m still emotionally unavailable but pretending not to be, because I know that deep down I do care about him, I’m just not really into caring yet.

The verdict is in: Women want men to cheat on them. Oh sure, they don’t *consciously* want their men to cheat, but unbeknownst to all but the most self aware women, their ginas tingle uncontrollably for men who can — and do — score some poon on the side.

Whenever a wife says she “cares about” her husband, you can bet her pussy has turned drier than Death Valley. Female “caring” is the anhedonic guilt blurt of the higher brain rationalizing the disgust of the hindbrain. This commenter’s marriage is doomed. Her husband is a romantic beta with visions of pedestals dancing in his head. He needs to pull back fast if there is any hope of avoiding divorce rape. Going to a hooker won’t cut it; the wifey needs to know her husband can win over women with his natural charms. Going to marriage counseling won’t cut it; tag teaming with a pseudoquack to berate her husband mercilessly while he sits there taking it like a dutiful herb schlub is no way to excite ginas. Doing more domestic chores won’t cut it; contrary to popular belief women aren’t aroused by men acting like women.

Here is my five point plan for saving faltering marriages:

1. Stop giving compliments, flattery, and gifts.
2. Come home from work late every night.
3. Buy yourself new, stylish clothes.
4. Cheat. If she asks, deny. No need to confess to the wife. She’ll be able to smell the competitor vaj juice on you.
5. After three months of executing the above four points, unexpectedly tell your wife her ass looks great.

I challenge any multiple credentialed psychotherapists to prove me wrong. My simple five point system based in a clearheaded understanding of male-female biosocial differences VERSUS the peer reviewed, academically accredited expertise practiced by the husband-shaming marriage counseling industry. Mano a mangino.

Care to bet whose solution saves more marriages?

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Time To Boredom

There are two reasons men get bored with women: Intellectual incompatibility and beauty incompatibility. The less mentally stimulating or aesthetically stimulating a woman is to a man, the quicker he will grow bored with her and throw his worm back into the waters for nibbles from new fish. Which of these two factors controls a larger portion of a man’s interest? Beauty, clearly, and especially so in the critical first few months, but assuming a threshold for acceptable beauty is met intellectual attraction or lack thereof serves to capture a man’s interest beyond the three-month mark. If neither the beauty nor intellectual threshold of attraction is crossed, a man will get bored after the first ejaculation. If both are met, a man is susceptible to the woman’s ploys to entrap him into marriage.

Beauty and intellectual compatibility are relative to the man’s dating market value. If the man is a 9, he will need a woman who is a 9 or 10 in beauty, and no less than 10 IQ points lower than his own, if he is to avoid getting bored with her after a month or two. Although I’ve known plenty of people whose wit, charm, and humor belied their average IQs, I will use IQ in this post as a rough proxy for intellectual and personality compatibility. For purposes of discussion, I’ll set aside the few exceptions where the IQ of the partners is equal but their interests are so contrary that boredom becomes a manifestation of despising the other person’s hobbies.

What follows is a handy chart illustrating Time To Boredom for the average man (male dating value rank = 5 on a scale of 0 – 10 inclusive) based on the two critical variables of female beauty and IQ. Note that Time To Boredom is a relative value that will, on average, occur much sooner for a high ranking man than it would for a low ranking man. It is conceivable, in fact, that a male 10 will get bored with every woman he meets within hours if he doesn’t have mistresses to take up the slack in his attention span, while a male zero might take years to get bored of a female zero, although in the latter case the boredom might be just as quickly forthcoming but given the dearth of options available to the male zero he will work hard to keep his boredom and disgust hidden from his ugly partner.

Female IQ is measured against a male baseline of 100.

