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Reader Mailbag: Do You Actually Like Women?

23 Apr

“Jess” asks:

Also – do you actually like women? It seems like you like pretty girls and getting off, but I can’t tell if you actually like women.

I mean, sometimes.

Sometimes I like them, sometimes I don’t like them. Or rather, I like some women and not other women. I end up hanging out with tons of women these days, to the point where I am now like the annoying woman who says she can’t stand other women and all her friends are men. Because she can’t stand all the “drama,” etc.

So I like women. But then I don’t get laid for a good like six weeks and I start to hate women. If I see a woman talking to another man in a bar, and she seems interested in what he’s saying, I will hate that woman. I will hate that woman for falling for the same bullshit that that dude is pulling that he pulls on every other girl, that every other dude who is successful with women pulls, and I cannot pull, and I will resent her for not abandoning that successful charming dude and somehow recognizing, like, pheromonally, the true inner beauty of the marginally attractive drunk man at the other end of the bar scowling at her. And then later she will probably fucking complain to some guy like me about how that guy cheated on her or didn’t call her and I will sullenly think what the fuck did you expect? I will feel like I am the guy who has to soak up some girl’s tears while some other guy is soaking up that ass. I will begin to identify myself as the “nice guy” who doesn’t get laid because of some deeper inherent virtue than all those sleazy guys who are actually out there getting laid. I become exactly what surly Jezebel commenters call a NiceGuy™– a whiny self-pitying douche who morphs into a quasi-date rapist at the first glimpse of pussy.
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Sexist Coffee Ad

19 Apr

I love this video.

I never think about feminism in terms of what shit actually used to be like.  I think about it in terms of what shit is like now, where feminism is people commenting on blog posts, battling an endless war over who has the bigger right to complain.  People demanding the right to walk down the street without feeling fear.  Not demanding that some specific thing change, or that someone do anything practical about anything, just– I demand somehow that I no longer experience the subjective emotion of fear.  I demand that I stop feeling pressured to look like a skinny girl in an ad.  I demand that men do something about this.  Men stop rape.  Etc.  Seventy seven cents on the dollar.  And then men somehow stupidly getting engaged in this meaningless battle, saying what about our complaints.  Our complaints are valid, how come you guys never think about us, etc., which– shut the fuck up, dude.  The only way to win here is not to play.  I love complaining as much as the next guy but once you get into complaining about other people complaining, and they fire back with how dare you complain, you can’t even begin to grasp the scope of my complaints, thousands of years of complaints, waah waah what about the menz, etc., which, yes, people who spend their entire intellectual lives complaining have a knee jerk reaction to infantilize and mock other people’s complaints.  Why go down this rabbit hole. Continue reading →

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Old News: The Magic: the Gathering® Guy and That One Chick

18 Apr

Originally posted 8/30/11:

So, no one who is possibly reading this post has not heard about this:

The girl who went out with a guy off OKC, found out he was a world champion Magic: the Gathering® player, was ostensibly appalled and wrote a Gizmodo article about how she was stunned and it’s a huge dealbreaker and etc.

Couple things.  First, as Forbes was quick to point out, of course this is an obvious troll.  This woman, desperate to make a living in the non-lucrative world of blog writing, has just said “fuck it,” you know, I need something that gets a million hits. So I’m gonna write about how I’m a chick who was appalled to date a nerd, thus getting the two commentingist, complainingest groups on the planet to catch fire over my article.  Chicks and nerds.

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Throwing in the Jizz Towel

16 Apr

So– I no longer give a shit about getting laid.  Or I do, on a visceral level, like if I see a hot young chick with big tits jogging down the street I get horny.  Whenever the nineteen year old mailroom girl comes by to deliver the mail, I get all pheromonal.  We have a thing together, a flirtatious thing.  I need to figure out how to make something happen with that.

