My Weird Scientology Date

Role playing is an effective method for bonding with girls. I like to role play with my dates, whether it’s preplanned or spontaneous. The act of assuming different personas and creating impromptu storylines seems to strike at a very primal core in women, making them giggle and light up with waves of pleasure. It’s like women crave this secret world you are inviting them into, a world of heightened sensation and exaggerated drama, as an antidote to their humdrum daily lives of pushing papers at work and emptying the litter box.

The better you are at improv, the wetter she will get. Docter/nurse, cop/speeder, teacher/disobedient student, pimp/hooker, CEO/secretary, irate manager/shoplifter… the pattern should be obvious.

On one date, I gave the girl a guided tour of an old (and very colorful) Russian Orthodox church, complete with ad libbed biographies of the various saints painted on the walls and ceilings. In my best wizened elder priest voice I pretended to welcome her into my confessional as she instantly caught on and slipped into the role of a naughty teenage girl who wished to confess her sin of indulging prurient thoughts of me. I called her “my child” a lot and she answered “yes, father” in lip-bitingly sweet girlish squeaks.

Another time, we went go-kart racing and play-acted a James Bond car chase scene through the narrow streets of Rome. She blew me a kiss as she sideswiped my go-kart into the rubber track wall. My British accent was horrible and her Italian accent left something to be desired, but it was the thought that counted.

But the best/worst role playing date I ever had was one that was more real than imaginary. As we were walking up the ave we stopped in front of the Church of Scientology building. Feeling mischievous and morbidly curious, I told my date we would be disillusioned D-list actors looking for enlightenment from alternative spiritual sources.

When we approached the door a bald, middle-aged man opened it a second before I was about to knock. He welcomed us in and as we stood in the foyer admiring the cartoonish portrait of L. Ron Hubbard hanging on the wall my date and I launched into our spiel about seeking spiritual fulfillment away from the “oppressive dogma of organized religion”. The guy’s face lit up like a home pregnancy test. He gave us the guided tour, enthusiastic but in a carefully measured speaking voice. Like a good salesman, he avoided scaring us off with the hard sell too early, instead asking us questions about ourselves and our search for meaning.

He asked if we had cameras (I lied) because apparently they have a no picture policy when people are present. We walked slowly around the main foyer peeking into each room while our guide spoke of the wonders of Dianetics (oddly, he never mentioned the E-meter which I wanted to try). The first room appeared to be an old study of thick, gnarled mahogany and floor-to-ceiling rows of bookshelves crammed with ancient tomes. There were a few library-style desks with reading lamps at which four men were seated, all of whom wearing green accountants’ eye visors and poring over books, brows furrowed in deep concentration. When we looked in, none of them glanced up from their books to acknowledge us.

At this point my date started to feel weirded out. Why? Because besides the green eyeshades, all those guys were dressed in the same clothes — white shirt, blue slacks, dark tie. And they seemed a little too engrossed in whatever they were reading.

The next room reminded me of that scene from A Clockwork Orange where they pry the guy’s eyes open with a metal contraption and force him to watch an endless montage of violent and pornographic video clips. It was a couple rows of neatly aligned empty chairs placed a few feet in front of a small movie screen. Nothing else, just that. If we were in any other residence, I wouldn’t have given it much thought, but the haunted vibe emanating from this mansion made me think of the worst scenarios. I tried to snap a picture of the room by cradling the camera in my palm and holding it tight by my hip, but our host wouldn’t stop looking directly at me.

While our scientologist friend blabbed, my date’s expression changed from giddiness to discomfort. She was no longer a D-list spiritually-deprived celebrity. She had had enough. The cultish vibes were beginning to accumulate. I cut him off and said we had to go, and he shoved some pamphlets in our hands. Stepping outside felt relieving.

The mood was ruined. I didn’t get a kiss from her at the end of the date. Scientology had cockblocked me.

