Formative Years

This story from my past is reproduced in its entirety from an email exchange I had recently with someone.  Originally intended to be private, we both thought it should be flung across the worldwideweb for the glimpse it gives into what made me the lover of myself thousands I am today.

***

when i was a young teen my parents, in a paroxysm of disciplinary fervor, enrolled me in a church youth group.  i spent the time with my fellow morally upstanding youth groupers trying to get into the pants of the hotter christian girls, only to be rebuffed by their closed leg policy.  finally, i cracked the austere exterior of a sweet pretty young thing during a bbq on church grounds with some help from a flask of jack&coke i had hidden in my jeans.  tragically, we had nowhere to hide from prying eyes or the lord above to grope kiss and fondle.  there were woods about a half mile away but people would look for us in a panic after a while.  finally, we absconded to the only place which at that moment was completely shrouded in privacy — the church rectory.
well, we *assumed* it was private.

as we were making out in the hallway with my body pressing hers against the wall desecrating all that is holy, careful to do it away from the watchful eye of a nearby wooden crucifix, we heard a toilet flush and then the head priest walked in on us with my hand firmly wedged down the front of the tight jeans of mi amour.  i struggled to pull my hand out as the priest gasped for words and turned red-faced, but like chinese fingercuffs my struggling only pushed my hand in farther.  a wave of anxiety swept over me as i imagined i would be marched out in a perp walk before the scandalized flock, my girl and me intertwined like siamese sex fiends in such a romantically touching way.  finally, with the help of proper breathing technique and my double-jointedness, i extricated my hand, by now smelling of raw sexuality, and the girl began crying.  i contemplated making a run for it but instead stood like a statue as the priest’s admonitions buzzed like ocean surf in my ears.
i quit the youth group the next day with no resistance from my parents.  word of my exploits traveled the lands far and wide.

***

yours in the light of the lamb,

poon h. christ

She Showed Herself Out

The weekend morning after a questionable hook-up I often scramble to find a plausible excuse that will gently cajole the girl out the door without hurting her feelings.

“I’d love to hang with you today but I’ve got to take my car into the shop.  Big job… it’ll probably take a few hours.”  [my Japanese car has now been in the shop over 20 times this year thanks to this ploy]

“Getting brunch with you sounds great, but I promised my Mom I’d visit her today.  I’m guessing it’s too early for you to see my Mom.”

“I’ve got a painting class in… oh shit, I’m late!… 15 minutes!  Sorry to do this to you but my art is important to me.”

I suspect most girls see through this bullshit, especially the girls who are prone to sleep with a guy on the first night.  Their direct first-hand experience with guys trying to get rid of them after sex must be unparalleled.  The problem is that I really don’t want to spend a precious weekend day with a marginal girl strolling Wisteria Lane while bluebirds drape garlands of flowers over us.  But I’m not a heartless bastard (much) either, so I work hard on tossing her out with grace and civility, hopefully keeping the door open for future loving.

I remember what it’s like to kick a girl out badly.  One time, before I had the skills to handle morning after mistakes properly, the girl had looked at me forlornly with big, watery eyes as I walked her toward the door, and meekly asked if I wanted to get breakfast with her.  It was her last ditch effort for some symbolic gesture from me that she meant more than the previous night.

I answered “Um, I ate last night.  The best way for you to get home is to take the metro.”

She gathered her stuff, purse over one arm, jacket over the other, and sullenly walked past me as I stood next to the door.  Later, when I had shaken off the hangover and it had dawned on me that this girl was Swedish and a solid 8, I slapped my hand against my forehead and wondered aloud what the hell I was thinking.  The following day in an act of phone game contrition, I called her number.  It was futile.  Her roommate picked up her phone and said my girl didn’t want to talk to me.  No surprise… recapturing a girl’s interest after you have humiliated her by treating her like a disposable slut is akin to putting the toothpaste back in the tube.

So imagine my relief at sidestepping all the awkwardness when a girl does the dirty work for me, letting me entirely off the hook, by preemptively showing herself the door.

Her:  I’d love to cuddle some more but I’ve got work later and some chores to do today.
Me:  [barely suppressing grin]  Well, if this is what you have to do, then I guess I won’t stop you.  I mean, I’d love for you to hang out today but since you’ve got things to do…
Her:  Well, maybe for a couple hours, if you want.
Me:  Uhh, you know, you go ahead and do your stuff… we’ll catch up when we have more free time and can really enjoy each other’s company.