Female Hotness            Female             Time To Male
Rank IQ Boredom
0                                   +-10 points     1 nanosecond (Neural disgust registers
before conscious awareness)
0                                   >-10 points      same diff
0                                   >+10 points     same diff
1                                   +-10 points      1 millisecond (time to retinal burn)
1                                   >-10 points      irrelevant
1                                   >+10 points     1 millisecond to boredom + annoyance
2                                   +-10 points      1 second
2                                   >-10 points      1 minute (male inspired to
ridicule the dummy)
2                                   >+10 points     1 minute (male inspired to
ridicule the nerd)
3                                   +-10 points      5 minutes (male tries to find
redeeming quality)
3                                   >-10 points      3 minutes (male fails at finding
redeeming quality)
3                                   >+10 points     6 minutes (takes male extra minute to
realize she’s ugly thanks to her
impressive knowledge of
computer hardware)
4                                    +-10 points      1 hour (male wants same night lay)
4                                    >-10 points      1/2 hour (male wants same hour lay)
4                                    >+10 points     2 hours (males wants same night lay
with talky talky chick)
5                                    +-10 points      5 weeks (bloom off the rose after
third bang)
5                                    >-10 points      3 weeks (pillow talk excruciating)
5                                    >+10 points     4 weeks (male charmed, then annoyed,
by chick’s nerdiness)
6                                    +-10 points      3 months (best he’s ever had,
but still not that good)
6                                    >-10 points      2 months (her hobby is beer pong)
6                                    >+10 points     2.5 months (emasculated by her
sharp tongue)
7                                    +-10 points      1 year (a beta’s heaven)
7                                    >-10 points      9 months (tard kills boners dead)
7                                    >+10 points     1.5 years (male inspired by her,
but relationship unstable)
8                                    +-10 points      5 years (even a beta will get tired
of sex with same hottie)
8                                    >-10 points      5 years (she’s too hot to care
about tardness)
8                                    >+10 points     5 years (she’s too hot to care
about nerdiness)
9                                    +-10 points      30 years (beta suffers seizure from
constant stream of endorphins)
9                                    >-10 points      30 years (she’s too hot to notice
tardness)
9                                    >+10 points     30 years (she’s too hot to notice
much of anything except
how hot she is)
10                                 +-10 points      forever (entered realm of unreality)
10                                 >-10 points      forever + 1 (tardness means she can’t
tell he’s a beta)
10                                 >+10 points     forever -1 (one day, she uses big word
that renders him impotent)

As you can see, it is almost guaranteed that men of every status rank will grow bored with their girlfriends, dates, wives, fuckbuddies without an external injection of groinal stimulation. There is only one way a man can delay Time To Boredom:

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Girl Screws Tucker Max, Broadcasts Her Sluttiness

I stumbled across a truly unintentionally hilarious tell-all. Some college chick banged Tucker Max during his promotional bus tour for his movie and she wrote about it on the internet.

I Slept With Tucker Max, the Internet’s Biggest Asshat

The fun starts before we even get past the title! The author’s name is Courtney, but here at the Chateau she’ll be known by the moniker “Suzy Semeneater”. Here’s some advice Suzy S.: Banging a guy and happily announcing it on the internet isn’t the best way to drive home your point that the guy is an asshat.

Tucker Max is a blogger-turned-author-turned-movie-producer who’s basically famous for drinking to obliteration and having sex with girls whom he later savages in graphic detail on his site, TuckerMax.com.

This reminds me of all those SWPL chicks who infest the blogworld claiming, every time they stumble across a game related blog, that chicks don’t really want assholes, and that insisting they do is just men making excuses for wanting to treat girls like shit. Yet here we see Suzy S. willingly fucking a guy she admits “savages” women on his blog.

You get what you give, ladies. Give your pussies to assholes, you’ll get nothing but assholes in return.

By the way, I am a huge proponent of asshole game for the reason that, in my observation and in the observation of men who aren’t satisfied with banging beta-settling fatties and fuglies, most women of fuckable quality (i.e. higher than 6, lower than BMI 23, and under 30) respond Pavlovian-like to assholes. And I kinda enjoy being an asshole sometimes.

It was a Monday night, about a quarter to 11, and I was watching TV with my roommates. I’d asked a few people to go out but no one was feeling up to it. Then, I got a text from my friend Steph: “If you want to meet Tucker Max, come to Cafe 210.”

I was a longtime fan and I’d been dying to meet him, so I got dressed as fast as I could and ran out the door. It was only the second week in school, and in my apartment I was already getting teased for my promiscuity. My roommates laughed as I left and told me to make sure to bring him back! “Yeah, like I’m gonna have sex with Tucker Max,” I thought.

Maxim #26: If a woman says the word “sex” in conversation with you or about you, no matter the context, it means she’s thinking about having sex with you.

I was expecting a huge line at the bar, but when I showed up, it was totally dead. I asked the bouncers if they’d heard anything about Tucker Max coming there. “I hope not,” one of them replied. Inside, I found some of my friends and some girls who were clearly Tucker’s tour groupies assembled. We waited a little while, and just when I thought he wouldn’t show, Tucker finally arrived.

“And then a seismic tremor swept through my san vaginus fault!”

