Reader Mailbag: How to Be Attractive to Women

15 Feb

(REDACTED) asks:

Long time lurker, first time poster. Needless to say, I love your writing. My question is, “As a guy, what should I do short-term and long-term to increase my attractiveness to the opposite sex?” Please answer the converse question about what a woman can do to increase her attractiveness. Don’t give obvious answers like “hit the gym.”

Well, look, do hit the gym.  Don’t forget how shallow women are, in case you think they’re not.  Women are great about systematically lying to themselves and everyone else about everything, and they have this collective con set up where we think they care most about confidence, personality, etc.  Women and men are much more alike in shallowness than people seem to think– women like a chiseled jaw, a small nose, pumpkinseed shaped deltoids, visible obliques, etc. etc.  The standards for an attractive male body are much more exacting than they are for women.  You better have less than ten per cent body fat, which is physically not so tough but psychologically impossible to maintain unless you take speed.  But get close.  Do hit the gym.  Make yourself look as good and stylish as you possibly can.

And then there’s the whole other part.  Things having to do with extroversion and self-assurance and etc., which all boils down to: the way to be attractive to women is to already be fucking other women.  I get that it’s kind of hard to separate cause and effect here– maybe the guys who are fucking other women are just intrinsically more attractive, but— I don’t know, I’m gonna get religious here for a second: I really do believe they can “smell it on you.”  Walk into a party with a hot chick and walk in solo and see the difference in the way other women treat you. Just like you have to have seed money to get rich, you have to already be getting laid to get laid. Continue reading →

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I Shot a Mockingbird

14 Feb

I think I killed him but I don’t know.  It was five in the morning.  He’d been sitting right outside my window every night for months, singing.  Like one of those car alarms that switches up every 5 seconds.   Different songs.  Not nightingale songs, either, but rather our abrasive local birds.  Jays and tits. Grackles. I would turn on all the fans in my house to drown him out but that treble cuts right though.  I put earplugs in but you roll around on your pillow and they either jam painfully into your eardrum or, if they’re the silicone kind, they roll out and get stuck in your hair.

I had almost made my peace with him, but then yesterday I got chewed out hard at work and had to wake up early to work on this big pain-in-the-ass project, and I was just stressed out, spending the whole night just barely on the verge of sleep.  And every time I was just about to get there, here comes the fucking mockingbird.  I have this BB gun, a big rifle with a scope on it leaning against the wall in the closet and the fucking thing was just crying out to me.  Use me.  Use me to kill this bird.  This is what I am for. Continue reading →

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Everybody Thinks

13 Feb

it’s so easy for everybody else.

I was at a party.  A party full of gays. Me and a gay guy were talking about dating, and he said something to the effect of: “well it must be great for you, because you’re a straight guy in LA.  You can get whatever you want whenever you want.”

WHAT THE FUCK????!!!!  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  Does this guy not know?  Has he not seen every single party and bar and restaurant and grocery store line, ever, in Los Angeles?   There is never an attractive enough to fuck girl ever, and if there is she has a boyfriend, or there are three of them and 10,000 guys, or there is one by herself but she is creeped out at the prospect of even looking at you. And of course he’s never been on one of these online dates  where it seemed like it was going pretty good until you went for the makeout halfway in and she turned her fucking cheek toward you, because it turns out she is new to online dating and hasn’t yet gotten the memo about how the plan is we show up, we drink, we fuck.  She thinks it’s going to be some old-timey courtship from the antebellum South where maybe you get a kiss on the third date if her chaperone nods off after a mint julep on the porch, and then I high five the slaves on my way out.
Continue reading →

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Wait a Minute– Am I Attractive?

11 Feb

Somebody called me “attractive” last night.  For the first time that it was actually meaningful.  Because every other time it’s either been:

a)     in response to my saying “Jesus Christ, my face looks like it was hit with a fucking shovel.”

b)    a horny gay guy trying to get laid or

c)     an even less attractive friend saying “Jesus, you must have it so easy, you’re attractive.”  To him, I am “attractive” just like to a Somali war orphan the guy clocking fifteen grand a year at Arby’s is “rich.”