A girl who shows herself out is a keeper.

This Blog In Song

You should have listened to what mama said
And walked away with someone else instead
You should have listened to what grandma said
And married someone more like Fred

You should have listened to your inner voice
While you had time and still a choice
You should have reached for the emergency brake
Before it was too late

[Chorus]
You see the clever girl looks for a clever boy
To another extent than the clever boy
Will ever look for a mate
Who goes to round-table debates
And runs a little bit late
When she does work for the state

You see the clever girls look for the clever boys
And then the clever boys seem to have a different choice
They want a good-looking chick
That likes to blow them away
Someone who laughs at all the
Funny little things they say

I have a friend who’s in this MENSA club
He has no trouble to admit
He wants a woman with ambitions
That go as far as raising kids

Christmas Eve Lone Wolf

VK recently wrote about “bunning up” (“settling down” for you old skool types) before the long cold winter drives the cuties indoors with their Netflix and Jenga slumber parties.  And it’s true — guys have a window of opportunity beween August and Thanksgiving to land a steady girl.  For reasons science hasn’t yet figured out, most breakups happen in August, usually precipitated by the women, who then go on a fall shopping spree for a new beau.  This is your opportunity to strike.  There is a crackle and sizzle in the autumn air as the girls radiate that “please just don’t fuck this up and you can have me” vibe.  The last thing they want is to be alone during the holidays.

A good rule of thumb is to bring your A game before the temps drop into the 30s.  Once the deep chill hides everyone under layers of wool and couples start appearing with their hands in each others’ pockets you’ll find your pickings slim.  But there is one glaring exception.  Perhaps the greatest pickup night of the year, yes even better than Halloween or New Years Eve, is Christmas Eve.

There won’t be many girls out on Christmas Eve but that won’t matter because the one or two you meet (and they will usually be by themselves lamenting their singlehood with a captive bartender) are out for one reason — to get swept off their feet by a guy who will take their minds off their misery.  Meet a reasonably attractive girl on Christmas Eve and if your game is minimally competent you are virtually guaranteed to close the deal that night.

The key is to not make it seem like you are two lonely souls destined to cross paths in a grungy hole in the wall.  That shit only works in the movies.  The reality is that it ruins her fantasy to meet a guy who is just as much a loser in love as she is.  So play up the angle that you have so many family obligations this holiday season you just needed a break from it all and a strong drink in a warm bar sounded perfect.  Tell her you never expected to meet anyone as cool as her out on a night like this.

Running game on a lone wolf means you can segue into rapport building quicker than normal.  A minute to spark attraction is all you’ll need.  Once her eyes are sparkling, move her over to a couch in a dark corner, ask her if she’d like to learn something about herself, and run a few psychological quizzes on her.  Then, lower your lids and your tone of voice and summon the sexual animal in you.  Christmas pheromones.

The last time I did this we left the bar at 9 since they closed early.  We bought a six pack of Michelob Light at the local Chinese take-out which is open year-round.  Since all the bars were closed and I deemed it too soon to head back to my place, we found a streetlamp and cracked open a few beers in the cold night air.  Not a single car drove by.  The city was quiet.  The context and atmosphere did half my work for me.

Litmus Test

It’s easy for me to tell when I really like a girl, and it has nothing to do with banging her.  Banging just means the girl has met my minimum attractiveness threshold, but only those who far exceed it will be worth an extended edition of my time, energy, and resources.  I know that the things I do for a girl and the way I behave or feel when I’m in her company change depending on how attracted I am to her.

If I go down on a girl on the first night, she is in the upper tier of girls I bang.  The hungrier and more voraciously I attack her genitalia with my mouth, the more I like her.  Looking back on the girls I fell in love with, one commonality they all shared was my reckless disregard for personal hygiene and unpleasant odors when I buried my face deep into the folds of their furrows.  I think I orally devoured the vagina of one girl for half an hour before I even penetrated her.  To me, that is the equivalent of getting on bended knee and slipping a 6-month salary rock on her finger.

If I envision spending the rest of my life with her I will stick my nose into the canal and lustfully inhale her bouquet of womanhood, hardly noticing the pube floss or pussy juice mustache when I come up for air.

Other things I find myself doing with a girl I like a lot:

Cook her dinner.  (This is a big deal since I don’t even cook for myself.)

Write her emails longer than two sentences and properly punctuated.

Paint her.

Photograph her.  (B&W only.  Try this sometime, it is a huge turn-on for women to be instructed how to pose for the camera.)