Immediately a drunk girl latched onto him, hugging and kissing and falling all over him. She was cute, and I was just about to sigh, “Well, he’s already got his hook-up tonight,” when my friend Rosie snarled, “That’s pathetic. Who wants to be that girl?”

Maxim #27: Pussies are more pliable in the company of competing pussy.

Game tip: You’ll improve your odds of scoring by attending events that feature male celebrities. Counterintuitive? Maybe, but here’s what happens. The celebrity can only take home at most a handful of girls in attendance. The rest will be left with their meatflaps quivering for cock. A roomful of horny chicks, jealous and lubricated, is easier pickings than a roomful of egotastic bitches with sandpaper between their legs.

Regardless, we worked our way into the crowd surrounding Tucker, until we were face to face with him. I shook his hand, and told him I was a huge fan. His response? “Will you f–k a virgin?”

Tucker Max has tight cocky/funny asshole game.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll f–k anyone.” Big mistake.

This is the female verbal equivalent of parting her pussy lips and inserting a speculum for ease of access.

Tucked yelled for his friends to go get some kid, apparently the aforementioned virgin, because he’d “got one” for him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted. “Is he cute?”

“No,” said Tucker. “He’s fat.”

I replied that I had standards; Tucker replied that I was a whore.

Naturally, Max’s minor celebrity status allows him to get away with stuff that a typical beta couldn’t. But then I’ve seen plenty of non-famous guys playfully call girls whores and watched as their eyes lit up with lust. If the typical beta first achieves the goal of ridding himself of bad habits that betray his low sexual status, he too will find that calling girls whores works like gangbusters.

Finally, Steph handed me her camera and suggested that Rosie and I ask to take a picture with him. We did, and this time, Tucker blatantly looked me up and down.

How many women’s mags (and men’s mags for that matter) advise men to be discreet about checking out the goods on a date? All of them? The truth is that making it obvious you’re checking out a girl is good game. The trick is to do it with a critical eye, instead of a drooling mouth.

“34 C?” Tucker asked.
“32 C,” I replied, “but good guess. What, are you trying to touch them or something?”
“Oh, I know I can touch them,” he said. “But I like to guess first.”

Here’s a question for my readers. In what context would “34 C?” work as an opener? Your answers will count towards your final score.

When I went back to sit with my friends, they’d been joined by a couple of Tucker’s tour guys. Eventually, the man himself showed up.

“So,” he asked, scooting in next to me. “Are you coming back with me tonight?”

I’m on the fence about describing this as Apocalypse Game. Max’s threshold for apocalyptic pussy prying is naturally lower than it would be for a man who isn’t enjoying a measure of fame.

I have two options. One: dignity. Two: a good story to tell later. So I snuck off and texted my best friend, Matt. Should I f–k Tucker Max? His response: You will be a GOD in my eyes.

Matt: Beta of the Month candidate.

It’s done. Around 1:30, I told Tucker that I would, in fact, go home with him. “Oh, I know,” he replied. “We have a cab waiting, let’s go.”

Han Solo game is getting overexposed.

We got into the cab with everyone at the bar waving and giving the thumbs up. The best part? I didn’t even know most of them.

Your parents must be proud.

Tucker took me back to the Hampton Inn where he was staying, showed me his tour bus (which was pretty sweet) and I met his dog, whom he talks to like an somebody’s aunt talking to a baby, except that he told him, “Say hello to the new slut!”

Some of the best sex I’ve ever had was with girls I utterly degraded.

Finally, in his room, he wasted no time getting completely naked. Like, no foreplay at all. Well, girls? Here’s everything you wanted to know about Tucker Max: His body is nice, but a little too hairy. He’s a great kisser. He screws like he’s jackhammering a sidewalk. I faked orgasm to get him to stop. After he was finished he told me we were going to do it again in the morning. Great! I should have gotten up and left, but then he wanted to chat.

What, no mention of his penis size? For a girl to write about banging an asshat celebrity and not mention anything about his dick, true or not, means one of two things:

1. She enjoyed the jackhammering, her protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.
2. She’s totally OK with being used like a convenient receptacle.

I agree with Max and Roosh that there’s no reason to concern yourself with giving the girl an orgasm, particularly if you intend the girl to be nothing more than a one night stand. If you’re alpha enough, she’ll happily go on banging you no matter how sexually unsatisfied she remains. Only milquetoast betas with high-pitched womanly voices like A.J. Jacobs (who was on the Elliot in the Morning radio show today talking about his article which I excoriated) tenderly and diligently work to assure their lovers’ orgasms until their tongues go numb.