Or it was my friends, or my girlfriend, or my mom, etc.  I don’t believe any of them.  For my entire life it has been my absolute bedrock belief that I am a hideous unlovable mutant whom no woman could let her eyes linger on for even a second lest she gag.  And this is borne up by reality, because no women ever look at me, talk to me; no woman ever makes the first move to approach me, ever.  Gays do it all the time, but you know, I hit on fat chicks all the time.  Gays want to fuck me the same way a drunk guy wants to fuck his couch. Continue reading →

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To My Future Son: Don’t Have a Career

10 Feb

They tell you, and I don’t know who “they” is because frankly nobody ever told me this but I somehow got the impression anyway—they tell you to get a job and have a career and make money and women will be attracted to you.  “Men like looks,” they say.  “Women like success.” It’s a common countercomplaint when feminists accuse men of objectifying women; the guy will say back “well, you women better stop objectifying my wallet, amirite?” The “take my wife, please!” of antifeminist arguments.

So you go out and get a job.  You try to get into a good college and you study and you intern and you get a toe in the water of some status-y “career” field and you get up early and you stay late and you read work-related material after work and you network with work-related work jerkoffs and you suffer under some cruel old work prick who believes himself better than other human beings because of his work in some lofty status-y career field and you work and you work and you work and you work.  And part of what drives this is the dread instilled in you when you read that in 2020 to put a kid through college will cost sixteen billion dollars and Social Security will have dried up and you better be sitting on a cash hoard of ten million billion trillion dollars conservatively invested because health care costs will have reached the level where only a class of feudal overlords can afford a tongue depressor. And there will be no “safety net;” there is literally nobody who believes programs like Social Security and Medicare will still exist in our financially post-apocalyptic future.  We all know we are headed toward a Randian thunderdome where our old age will be spent guarding a 55 gallon drum of drinking water with a shotgun and removing our own tumors with steak knives.  If you don’t want this to happen, you better sink a bunch of borrowed money into school, and then work. And you better not spend whatever pittance is left of the 22 grand your post-college job earns you on fun; you better save and invest, according to the 401k presentation the commissioned salesperson who gets a small piece of what they withhold from your meager check tells you, because if you don’t, at age 23, begin taking advantage of logarithmic growth to accrue a massive privately-invested nest egg, you will be cannibalized by gangs of cyborg Hottentots, and your bones picked clean. And your children.  And your children’s children. Continue reading →

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Fuck “Your” and “You’re”

10 Feb

and “there,” “their” and “they’re–” I need a chick who throws a diæresis in “coöperate,” and an “æ” in “diæresis,” but doesn’t use a diæresis in “diæresis” because you are not, without this forewarning, going to pronounce “diæresis” as though “iæ” were a a monosyllabic diphthong. I need a chick who carefully searches for the correct combination of keys to make a circumflex over “rôle,” but ONLY when discussing a part played by an actor.  I need a chick who says “AN historian.”  In fact, she better really hammer the “ANNNNN” in a sly nod to anyone else out there who thinks someone who says “a historian” is an illiterate savage.  I wouldn’t date anyone who says “I would like” unless they’re talking about some counterfactual fantasy universe.  I wouldn’t like to date that person.  See, I can say it, because I’m not really ever gonna hear someone say “I would like to go out with you” outside of a counterfactual fantasy universe.  I’m never gonna hear someone use the correct “I should like to go out with you,” either, but I WOULD really fucking like to date that person.  She’d have studied classics and she’d use words like “Grecism” pronounced as though it had a cédille, but she would cringe a little every time because pronouncing a “c” like that is the fucking opposite of a Grecism.

Also, no fat chicks.

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What Always Happens Is

9 Feb

I’ll be having a sex dream, right?  Usually this starts as a regular dream, but then an attractive chick shows up and I just grab her to start fucking.  Last night the scene was that I was back in my college looking for my dorm room, but the doors were all sci-fi futuristic and I couldn’t find mine.  I went into some random room and there was a hot blonde chick in there and I pulled up her skirt and bent her over her bed. This is what happens, whenever a hot chick shows up in my dream- the narrative of the dream, whatever emotional message it was trying to tell me, goes out the window and I just grab her and rip off her clothes.

Anyway, I had this chick bent over with her rump exposed, and she was all giggly, and I got on top of her and lined up my dick and went to push it in, you know?  Except my body pantomimed this thrusting motion in my sleep and my boner rubbed gratingly against the sheets and it woke me up.