Get nervous around her.  (Trust me, after many years in the field you will begin to miss the adrenaline rush of nervousness.)

Steal flowers from the neighbor’s garden for her.

Do a version of this.

Fat American Women = Dating Disparity

There is no doubt the obesity epidemic in the U.S. tilts the dating playing field in favor of those women who manage to keep their figures.  The growing bloat of half the female population guarantees that slender women are more in demand than ever, and I believe this is a major contributing factor to the runaway egos and entitlement complexes of American women in general.

To see how this might be so, three premises need to be examined.

1.  Does obesity handicap the dating prospects of afflicted women more than it does afflicted men?

Since American men are getting fatter at about the same rate as American women it’s reasonable to ask if this neck and neck race to the fattest helps keep the dating market balanced and the prospects for finding love equal between the sexes.  The answer is no.  Men are much more visually driven than women when judging the opposite sex for mate worthiness and rolls of fertility-concealing blubber that disfigure a woman’s natural hourglass shape and sexually arousing appearance will harm her attractiveness to men a lot worse than being overweight will harm a man’s attractiveness to women.

This is a simple fact of life.  A rich or smart or funny guy who is 30 pounds overweight will have an easier time in the dating market than a kind and sweet and personable woman overweight by the same amount.  Guys have many more compensatory qualities they can bring to the table to neutralize the disadvantage of being fat, whereas fat women, no matter how well cultivated their other attributes, cannot win over the men they want without lowering their standards to the basement or accepting a life of constant pump and dumps from players on the prowl for easy noncommital sex.

Furthermore, it is a myth that fat guys, through the power of their expanding guts, magically discover the appeal of fat chicks.  The fat guys you see hooking up with fat chicks do so BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE.  The truth is that fat guys lust after hot slender babes just as much as thin guys do.

2.  Does the obesity epidemic directly improve the dating prospects of women who stay in shape?

Given that fat girls have poor dating prospects even among fat guys, and that almost all guys are attracted to thin girls (the tiny population of fatty fucking fetishists to the contrary notwithstanding), the remaining thin girls will see their sexual market value skyrocket.  This smaller pool of attractive women means that each hot chick can date up higher than she would have otherwise.

A thin girl whose looks are magnified in contrast to the fat chicks around her and who is pursued by all the men will command a much higher price — and a bigger sense of self-worth — than a thin girl in a roomful of other thin girls who is pursued by a fraction of the available men who must divide their attention between multiple targets.

In the former scenario, it will not take the thin girl long to perceive her inflated market value and act accordingly.  A monstrous bitch shield ensues.

This is why the hot girl with a fat friend will subconsciously ENABLE HER FAT FRIEND’S WEIGHT PROBLEM, and why the fat girl will try to drag her hot friend into the bottom of the Ben and Jerry’s pint with her.  It is against the genetic interests of both of them to encourage female competition.  They are in it to win it, just like the rest of us.

3.  Do the numbers justify a connection between obesity and typical American woman attitudes?

Let’s check the numbers.  First, I’ll show through the illuminating power of my handy charts the ideal attractive weight for women.  (I’ve used the 1959 Met Life insurance tables for this analysis as they more accurately reflect optimum weights than recent tables which have had to adjust upwards to account for American “grade inflation”.)

Categories 

Ideal Weight: BMI 17.6 – 21.  99% of men find women in this range to be hot.

Maximum Healthy Weight: BMI 25.  The upper limit of what the medical establishment classifies as healthy weight.  (Note that “healthy” and “aesthetically pleasing to men” are not necessarily the same.)  30% of men will find women over the ideal weight but within the healthy weight sexually attractive.  The other 70% will think they are chubby, but still bangable if the effort required to close the deal is not too great.

Overweight: BMI 25.1 – 30.  The weight at which a woman becomes officially fat.  Less than 10% of men will find women in this range sexually attractive.  Men who can get slender girls will not even look twice at women in this group.

Obesity… and Beyond!: BMI 30+.  Over 98% of men will be actively repulsed by these women.

Height       Ideal Weight    Max Healthy    Overweight      Fatass!