We talked about normal things, like how he eventually wanted to get married and have kids, which was a shock.

I like to tell cheap lays that one day I plan to open an orphanage in Calcutta, because I have so much love to give.

He said that he wasn’t interested in being in relationships, and I told him I liked being in them, at which point he totally misunderstood me and proceeded to tell me that we couldn’t date.

At which point she wanted to date him even more.

“You’re not a real person,” I replied, by way of explanation. I also told him about this guy I was kind of hung up on and he was surprisingly nice and insightful, telling me that I was a cute girl and that I shouldn’t pin my hopes on some dude at my age.

😆

Has there ever been a better advertisement for being an asshole to get what you want from girls than the things girls tell their asshole lovers the morning after? Hey, dude, if you’re reading this, your angel was jackhammered by Tucker Max. No need to treat her to dates. A little grabass in the bar and a beeline to your futon should do the trick.

The next day, he woke me up for sex, as promised. It was worse, because he was panting this time, and when he was putting his clothes on, he farted loudly, multiple times. I called a cab, and he gave me 20 bucks for the cab which I gladly took. (Hey, I’m in college.) He hugged me and said, “I’d totally hook up with you again. Call me if you’re ever in L.A.”

Secret society.

Eh. I think one episode of stunt sex is all I’ll ever need.

Translation: “Eh, I think one episode of hot sex is all I’ll ever get from him.”

(If you want to read Tucker’s account — which is slightly different from mine — you can read it here.)

In Tucker Max’s version of the pickup (which is amusingly, and unsurprisingly, much shorter than Suzy Semeneater’s) he describes her as being “very cute”. Here’s a pic of the girl:

Mmmm… nyah.

Writer and student Courtney A. attended Penn State University, where she accumulated lots of stories.

Any guy who marries this girl is a fool. Any guy who meets this girl and doesn’t fuck her on the first night is a fool.

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Being A Beta Is Worse Than…

…being this guy:

Hope’s boyfriend.

An anonymous reader sent me this photo with the following message: “gets more tail than all the herbs and betas on this site”.

What’s going on here? Clearly, Wolfman has a genetic mutation. Some things we know:

Chicks dig gnarly mutations.
Chicks especially dig gnarly mutations that confer a measure of fame upon the sufferer.
Chicks dig testosterone overload.
Man fur is a leading indicator of big balls swollen with testosterone.

What we don’t know is whether these cute girls* are banging Wolfman or if they’re just posing with him because of the novelty. *(I can’t tell if every girl pictured is the same girl. You know how it is. All look same.) Assuming this is his girlfriend(s), and that banging is going on, you have to tip your hat to the guy. He’s doing better than 70% of hirsutely normal betas whose faces girls can see.

In related news, Roosh rubbed his thick facial carpet while exclaiming “I’m not worthy!”.

I think I will start a new series called “Being A Beta Is Worse Than…”. The comparisons are limitless!

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The Woman Source

I’ve found day game nirvana. The Paper Source, on M Street in Georgetown, is swimming in snapper. Swimming, Jerry! I couldn’t believe the wall to wall babes in this place, browsing, of all things, paper and paper accessories.

As one Yelp reviewer wrote:

What is it about women and stationary? If a girl ever looked at me with the same look of anticipation, excitement, longing, and joy that you see on the faces of the many ladies walking into this store, I think my heart would explode.

Gentlemen pay attention, should you ever have the urge to be surrounded by a crowd of attractive, giddy women head over to this store on a Saturday afternoon. Loudly announce to the clerk that you would really love some “letter pressed personalized stationary” and whether there is a large selection of styles you can patiently browse through.  Women standing around you will raise one eyebrow appreciatively and check you out.

I have been dragged here a couple of times over the years. What can I say; It sells paper. In a bewildering amount of sizes and functions.  This store proves that women are just more thoughtful and caring then us guys, for they sell a cute little card for every possible occasion.  There is an upstairs, but before having to go up there to see what it was about, I was able to negotiate an early exit from the store by promising to buy the girl I was with dinner; there may be a bar and dumpling store up there for all I know.  Point being, if you come here with your girlfriend, you will have to drag her out kicking and screaming. And probably drop at least $20 on paper. Otherwise, Mie n Yu is close by so you can pop over there for some drinks and wait it out.  

I really could care less about stationery, but because women love this store, and I love women, I dedicate 4 stars on their behalf.

