“Trust me and take my hand; when the lights go out, you’ll understand…

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An easy way to get a handle on the bare bones of gender goals is to keep this crude but helpful summation in mind:

 

Men need to prove how much pain they can dish out.

 

Women need to prove how much pain they can take.

 

 

 

As I’ve stated previously, men need strength.

 

Women need resilience.

 

 

 

Now, modernity gives little opportunity for (not to mention denies permission to) either gender to display such sans criticism.

 

Sports are getting safer and the daily obstacles/tribulations of life must be eradicated.

 

The unanticipated problem, however, is there exists a deeply ingrained need for both genders to display and observe displays.

 

Therefore, stopgap (and rather ineffective) methods have been created and popularized.

 

Loosely stated, they are:

 

Video games for men.

 

BDSM and cutting for women.

 

 

It’s no surprise that both 50 Shades of Grey and cutting [by which I really mean self-harm, in general] are extremely popular (although one of the two is, at least ostensibly, viewed as negative).

 

The growing popularity of the two was to be expected as they are ways for women to state they are empowered (by choosing and controlling the source of harm) while they are actually communicating how much punishment they can take (read: how resilient they are). 

 

Other dark forms of female power displays are:

 

Martyr complexes.

 

And “dating assholes”.

 

Both of those show, with a façade of humility, that said woman is exceptionally resilient.

 

 

 

In less prosperous/more dangerous times, there was little need to utilize such action to provide evidence.

 

One’s life experiences were plainly visible and known as communities were nowhere near as atomized.

 

This is the reason the preponderance of fairy tales, which originated in those turbulent days, revolve around the put-upon young woman, in terrible circumstances, that finds her prince.

 

A prince that, due to the woman’s proven resilience, finds her all the more attractive for it.

 

 

 

Realize, the prince sees her, rightly so, as more appreciative.

 

Less demanding.

 

More cheerful.

 

And hardier of spirit than his countless other options.¹

 

Lastly, a wise prince knows:

 

A woman is far less inclined to prepare a feast of drama if she’s been force-fed it for a few years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

 

 

 

 

 

¹ = The extremely popular blogger Judgey Bitch is, in reality, one of those women. She’s shared her personal history, many times.

“In the dawn, I wake up to find her gone and a note says:”

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[A few readers have suggested I write a book/novel/memoir.

 

I’m unsure how many would buy it, but this older entry from my private journal would no doubt be part of such a work.]

 

 

Even through the smoke and aroma of whiskey, I still catch their scent.

 

In no more than memory.

 

But it’s captured nonetheless.

 

 

 

I recall the feel of their skin.

 

Their supple, willing flesh touching mine.

 

 

 

I can hear, if I listen hard enough, their increasingly labored breathing.

 

Dirty talk often professing a cleaner love.

 

 

 

When I put my drink down, I can taste their lips.

 

Their hard-earned sweat.

 

 

 

As I close my eyes, I see theirs.

 

Caging a combination of lust and love.

 

Pain and pleasure.

 

Control and surrender.

 

 

 

As I brush my hair away from my face, I feel theirs.

 

Cascading over me.

 

A cover of warmth and softness to replace the sheets we’d long since forced off the bed.

 

 

 

Soon, I’ll go to sleep.

 

Later, awake alone.

 

 

 

Akin to every relationship thus far, the daylight and the accompanying revelations will chase it all away.

 

So, I am compelled to keep things:

 

“Only after dark.”

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

“…you feed it once and now it stays…”

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A new, but ardent, reader writes:

 

“No matter how much better I get, there’s still this nagging feeling of ‘not yet, you still aren’t good enough.’

 

How do I get rid of it?”

 

 

 

[My response to him follows:]

 

I’ll keep it brief.

 

On a scale of 1-10, how much do you forgive the failings/shortcomings of others [1 least; 10 most]?

 

 

 

Now, how much do you forgive your own?

 

If the numbers differ (I strongly suspect they do, and you give yourself the lower of the two), why?

 

Regardless of the answer to “why”:

 

Stop.

 

[Although you still need to answer the question for your personal growth.]

 

Make them equal – to the best of your ability.

 

 

 

To do so, imagine being as unforgiving to others as you are to yourself.

 

How well do you think that will work out?

 

Exactly.

 

Thus, you should probably ease up on yourself a bit.

 

 

 

Remember, Christ (if you’re not Christian, this is still good advice) said:

 

Love others as you love yourself.

 

Not more than yourself.

 

Common error.

 

I made it for 30 years.

 

 

 

Anything else I say at this point will be uninformed noise.

 

So think on those questions.

 

 

 

All the best,

 

A♠

[Ace of Spades]

 

 

 

 

Ω

“But I didn’t see that the joke was on me…”

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I have a friend, J♣, that is easily one of the funniest, wittiest men I have ever known.

 

Having done stand-up comedy myself for a couple years, meeting and working with professionals, along with associating with a rather large pool of people, the regard with which I hold him speaks volumes of his talent.

 

However, one thing has plagued him throughout his life more than anything else:

 

The fact he is an abject failure with women even though he possesses a “great sense of humor”.

 

After all, that quality is second only to “confidence” in women’s well-known checklist.

 

Therefore, it comes as no surprise that he’d be – and is – so frustrated at what he considers a falsely stated desire.

 

 

 

Accordingly, he believes women are lying.

 

His evidence is his romantic solitude along with the fact that comedians don’t get laid like rock stars.

 

He is, of course, wrong.

 

He makes the same mistake countless men do.

 

Which is to believe men and women utilize the same qualifiers in their definitions.

 

 

 

See, at its core, a sense of humor is a defense mechanism against terrible life events.