5’0″           90-107             128                129-154             155+
5’1″           93-111             132                 133-159             160+
5’2″           96-115             137                 138-164             165+
5’3″           100-119           141                142-169             170+
5’4″           103-123           146                147-175             176+
5’5″           106-127           151                152-180             181+
5’6″           109-131           155                156-186             187+
5’7″           112-135           160                161-192             193+
5’8″           115-139           164                165-197             198+
5’9″           119-143           169                170-203             204+
5’10”         123-147           174                175-209             210+
5’11”         126-151           179                180-215             216+
6’0″           130-155           184                185-221             222+
6’1″           133-159           190                191-227             228+
6’2″           137-163           195                196-234             235+

Now let’s look at the demographics.  According to the 2000 U.S. Census, there are approximately 40 million American women between the ages of 20 and 39 (a range which roughly matches a woman’s fertile years and maximum dating marketability).  Using my handy chart above, we establish a threshold of BMI 25 as the point at which a woman takes a non-trivial hit to her sexual worth.  As her BMI steadily increases, more and more men will regard her with cold asexual indifference culminating in outright revulsion.  An American Medical Association study classified 52% of all women between the ages of 20 and 39 as overweight or obese with a BMI of 25 or higher.  (The CDC also has similar studies on obesity.)

That’s HALF of all women in the prime dating years who have damaged or even completely trashed their sexual appeal to men through sloth and gluttony.  They have made their search for love unnecessarily harder by their choices.

There are 20 million American women at a healthy weight competing for the attentions of 40 million men in the same age bracket.  Even this lopsided number doesn’t tell the whole story.  Of those 20 million women, a smaller number are at the ideal sexual attractiveness weight of BMI 17.6 to 21, given that the upper bound of healthy weight is BMI 25.  The ideal attractive BMI is about half the total healthy BMI, so the number of slender babes that are maximally attractive to the vast majority of men is really in the neighborhood of 10 million.  Remember that this analysis does not factor in facial ugliness which would surely whittle away at the number of attractive women further.

Finally, we must stipulate that the tendency of women as they age to date increasingly older men than themselves means that the figure of 40 million men is actually too low.  Extending the dating market of men to age 50 adds another 20 million to their total number.  Controlling for marriage makes no difference because the ratio of single men to single women remains the same.

This brings us to the final tally of potentially 60 million men hotly pursuing 10 million women.  That’s a 6 to 1 dating ratio.  Talk about a stacked deck.

If you want to know why American women have such unrealistic expectations, ridiculously out-of-sync standards, neurotically overblown egos, schizophrenic flakiness, and chronic selfishness —
it’s all in the numbers.
the fat, porky, tubby numbers. 

How The Mighty Have Fallen

I have this old friend who used to be a guy’s guy.  Loved guy stuff , did guy things, and nurtured fierce loyalty to his guy clan of close buddies.  He was a ferocious looking beast with a barrel chest as deep as it was wide who could hip check and shoulder blast his way through any club crowd to get to the bar or a girl he wanted to meet.  His bumpngrinding was legendary.  As was his profuse sweating, which beaded up in great rivulets on his expansive simian brow as he danced under the hot club lights, stopping only to dab at the torrent of perspiration with fistfuls of cocktail napkins.  He was a magnificent distillation of pure testosterone.

We called him Silverback.

Then he met a girl, and suddenly Saturday afternoons were dedicated to throw pillow shopping.

Then he moved in with this girl, and his high-flying nightlife rompnstomping days were over.

Then he married this girl, and he dove headfirst into climbing the corporate ladder knowing one day he’d have to support a family in that perfect city for raising kids… Manhattan.

Now we hardly ever hear from him except for those times when his beloved is busy doing her own thing and he has a minute to spare in between catering to her needs.  This usually amounts to a 1.5 minute interim phone call from a park bench while he’s waiting to pick up his wife from her vegetarian yoga class.  Or, even better, a 30 second shout out from inside a cab when it is obvious from the background sound of his wife sitting next to him talking to someone else on her phone that he has been granted a brief window of opportunity to call a buddy.  The phone call invariably ends as soon as his wife’s call is over.

Me:  So how much time you got left to talk?
Silverback:  Come on, man, you know I can talk as long as I like.
Me:  She’s still on the line, then?
Silverback:  She does her own thing, I do mine.
Me:  OK, so how’s the new job going?
Silverback’s Wife:  Hey, honey, that was XXX.  Who’re you talking to?
Silverback:  Gotta go, bro.  *CLICK*

Now his wife is pretty, and young, and headstrong, and probably out of his league, so it’s understandable that he’d bend a little to accommodate her lifestyle.

But to go from Silverback to this? 

take me boutique shopping! 

The crack of that whip echoed through the hills and valleys of the Kingdom of Manhood.