Except I don’t, because that’s the thing.  Aside from the most basic animal lust, I do not give a shit about getting laid.  I will not go through the slightest effort to get laid.  I will not say or do anything at any time that is any different than if I were not trying to get laid.  Which I’m not.  Trying to get laid.

Like– twice in the past few weeks I’ve had good first dates with hot, reasonably interesting girls that I’ve gotten along well with.  Perfectly solid girls.  4 stars on OKCupid for sure.  Each time we ended up back at the apartment and it got physical; in one case the chick wouldn’t take out her puss cuz she had a yeast infection, in the other I ended up performing oral sex on her.  So while obviously I tried to have sex on the first date and it didn’t happen, sex on the second date, which in both cases we had quasi-planned that night– sex on the second date was fucking GUARANTEED.  And both times, I blew it off.  I did the thing that girls do to me– I texted them that day that I couldn’t make it without proposing a specific other time that we could go out.  Because it was too hot, I was too hung over, the drive was going to be a pain in the ass… I did not make the simple effort just to go and harvest the fucking that I had painstakingly sewn on those first dates.  I could not be bothered to reach my hand up and pluck the ripe fruit from the tree.  Too much work.  These girls would have had to volunteer to come over to my place some night when I was already drunk basically.

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To My Future Wife

13 Apr

I have been looking for you for fifteen fucking years. Different cities, different scenes. I dated a crackhead and a needle junkie, thinking they might be you. I went on dates with hundreds of girls. I went to every party, every bar, every class, every stupid fucking extracurricular activity looking for you. I was in a bunch of bands; I figured you might show up. I got a job in the movies so I would seem cool when I met you. I learned how to cook. I toiled at the gym for hundreds and hundreds of tedious hours so you would be pleasantly surprised when I took my shirt off. And still, to this day, I go out almost every goddamn night to some sadass sausage fest in the faint hope that you might be there. So how about this. How about YOU start fucking looking for ME. Whatever I’m doing is obviously not right and I’m not going to join a goddamn quilting class or something. I’m done. I’m going to be at my apartment playing Xbox and why don’t you just show up and fucking knock. I’m tired of paying all this rent.

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Protected: Old News: Arnold

12 Apr

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Internet Pussy: The Cave of Forgotten Dreams

11 Apr

I’m good at internet dating.

This means I’m good at taking a girl out, getting her a little drunk, and then fucking her.  I’m good at steering the second date to dinner at my house so I don’t have to drive to get laid.  I hear a lot of “I’m not usually like this” so I figure, you know, I must be onto something.*

Anyway.  Point being, I am good at internet dating, and that is horrible, because it’s one of those things that if you’ve had enough practice to be good at it you’ve failed in some larger sense.  Like— being good at pulling your own teeth.  Being good at showing people you’re not a pussy when you show up to a new prison.  It’s awesome that you’re a badass but the idea is that you figure your shit out and don’t have to go back. I wanted a relationship out of this, not 5,000 pieces of pussy.  I wanted some god damn companionship.  Someone I can call when the clouds are pretty or something and say, you know, go look at the pretty clouds.

Instead, I have merely gotten a ton of meaningless ass.  And then I’ve taken the confidence from getting that ass and taken it into the real world to get other, even more meaningless ass.  And it’s made me complacent.  Maybe there is viable girlfriend material out there but I can’t be bothered to look for it because I’m driving out to Sherman Oaks to bone some nineteen year old.** Continue reading →

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Talk to Your Kids about Sex

7 Apr

My mother was a feminist. My single mother, which means, God bless her, that I was raised as a feminist.  It means my sex and relationship talks from her were about respecting women.  About not taking advantage of women, not hurting them, not raping them.  After my stepdad came into our lives I never discussed these things with him.  It took a few conversations with my father to sort out the one thing that I really and truly needed to know about sex, which is: you’re not a bad looking dude, and don’t worry, you can get laid.