I wonder if this is how normal people felt during the inception of the world’s major religions. Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, egalitarianism… they all must have struck naturally skeptical people as cultish and absurd when they first began. Only when enough time has passed do religions acquire a veneer of respectability and deference. Enough time has not passed for Scientology to hide its cultish essence under somber rituals and literary texts.

Tragedy… Not!

Heath Ledger either offed himself or OD’ed and the merchants of maudlin are in full emote braying about what a “tragedy” and a “shock” it is.

Tragedy. This is one of those words that has been so bastardized by misuse and overuse that it has ceased to mean anything. What happened to Ledger was not a tragedy. It was either stupidity (drug overdose) or weakness (suicide). A tragedy would have been if he was happily strolling across the street and got flattened by a bus.

It’s not even much of a shock as his friends knew about his depression and drinking problem for a while.

I don’t feel anything when a celebrity dies. It doesn’t affect my state of mind one iota. I shed no tear. I couldn’t care less if some actor living the life of a king and boffing the hottest chicks dies. In fact, I’d like it if all these guys were shot into space. The more heterosexual men shot into space, the better; leaves more women for me.

Women get worked up over the death of some famous dude who they’ll never meet because they are designed by nature to want lots of quality guys around to give them the option of picking and choosing at their leisure. Fewer alphas means a higher chance of settling for a beta.

Moving Day Vignette

I was woken up this morning by the sounds of movers hauling out my neighbor’s belongings. Lots of banging, scraping, and foot shuffling. I could tell the movers were black guys by their voices. Thanks to the miracle of walls that actually amplify outside sounds I was able to hear some of their conversation.

“White people’s furniture all look the same.”

A dog barked.

“And white people’s pets, too!”

I laughed because it’s true. Well, true of yuppie whites living in NW DC. I bet what they moved looked like this:

conspicuously displayed conde nast magazine sold separately.

answers to ‘Tinky Winky’.

Stereotypes… dey not pulled out kitteh’s ass.

Faces Not Facebook

Facebook, and related internet social networking sites, don’t make you more friends:

Social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace do not help you make more genuine close friends, according to a survey by researchers who studied how the websites are changing the nature of friendship networks.
Although social networking on the internet helps people to collect hundreds or even thousands of acquaintances, the researchers believe that face to face contact is nearly always necessary to form truly close friendships.

“Although the numbers of friends people have on these sites can be massive, the actual number of close friends is approximately the same in the face to face real world,” said Will Reader at Sheffield Hallam University.

I’m not surprised by this. My close circle of friends are still the ones I met the natural genetically-optimized way: in meatspace. I occasionally bump into a fellow Myspacer who recognizes me through their computer monitor, but we hardly ever move the interaction past the obligatory hellos.

Facebook and Myspace are one part attention whore canvas, one part Creative Class Rolodex, and one part alter ego resume. They basically serve as outlets for people, especially younger women, to “express themselves” and climb the status ladder by demonstrating their social value through their meme-generating links, musical tastes, witticisms, “spontaneous” nightclub photos, and vapid hourly updates on the daily tedium of their lives. When they’re not stamping the internet world with their unoriginal brand of detached irony, they use these sites to herd their threadbare acquaintances into one easily managed electronic address book, keeping tabs on everyone, like ranchers herding steer. It’s a social butterfly’s dream come true! Wide… but shallow.

Ultimately, friendships live and die by trust. No one becomes your good friend until they, and you, have earned each other’s trust. And that is where sites like Facebook fail:

But to develop a real friendship we need to see that the other person is trustworthy. “We invest time and effort in them in the hope that sometime they will help us out. It is a kind of reciprocal relationship,” said Dr Reader, “What we need is to be absolutely sure that a person is really going to invest in us, is really going to be there for us when we need them…It’s very easy to be deceptive on the internet.”

That’s the key right there. With a few vaguely intriguing photos (action shots work best for guys, semi-porn snapshots for girls), a list of concert tour dates, and insidery jokes from people leaving comments on your profile, a person can present him or herself in a way that is at odds with reality. We are making friends with digital people whose first impressions have been micromanaged and painstakingly handcrafted for hours (sometimes weeks!) beforehand. You’ll never truly know someone’s character unless you engage them in realtime where a raised eyebrow or a sly smile can carry more vital information than pages of spoogy internet masturbation.

