Lessons From My Cat - Part 5

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea. 

Robert A Heinlein

Since reading "The Game" back when it first was published, I've been an admirer of the Society of Pick-Up Artists. The book itself was a minor triumph of genius, and the world it describes a testament to single-mindedness. Men with the wherewithal to dedicate their entire beings to bedding babes deserve my admiration, if not outright respect. 

The PUA devotion to duty isn't for everyone. If all guys were out there peacocking, it would be a weird world all around. And, of course, the magic would stop working. Differentiation is a large part of being a PUA - without slobs, there's no advantage. If everyone can afford an iPhone, the aspirational price difference disappears.  

Women, fortunately, aren't iPhones, even if they're both beautiful, smooth and weighted just right. Women don't have the same kind of focus on men, because they don't need the same kind of focus. There is no PUA movement for ladies. Which isn't to say that women aren't interested in finding the hot guy, because obviously they are. It's just that their tactics are different. 

Cats provide the best way of explaining how this works. A cat's focus, like a woman's, can change in a split second. Right now my cat might be grooming, looking as content as can be; then suddenly she's off inspecting her territory, checking the fence-line. Instantly, she'll stop and spend thirty minutes staring into space, as if she's waiting for someone to tell her how beautiful she is, and the next she'll be sitting on my keyboard actively pushing for attention. It's all very....unpredictable. If you're a male, that is. 

The recipe for men here is to understand the following: 

+ don't ever attempt to predict a woman; it will drive you crazy.

+ be consistent; I give my cat shelter, food, warmth, love and care at all times. I am rewarded with affection on her timetable. That's the deal. Consider being a rock with your woman.

+ the above doesn't stop me trying to get a purr started; no harm in trying.

+ it's a weird quantum universe, so you'll never know what your woman sees in you. Don't think about it. Just be the best you can be, and all good things will follow. 

+ women's sexual motor doesn't idle like ours; it can be off altogether, and will require starting. (See purr-starting attempts above.) Mostly if you're good, it'll work, but there's no certainty. If you fail, wait a while and try again. 

+ work with what you're given.

You see, although I think the PUA guys are on to something, it's a very long ride to a short payoff. The lads are constantly paddling into the surf break to find the one wave that's going in their direction. The other way is to be at one with the ocean, sit quietly on your board and wait for the wave to come to you. 

Bottoms Up, Surfriding Dudes.

Why Men Love Women

Lost in the tumble dryer of life is the number one reason men love women: you are different from us.

You: are the pink thong we found amongst our load of whites.

You: are the bird of paradise we discovered bunking in with our chickens.

You: represent the bouillabaissein a world of canned soup. 

YOU: are the blue-cheese stuffed olive that magically appeared in our whisky.


We recognize parts of ourselves in you. There's the day-to-day stuff, like breathing, eating, sleeping, cutting your toe-nails. They're all clearly recognizable.

Then there are the bits and pieces that we understand, but don't do ourselves: the endless fussing with hair, the individual driving style, preoccupations with inconsequential celebrities, capri pants. And of course there's the shit we simply sit back and watch in amazement: anything reproductive up to and including childbirth; catfights; multi-tasking and the complete mystery/wonderment that is the false eyelash.

Important to understand here is the subtlety of these things. It's the way you approach life that fascinates us. Your emPHASis is all different; up when ours is down; inside when ours is out; blended when ours is on the rocks. Fascination stems from the slight eccentricity of a view of the universe 15 degrees removed. And by eccentricity, I mean adorable quirk.

So if anyone tells you that the way to a better world is to be more like a man, think about this beautiful harmony we have with each other, and wonder why anyone would want it different.





Bottoms Up, make-up appliers in traffic.

Knowledge - The Greatest Gift

If Womens' Studies courses were really concerned with disseminating information about women, they'd be chock-full of blokes. Let's face it, guys are enthusiastic - if somewhat clueless - lifelong devotees of female form and function, and could truly benefit from professional instruction.

But a course dealing with the whys and wherefores of practical lady behaviour would be instantly shut down by the same women who run the aforementioned Womens' Studies faculty. Ironic, eh?

Take cunnilingus, for example. When a young man tastes his first pussy, it confirms everything he'd come to expect from his initial forays, namely, finger-fucking. Pussy tastes, feels and smells like nothing else in the universe, which can be a shock for the learner lover. What to do? How does this warm pleasure palace work, and how can I improve my performance so that she thinks more highly of me?

If nothing else, when we see our first female orgasm up close, we realize our life-long quest is to hone whatever input we have to the process. We like having you shake and moan, squirt and gush, scream and blush. It's addictive.

Sadly, sending the average male youth to be helpful with such a thing is equivalent to tuning a nuclear submarine with a crescent wrench. He might find and tighten the correct bolts, but it's all gonna be hit and miss.