He’d had a very different life than me.  I lost my virginity at seventeen; at that age he had been picked up for dealing heroin and given the choice of going to the clink or enlisting in the marines at the height of Vietnam.  He told me stories like “one time I beat up this black guy so bad that I was checking the papers the next day to make sure I hadn’t killed him.”  He had a tough, colorful life.  I was on scholarship to a prep school where they had not one but two competing a capella groups that in any sensible community would have had the shit kicked out of them on a daily basis.  I was going to a school where they flew in math geniuses from China and all the girls wore docksiders and no makeup and were second cousins with Winston Churchill and if they ever saw a penis they would explode.  The occasional accidental erection of their horse was the only stiff penis they had ever seen, and they had absolutely no curiosity about expanding their knowledge.  A rich new England WASP girl is basically born elderly, in terms of her sexuality.  This is why she has time to focus on things like perfecting her application essay to intern at the U.N.  When I started at this fancy school, it was immediately clear that none of these girls would ever show even the remotest interest in me; they barely showed interest in boys at all.   Continue reading →

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Old News: Occupy LA Part 2

31 Mar

Originally Posted 10/16/11:

I went down to Occupy Wall Street yesterday.  Occupy LA, rather, in front of City Hall.  I wanted to see what it was about, what people were actually protesting, what they actually wanted.  Also, I figured there would be girls there.

The talk on the internet seems to be that OK, it is understandable that people are pissed off about “the way things are right now,” but the “movement” has no concrete goals and really stands for nothing besides inchoate frustration. And so while it’s growing, while it’s spreading worldwide, while cops are cracking heads in Zuccotti Park and Carbanieri vans are on fire in Rome, until this “movement” gets its shit together and actually asks for something it’ll all be for nothing.

From what I saw at occupy LA this is entirely accurate.  First, I was a little disappointed that it is in fact a peaceful, organized protest.  There was a march right before I got there, which seems to have gone smoothly and in an orderly fashion.  There is a tent city around City Hall that is completely confined to the grass with fastidious volunteers appearing out of nowhere every five minutes to pick up cigarette butts.  Protestors happily stayed contained in the few streets that the city had conscientiously blocked off to keep shit from getting out of hand, and gathered around a stage and PA system that seems to have been set up with all the appropriate permits.  There was an adequate amount of Port-o-sans.  The few cops visible were the LAPD’s bike-bound squad of “courtesy officers,” or whateverthefuck they’re called.  They wear purple shirts that make them look like the world’s most militant kickball team.  They kept to themselves, returned eye contact and smiled when smiled at.  This is different, I gather, from New York, where the NYPD is crushing people’s femurs and throwing haymakers at nancy-boy college kids.  As is their wont. Continue reading →

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Women of OKCupid:

29 Mar

Why are you all so god damn fucking boring?

There are about 3 profiles of single women in the greater Los Angeles area that reveal ANYTHING about the person whatsoever.  The rest, you are browsing this shit and you feel like God only made 5 people.

There’s the I was born in Wisconsin, went to school in Pennsylvania, came out to LA three years ago and haven’t looked back! The geography person. Who the fuck– we all live in America, we all watch the same TV shows, why the fuck do you think it matters one iota what state you came from. Unless it’s some weird shit like Alaska or Wyoming, this is genuinely the most meaningless information in the world. Even if you came from one of those places.  I’m not looking to get a state drunk and rawdog them; I want to do that to a person.

There’s the “contradiction” person.  This might be the blandest one of all.  I initially appear really shy and introverted, but once you get to know me I’m the life of the party! (This one often enjoys exclamation points).  I’m a traditional girl at heart, but I think outside the box! I’m a girly girl, but I love sports! I can be really nice and really mean!  I love reading books but I also enjoy trashy reality TV– shhh, don’t tell anyone!  Jesus– these fake examples I’m coming up with are actually more illuminating than the real thing.  This one is a deliberate construct that is designed to tell you nothing. Continue reading →

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