It reminds me of a girl I once dated whose Myspace page was a months-long project of webdesigner-looking social status achievement. I met her at a bar before I knew about her Myspace page. Later, when she showed me her profile, I couldn’t believe the disconnect between her sweet real self and the raging sassypants she presented online.

Because I have advanced ADD, I get bored on these sites after two minutes. I need to see the person I’m talking to at least once in a while or I won’t put in any effort to maintain the friendship. Give me real life over this pointless shit any day.

Btw, I’m on Facebook. You can find me under killa, killing your beta zombie.

When Her Frigidness Is Not A Warning Sign

In relation to yesterday’s post, there are three main reasons why a girl would withhold sex from her bf/husband. Two of these reasons signal deep trouble with the health of the relationship.

1. she’s trying to manipulate him with vagina power.
2. she’s lost attraction for him.
3. she’s genuinely not in the mood due to sickness or injury.

If you suspect #1 is happening to you, you need to make a last stand for your manhood. No wavering. Any buckling on your part and you have opened a Clamdora’s Box of perpetual bartering for her sex in exchange for your obeisance. Live free or be domesticated.

If #2 is the reason (being observant will help you notice this before it’s too late), then either attempt to outmaneuver her and restrengthen her attraction for you, or bail before your pride is in tatters. Writing her love poems is not an effective counterattack.

Only #3 can be safely taken at face value. But make sure she’s being sincere. “Headaches” don’t count. In fact, orgasms have been shown to alleviate a woman’s headache. If she pulls the headache routine on you, then every time she asks you a favor you can do the same.

“Can you help me fold laundry?”

“Not tonight honey, I have a headache.”

The only time you can excuse her for not servicing your manly needs is when she’s injured or violently ill. Emphasis on “violently”. Projectile vomiting is a legitimate excuse from sex duty. So is chemotherapy. And third trimester pregnancy. (OK, that last one was really an excuse for men.) Hip surgery absolves her of sex, but not blowjobs. The flu… no, unless it’s Asian bird flu. Car accident? Only if the airbag deployed. If she’s feeling self-conscious about “feminine odors” tell her your nose is stuffed up and do her with your head positioned as far away as possible from her privates.

Like an employer gives you sick days, have a sick leave plan for the girl you’re dating. Two days per year should suffice. There’s no accrual rate on this plan. She either uses them or loses them at the end of each year. If she uses more than two days per year you have the right to terminate the relationship contract for poor job performance.

Withholding Sex

A local DC girl wrote a post about withholding sex in an effort to strong arm her boyfriend to marry her. (Note: The original post has been taken down by the author but you can google cache to find it.)

Let’s start this off with a patented maxim:

Maxim #25: Withholding sex is the tactic of a woman who has already lost. It is mutually assured destruction.

If a woman is withholding sex, she may win a few battles with a beta boyfriend but she has lost the war. It’s a scorched earth strategy that fails on two levels.

One, it only works on guys who can’t score elsewhere. That is to say, undesirable guys. Pissant betas with no alternative options will step right in line yapping yes-dears like spineless whimpering curs once the snatch spigot is turned off. I have seen it with my own eyes… friends who suddenly have to spend Saturdays at Pier 1 or Crate & Barrel pawing through throw pillow bins because the girlfriend pouted and clamped her legs shut. Using sex as a weapon WILL work if the enemy (and that’s what he is if the relationship has gotten to this point) is weak and defenseless. Like “The Rules”, there is a certain amount of tried and true cynicism that will get a woman what she wants… superficially.

I say “superficially” because the seed of a scheming woman’s own unhappiness is contained in the success of her manipulative strategy. A woman who breaks her man by withholding sex is a woman who will never truly respect that man. She will come to resent him for letting her get her way through such devious means. And she will see him as weak, not to be trusted. How can you trust a man who would sacrifice his dignity just to keep the vagina flowing?