The right tools for the job, the job of being with a woman on all levels, do exist. Most men eventually find that place of understanding, and, dare I say it, competence, both between the thighs and between the ears. The pity is that it mostly requires trial and error, which means her trial and patience with his error. Question and answer from a disinterested third party would make a huge difference.

Does anyone know of an actual Woman Instructor?




Bottoms Up, Educators.

Wow! Subtle.

Desperation comes in many forms, none so blind as the person who hangs on to another person beyond the life of their relationship - no matter how short.

Men and women can both overlook critical, possibly damaging qualities and behaviours in their sig others, but there is a timing difference, at least in my experience.

Women overlook rottenness in a man early in the relationship, almost before it's begun.

Men will overlook exactly the same kind of rottenness in a woman late in a relationship, when it's nearly done.

Of course, of course, this is a generalization, and either sex can fit into either category, or neither. But the mechanism is clear to me: when a woman is of a mind to have a man in her life, she'll squeeze him into her criteria with a shoe-horn and bacon grease. When a man has been given the time to discover a woman is (ostensibly) the one for him, he'll hold onto her, even after everyone else can see they're not a match.

The fundamental difference here is that women, in general, feel that the incompatibilities - or sheer unacceptabilities - of a man she wants are within her ability to change. She can smooth out any rough edges, no matter how ingrained. Guys tend to figure that the (bad) stuff that makes them draw a quick breathe will spread, and so are best avoided. Yes, we'll still have sex if it's available, but a commitment...perhaps not.

However, if we do make a commitment over a period of time, we'll stick with it, maybe because we're afraid of being demonstrably wrong. That's our ego talking, a voice we need to ignore way more often.



Bottoms Up, Humans.

Two Chimps on a Davenport

I tried outrage once, and what a waste of time. It was a stretch of whatever emotion I was inflating, a complete push. I discovered that outrage doesn't make friends; outrage puts you - alone - in the back yard at parties, when everyone knows that the guest bedroom is the place to be.

Milquetoast ever since, it's worth noting that I see lots of guys in the same mental space now. Hot-headedness has given way to a kind of mellow acceptance, especially of other blokes. For this I thank our womenfolk. Ladies, I think you've won.

After years of being told...

+ to show my feminine side

+ not to be afraid of crying

+ to be a little less macho

+ to try getting in touch with my emotions 

...y'all can stop now. I'm there, I'm right there with you. No need to continue, I have seen the (foxglove hued) light.

 
To the outside observer (ie: women) the male social process must appear to be little more than mildly boastful bravado mixed with sport-talk. I'm sure you see it through the female prism, which is to say that you think we're working out the hierarchy in the room; who's above and below whom in the pecking order.

The reverse is true. What's really happening is that we're attempting to find the common ground, so that we know how to communicate. This low-level détente is designed precisely to avoid conflict. We know how discord goes, and it's good for no man. Much better to figure out how we can sit happily and watch the women doing their thing at parties. 

BTW, I'm waiting for the first man to say to a woman:

+ you know, you should really find your masculine side.



Bottoms Up, Peaceniks.

Run Silent, Run Deep

If you recorded a video of me in the heat of a disagreement with a woman, you'd likely see me more frustrated than angry. For every ten words she gets out - like pinpoint jabs to the solar plexus - I'd stammer out two or three. And she'd brush them off. That's the frustrating part, the fact that we seem to work in different weight classes, or even different fighting disciplines. She's a lithe and wiry Thai boxer, I'm Hulk Hogan.

That's the problem. Woman can chop men up with a few well-placed zingers before we've even realized were in a fight. When her blood's up, I'm still lacing my boots while she's already counting a points victory - which is the other half of the disappointment, because by the time I have my mouthguard in and gloves on, she's already having a warm-down massage. Game over. I lose.

So what's the deal here? The mismatch of verbal skill between us is vast to the point of unfairness. Guys generally can't connect response to mouth anywhere near as fast as the lady, leaving us pondering a point from three minutes ago that's already been lost. Not only is it a transmission problem, it's a speed of connection problem.

You'll note here that I'm probably an extreme case. Not only do I intensely dislike disagreements that are in the least bit emotional, I actively avoid them. On the other hand, I love verbal jousting without the heat ie: when nothing's at stake. When we're cool and operating under the same rules, it's fun. As a result, I don't have much practice with the kind of hot conflict that's inevitable in any kind of long-term relationship. In the end I imagine that's deeply unsatisfying to women.

The next time that you think a man's a strong, silent type, consider this: he's silent only because the words are slow to be spoken, not because they're not there.



Bottoms Up, Fighters.

Green Light, You Fool! Go!