 

However, what each gender considers a “terrible life event” often differs.

 

This is why men and women rarely, if ever, like the same comedic persons.

 

Male comedy is all across the board; poverty, getting beaten up, unemployment, rejection, etc.

 

While female comedy is focused on almost exclusively on relationship stresses, sex, body images, social awkwardness/faux pas, etc.

 

Sometimes the two worlds of humor meet, but this is infrequent at best.

 

 

With all of the above firmly in mind, a woman does not want a clown.

 

Constant jokes cause the man to be viewed as a court jester striving for his queen’s approval.

 

Thus, what a woman means when she says she wants “a man with a sense of humor” is this:

 

A man that takes neither himself, nor her – including her moods, quirks, foibles, etc -, too seriously.

 

A man that will weather storms brought to him, by both the world and her nature, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips.

 

A man that will keep smiling and stay positive, making problems lighter if not downright enjoyable.

 

With or without her.

 

 

 

 

Ω

“But I can’t fix you and you don’t want me…”

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The beauty of the English language is that its fluent speakers have so large a vocabulary from which to draw.

 

Yet, many seem to use whatever word comes easiest to mind instead of what is actually most appropriate to express the particular idea to be communicated.

 

Even worse, some choose to twist and wring meanings from words never meant to produce such, in pursuit of a selfish (at best) or nefarious (at worst) goal.

 

Case in point:

 

“Women are equal to men.”

 

 

 

I’d be hard pressed to find a more inaccurate, incomplete and damaging statement.

 

Men and women are most certainly not equal.

 

This misstatement, in fact, is the wellspring from which the preponderance of our gender-relation problems burst in an all-consuming flood to drown dating, marriage and even civility.  

 

See, here is what is heard and (very likely) meant:

 

equal

[ee-kwuh l] 

 

adjective

 

1.as great as; the same as (often followed by to or with)

 

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/equal

 

 

 

This causes countless problems – all false presumptions predicated on that phrase – ranging from:

 

Miscommunication – Men and women both perceive the world and communicate entirely differently.

 

Failed attraction – Men and women are not tempted/drawn/complemented by the same characteristics.

 

Dissatisfaction – Men and women have differing needs, wants and methods of goal accomplishment.

 

Taking the road of equality leads to a destination no one truly wants to visit since no one really chose it.

 

It is tantamount to a compromise that was never properly negotiated.

 

 

 

A far more accurate – and healthy – phrasing would be:

 

“Women are equivalent to men.”

 

equivalent

[ih-kwiv-uh-luh nt]

 

adjective

1. equal in value, measure, force, effect, significance, etc.:

 

2. corresponding in position, function, etc.:

 

3. Geometry: having the same extent, as a triangle and a square of equal area.

 

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/equivalent?s=t

 

 

 

Now, “equivalent” is a much better choice for many reasons.

 

First, it states men and women are “equal in significance” but it does not make them interchangeable cogs in a massive, unfeeling machine; it makes no claim they are the same.

 

Second, it makes them “corresponding in function”.

 

As demonstrated by the fact they can both be parents but only one is suited to be a mother and the other is suited to be a father.

 

Third, this is bolstered by the geometric definition which states, in essence, that a square peg can’t be put in a round hole even though they measure the same size.

 

 

 

Some may think my thoughts here are trivial.

 

But I remind them:

 

Words have power.

 

It’s called “spelling”, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

Ω

“…and go about your fucking business!”

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No one cares whom you fucked.

 

Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t believe you.

 

Not to mention, on the off chance they did, they’d judge you by how she looks now.

 

Not how she did when you took her.

 

 

 

Go ahead; lose yourself in it.

 

And, as the years go by, take note of how every woman is fatter, older, less pliable than the ones that preceded her.

 

Sure, you could relive past glories.

 

That is, if Alzheimer’s hasn’t robbed you of your memories.

 

Although, that might be more merciful than to realize your conquests grow increasingly meaningless, at best, or perceived as pathetic at worst.

 

My 58 year old roommate keeps trying to convince me (read: himself) how hot the women he gets are.

 

It’s fucking sad.

 

 

 

But, by all means, keep worrying about women.

 

And how to get them.

 

I mean, Adam pissed and moaned until he got one.

 

And look where he ended up.

 

Oh, you’ll be different, I’m sure.

 

 

 

I keep hearing “Iron sharpens iron”, ’round these parts.

 

Yeah, maybe that’s true.

 

But women are stones.

 

Their whole fucking purpose is to blunt your edge.

 

Although, you’ll be different, I’m sure.

 

Adam’s fate, and the fate of a million “alphas” before you, will be avoided because you read a few blogs between meals.

 

Yeah, tell yourself that.

 

 

 

I’ll be here, regardless.

 

Telling you to focus on your mission.

 

Reminding you to do something g☼ddamn productive with your time.

 

Pointing out that the only worthwhile women you’ll ever attract will be the one’s that find you as you pursue your life’s purpose.

 

 

 

Write a book.

 

Compose a song.

 

Build a house.

 

If a woman latches on to support your purpose:

 

Great.

 

If not:

 

Carry on.

 

It’s one less distraction.

 

 

 

Oh, on the off chance you feel like shouting:

 

“But muh genetic legacy!”

 

Children die long before most houses collapse.

 

Or good novels go unread.

 

Or quality songs go unsung.

 

 

 

Hey, back a losing horse.

 

Time is your fucking coin.

 

Spend it as you will.

 

 

 

Although, I remind you that women chase things that run from them.

 

So sprint toward your mission’s goal.

 

That way, you’ll likely claim victory on all fronts.

 

 

 

 

Ω