An alpha who knows how to pick up women will simply walk away from any girlfriend trying to pull the “my pussy is GOLD!” routine on him. Her selfishness will have backfired.

Two, if it works it merely extends a relationship — sometimes into marriage — that is built on a shallow foundation which is guaranteed to eventually give out. If the love is more than a one-way street, she will never view sex as a bargaining chip and he will never make her so unhappy that she would seriously entertain the idea of commoditizing her cunt. So let’s say this chick gets her way — she locks up her pussy for a few weeks and he caves, buying her an expensive engagement ring. Sounds romantic, eh? If I were a betting man, I’d short sell this marriage.

Practically speaking, the withholding sex strategy is a maneuver that has lost much of its effectiveness as a means to corral a foot-dragger into proposing marriage thanks to all-access, all-the-time, all-you-can-want internet porn. A lot of men can wait out a girl playing these games by resorting to porn. And men who have been with many women, the ones who don’t need porn, the ones all women want, won’t wait long at all. They’ll wander off in search of fresh meat the moment she’s strapped on the chastity belt.

Men can play this game, too. I’ve “withheld” sex from women, not intentionally, because I was tired or sated from sex with other women. Let me tell you, turning the tables like this will REALLY fuck with a girl’s head. They take it personally, like you just left a turd in every one of her shoes.

Girls must be hardwired to completely freak out if their sexual favors are rejected. That is because they have little experience dealing with direct sexual rejection. Men are built to handle sexual rejection better. Therefore, men’s egos are stronger than women’s egos.

Update:

VK made a good point in the comments about how withholding sex can become a habit if the woman sees it is working on her man. Capitulating even once to such a woman can lead down a dangerous slippery slope.

It starts with roping the guy into marriage, then the next thing you know she’s making an impenetrable crotch fortress out of the bedsheets because you didn’t spread the cream cheese on her bagel the way she likes it.

My advice to any man who senses he is being victimized by a sex withholder — run away as fast as you can and stay away. If she wins, she wins for life. You’ll wind up begging for sex every freaking day you and her are together.

You: “Can we have sex now?”

Her: “Did you finish your chores?”

Think about it.

Liveblogging American Idol

9:12PM – is it me or does no one speak grammatical english anymore? sometimes i have to remind myself how overflowing with the bounty of stupidity most of humanity is. 

9:14PM – girl in pink dress looks 10 years older than her age. plunging neckline ineffective on such a small bosom. next!

9:16PM – interesting how the judges listen to the auditioners with their left ears turned towards them. i’ve read that the left ear picks up musical tones better than the right ear, which is better at spoken words.

9:18PM – old bald queen singing. at least, he better hope he’s a queen cause no woman will have him.

9:20PM – whoa. super smoking hot little minx. you’re going to my bedroom! decent voice. -5 points for the dopey extra long sleeves covering her hands. like beauty, a good singing voice is mostly a genetic blessing. this girl is a walking billboard for low mutational load.

9:28PM – retarded nerdboy dresses as sci-fi nerdgirl. over to you, triumph!

9:30PM – creepy love song for paula dude. it’s a put-on. i like it. “peter faulk her”. haha! what a goob.

9:33PM – another cute girl. looks like a slender scarlett johansson. nice rack. put her through.

9:39PM – commercial for ‘moment of truth’ tv show. i’d be unstoppable on that show. “do you think fat people are repuls…” “yes.”

9:40PM – when the background music changes to melodic acoustic guitar that means a good singer is coming up.

9:41PM – 9:40PM observation confirmed.

9:49PM – bitter star wars girl is up. proof that being 24 and thin is not a guaranteed golden ticket to hotness. of course at age 44 she’s gonna be a chieftain warpig. she’s from CT. figures. in general girls from new england are uglier than girls from other parts of the country.

9:54PM – hot blonde. you’re going to hollywood!

9:54:30PM – oh wait, two kids? hollywood rescinded.

9:56PM – “seacrest short!”