Man Wrangler

Picture Credit

Wine and company bend my mind towards unfeasible projects. The most recent of these - pursuant to Friday night's conversation - is the idea of a Man Wrangler.

Every single person complains of the lack of prospective partners at some point. It's natural. The older we are, the more human nature works against us. Not only do we tend to be more picky, but so does everyone else. (SO unfair if you ask me. OTHER people should be able to see through my faults, but I reserve MY right to discriminate immoderately.)

AND there is that semi-trailer of life baggage that keeps following us around. As soon as I think I dropped that thing at a parking depot somewhere, I turn around and DAMN! - there it is again. As much as we might want to be the tractor part ONLY of the tractor-trailer, that sneaky thing keeps finding us.

My complaint is that wherever I go, it's always a brodeo. (Noun credit: Mr Nights.) Like a man in a desert, all I see is sand in the form of dudes. However, opportunity is often found by turning adversity upside-down. (Invert, always invert.)

What I should be doing is creating my own database of men with whom I can hook up whatever single women I know. Use the law of supply and demand to my advantage, by making ME the go-to guy for single ladies around town, that's the plan.





Bottoms Up Matchmakers.

The Boner Gap

An awkward few seconds lurk in the space between knowing she's ready and crossing the moat. The preparatory work is done, according to the following checklist:

A. Girl nearby.

B. Aroused girl nearby.

C. At least partially naked girl nearby.

(Note: These first three points might be the same girl, or three, YMMV.)

D. Boner. (Your own.)

E. Condom.



Okay, now to connect your erect penis with the willing pussy. Time to bust out the condom.

Quickly now, the clock's running.

Another checklist:

A. Locate condom.

B. Tear open condom packet.

C. Retrieve that sucker from the packet.

D. Make sure you avoid the inside-out error.

E. Roll condom on penis.

F. Fully unfurl said prophylactic.

G. Insert properly outfitted manhood into luscious love trench.



What's the timing on that? Should we say between ten and thirty seconds?

We need a name for that gap. My suggestions include:

The Boner Gap.

The Keep it Up Interregnum.

Don't Let me Down, Dude, Gap.

Say Flaccid and I'll Kill You Gap.

The Why Hasn't Condom Packaging Improved in 100 Years Gap.

The How Bad Would a Baby Be Anyway? Gap.






Bottoms Up, Condomistas!


Pic of pigtailed aweseomeness from here [link]

Hat-tip to Snaf for the inspiration.

What is she saying? Do I care?

If in doubt, I refer to Sun Tzu:

It is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles;...

In warfare, as in mating, a few simple rules can save us from calamitous mistakes. Avoiding a hundred unsatisfactory encounters with women, looking for green lights, confused about body language, is easily done: ignore them.

No, I am not advocating completely rinsing women right out of your hair, that won't do at all. But a way to remain calm and unconcerned is to stop looking. This might not make much sense if you're a woman reading this, but consciously giving up the eternal pursuit of skirt (if only for a night) can be liberating for a man. It is similar to the day your mother says you can - after years of work - quit the piano lessons you loathed. Release, blessed release.

A man thusly at peace with himself has mental energy to burn. Avoiding the manic effect of trim-chasing mode lightens the heart, creating a sense of cool engagement with women. If she's interested, she'll talk to me. If she wants to kiss, she'll initiate. If she's discreetly handing your her underwear under the table, she probably wants sex.

See how easy that is?

Calm men, not on the lookout, will attract women. It hands us the decision - yes, or no?




Green Lights Part One, Green Lights Part Two, Green Lights Part Three, Green Lights Part Five.