I went upstairs. There was a $112 photo album in a bin. (Photos not included.) Was it laminated in gold leaf? I couldn’t tell. The man-cession deepens while the frivolous woman economy rolls on. For now. Helpful tip: Two floors means consecutive number closes mere yards apart are possible.

Why do women love froo froo stationery? I know why.

1. Paper is lightweight. Women are lightweight.
2. Paper is insubstantial. Women are insubstantial.
3. Paper is a medium upon which trivial thoughts are transcribed. Women are a medium from which trivial thoughts issue.
4. Paper comes in many soft pastel colors. Women can identify more soft pastel colors than men.
5. Paper contains an element of danger (paper cuts). Women tingle in the gina region for hidden danger.
6. Hand-written love notes on high gauge paper harken back to a romantic era. Women love fantasizing about long-gone romantic eras when raw sewage would run freely down cobblestone streets.
7. Personalized lace-fringed paper, calligraphy, and wax seals show you care. Except that you shouldn’t show you care. Because chicks will ignore you if you show you care. Which is why chicks love things that show you care. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

So there you have it. A day game den of estrogen situated in the heart of a day game neighborhood. Bonus day game locale: City Bikes in Adams Morgan. Chicks dig the fixed gear.

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Your Girlfriend’s Friends Are Your Enemy

Here’s a helpful tip for all the men out there: If your girlfriend starts spending a lot of time with her girl friends, and begins speaking of them in glowing terms, you are being slandered. Count on it. This is how girls bond.

When you first begin dating a girl you’ll notice that she’s all too happy to build a connection with you on the backs of her girl friends. Her cattiness will be a sound to behold. If the world were a scratching post, women would be shredding it to its solid inner core. Knowing this compulsion for betrayal amongst women, you can capitalize by joining her in the robust disparagement. She will appreciate your sympathy and you’ll instill that good old-fashioned co-conspirator feeling in her.

Where it gets tricky is when suddenly, one day, she tells you about the great time she had last night drinking til all hours with her BFF Bitches-a-Lot. Recalling that BFF Bitches-a-Lot is the same friend your girlfriend informed you last week was a skank ho, you inquire as to whether Bitches-a-Lot’s skank ho-dom made an appearance last night. Now pay attention to her answer. Does your girlfriend laugh at your roguery and basically agree with you? You’re in the clear. Or does she patronizingly chide you for saying such horrible things, and then wax eloquently about how wonderful a friend BFF Bitches-a-Lot really is to her?

If the latter, you, my good man, were last night’s scratching post. Your girlfriend and Bitches-a-Lot renewed their BFF love over your moldering carcass. Caustic bean spilling and thinly veiled innuendo were served last night, and you were the main dish. Your dog was the garnish.

Never EVER trust a circle of happy girl friends. If you see a sly smile on your girlfriend’s friend’s face, know that they spent last night cackling over what a buffoon you are, and, if the BFF’s white-hot jealousy breached the conversational etiquette, snidely insinuating that you are:

1. an unrepentant player
2. a man ho
3. selfish
4. an asshole
5. likely cheating
6. bad boyfriend material and
7. leaving tremendous logs in the toilet.

Who cares if all the above are true? The point is that as a man you shouldn’t tolerate saboteurs in your girlfriend’s ranks attempting to disrupt the good thing you’ve got going on. Single, overweight BFF’s are your absolute worst enemy, because their bitterness at being single and fat will only be assuaged by the cathartic release of wrecking your relationship with your girlfriend. Idle vaginas are the devil’s playthings. A single, fat BFF wants nothing more in life than the company of misery.

Unfortunately, there is not much a man can do *directly* to avoid the machinations of bitter BFFs. Stay a powerful alpha force in your girlfriend’s life, and she’ll humor her friends’ dangerous gossip games. It helps to remind yourself that a woman will never leave a man she loves based on the poison words of even her bestest BFFs.

If you want to be more proactive, an effective counterattack is shame. Women may have a bag full of shit tests and impenetrable bitch shields, but a rip roaring public shaming will bring them to their knees. The next time you are out with your girlfriend and her friends, casually ask the bitterest BFF how her dating life is going. Nod sympathetically as you mention how tough dating in this city can be for those of you who are very picky, and then tell her a good man who can appreciate her *interesting* personality is right around the corner. Remind her that when you were single, you got to catch up on a lot of hobbies, like kite flying and antique shopping. Hide your smirk.

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