And this happens to me EVERY FUCKING TIME.  Only ONCE have I ever had actual intercourse in a dream; this was, interestingly, in the selfsame college dorm room heretofore mentioned when my roommate’s bed was right next to mine and I couldn’t jack off for like a week.  I guess I was so horny that I just powered through it.  But anyway- every time, my boner grinds against my mattress on the first pump and wakes me up instantly.  It is the most frustrating thing in the fucking world.

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Diary: I Need a Girl

8 Feb

I canceled my drinks with (REDACTED). Even though I like (REDACTED) and would totally enjoy hanging out with her.  She is–  she took me to a museum once.  She is really smart.  She knows a lot about art and literature and stuff.  And I think she kind of had the hots for me.  See, why couldn’t I date someone like that?  A chick who went to Harvard and has her shit together and knows who fucking Albrecht Dürer is and can distinguish between different phases of his career.  Who knows who Lucas Cranach the Elder is.  Someone who has a finely tuned taste for the works of various Northern Renaissance engravers, is what I need.  Someone who can tell apart multiple different interpretations of works by Claude Debussy.  Who can hear the orchestral version of some Claude Debussy shit and know that it was orchestrated by Maurice Ravel, or whoeverthefuck. Who legitimately enjoys these things. Someone who knows about plants and animals. Hummingbirds. Insects. Continue reading →

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Diary: Going to a Party

7 Feb

This party.  Now I’m too tired to go to this fucking party.  Jesus.  Too fucking tired to do anything.  Woke up too early.  And spent the whole day alone and now I’m tired and weird.  And (REDACTED) isn’t going, and (REDACTED) is going to flake.  And no one  I know is going to be there.  And I can’t get drunk. Because I’m going to have to drive.  And it’s going to be lame.  And google maps doesn’t work on my fucking computer.

But fuck it, I’m going to go.  Maybe I’ll get some ass. This chick (REDACTED).  Even though she used to date Chris, I think she wants to fuck me.  Or, I think she wants to fuck people. And I am a person.

But who knows. Maybe she’ll just fuck Chris.  I bet she’s the only chick there, and the rest of it is a bunch of loser UCLA dudes.  I’ll make a long drive, spent and exhausted, and I’ll get a DUI.  I’ll get raped in jail, and I’ll get AIDS.  I’ll spread AIDS to my cat (through a scratch or something; I don’t fuck my cat.  Much.), and my cat will die.  And my dick will get cut off somehow.  Somehow my going to this party will result in nuclear annihilation for the rest of the planet.  That’s how bad this party is going to suck.  At this party, some cold I’m carrying will combine with some other virus someone else is carrying—but not an STD, because I am definitely not getting laid at this party– some virus I’m carrying will combine with tetanus I get when someone at this party drives a nail through my dick and it will create a supervirus that will kill the whole planet.  But especially the people I love; they will die first, in front of me.  And my car will get stolen. Continue reading →

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What Now, She Says

6 Feb

We go out a couple times. We make out, maybe we bone. Or maybe we don’t, and I just never call you. Or maybe we do, and then we get married and move slightly out of town to some place where people of modest means can get a pretty big yard, and we get a goat, but the fucking thing is too loud and keeps chewing through the fence- they are surprisingly clever animals. Maybe it actually figures out the latch. But point being the goat keeps getting out and getting into the neighbor’s yard and eating his heirloom tomatoes or whateverthefuck- maybe we laugh at this. Maybe this discord with our neighbors only brings us closer together, like, us against the world. Maybe not, maybe you never wanted to get it in the first place, maybe you never wanted to move to the suburbs, maybe you secretly blame me for everything moving too fast and now you’re stuck here out in Calabasas or something and now you’re like 33 and if you leave me you’ll never have biological children, but if you stay with me you don’t know how you can stand even one more fucking second in this house in the middle of nowhere and separating the bank accounts is going to be such a god damned pain in the ass, and the goat isn’t cute anymore, it was a stupid idea, and it has an expected life span of like 35 more years but any place you give it away to might use it for meat and that would pretty much be unconscionable. You don’t want it, but you can’t get rid of it. That’s what it’s going to be like with you and me in like four years. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t have a fuckin crystal ball.

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