Emma Caulfield

As a younger man I was a complete bonehead wrt women. I remember (amongst a few such incidents) a particular Saturday morning. The lovely dark-haired young lady and I had been on a couple of dates, and we planned to spend the morning out and about. We drove around to her mother's house, a substantial pile in a sweet part of town. Mother wasn't home. As we wandered the rooms, I failed to notice that her gorgeousness was wearing a very flirty dress, spent a lot of time close to me, and lingered long in her childhood bedroom showing me bits and pieces from earlier days. Only later did I realize just how bright and clear her green lights shone in my direction.

Damn. Another opportunity missed.

What was I thinking? In retrospect she was SHOUTING at me to CAPITALIZE on her horniness.



The single, active, hetero man requires two core skills.

1. Be able to find, charm, envelope and start the motor of attractive single women.

2. Know when attractive single women have found, chosen, and desire them.

These are the light and shade of satisfying our sexual desire. To get what biology drives us towards, we must navigate the female defenses and/or know when the drawbridge is down.

Unfortunately, the two sides of this coin share little by way of requisite skills. Going out and (effectively) hunting a woman is the light. It's the time-worn Hemmingway-esque approach that relies on confidence, optimism, showmanship and out-gunning the next guy. It's the shotgun blast and reload approach.

The shade is different. If a woman chooses, it calls for a more careful thought process. The subtleties of this path to heaven-on-earth sometimes elude younger, less mature man. Ahem. Clearly, I speak from experience, and now I understand it, would happily live in the shade. 





Bottoms Up, You Subtle Wonders You.

Grapeshot of Wrath

Women dumbfound me in all kinds of ways, but the one way to completely flummox me is to get angry. Behind every pissed-off woman is a fearful and clueless man. That would be me.

Anger is one emotion that highlights the power a woman can wield over a man, should she so choose. Get wild-eyed and emotional, and your man will do anything to make it go away.

Now this might strike you as being counter to type. You know, blokes are supposed to be the violent ones - we make war, we play bone-breaking games, we kill to eat. While we're out being destructive, women are at home being nurturing, compassionate and seeeeeeeensitive, right?

That's right as far as it goes. But there's a difference between violence and temper. One can be violent without emotion. Civilization is in part the history of men creating rules and conventions that channel and codify our inbuilt aggression. Boxing us in like that prevents us committing dopey violent acts in a fit of pique, and a good thing it is. Brawls never seem as compelling the next morning.

Which is why a lot of us are unsure what to do when our beloved is shouting and being volcanic. There are no rules. There's no tribunal to consult, no referee to coolly determine who's offside and what the penalty is.

Any tips from woman on smart courses of action are welcome.




Bottoms Up, Plate Chuckers!

Charm is Over-rated

Picture credit

Observations of the qualities women choose in men:

~ charm is over-rated, as is persistence.

~ the ability to take charge and swift decision-making are useful abstract qualities.

~ height and dress sense are valuable physical assets.

~ sexual skill is of middling importance.

~ either youthfulness OR mature mastery are equal attractors.

~ being a kind of benign dictator works a treat.

~ uniforms, of a military bent, or a nice suit, make a difference.


Romantics like me don't stand a chance in front of this. A man who communicates, has a sense of humour and is self-deprecatory is SO underwater in the dating game, like so much by-catch.

Wherever did I get the idea that these things were valuable?




Bottoms Up, Survivors.

Trophy Husband

Q: What does a woman want?

A: A man she can admire, a man she respects, a man she knows is strong.




Q: What does a man want?

A: A woman who admires him, a woman who respects him, a woman who can see his strength.




Bottoms Up, Realists.

Horse Harrar

Women come in two types - the horsewoman, and the non-horsewoman.

Understandable, really, that some ladies find the equine superior to the sapien. Apart from the age-old attraction of 1,000 pounds of muscular flesh cantering between your spread thighs, there are more subtle appeals. A battle for a woman's heart fought between a man and a stallion would be closer than you expect. Don't underestimate the power of the quadruped, viz:

-> A horse, went not in use, is happy standing around eating grass. Easy maintenance.
-> A man, when not in use, is likely to find activities of which a g/f won't approve. Higher maintenance.

-> The horse can carry the woman many miles without complaint.
-> The man can carry the woman over the threshold (if he does even that.)

-> Horses like to be ridden hard and put away wet.
-> Men like to ride their g/f hard and make her wet. (This should work in the man's favour.)

-> Horses don't have opinions, nor do they answer back snappishly.
-> Men have opinions and will tell you what they are, snappishly or otherwise.

-> Horses want to be told what to do.
-> Men want to tell you what to do.

-> Horses have huge, thick, long dicks.
-> Men read books.

-> Horses don't mind having a woman on their back, then being asked to perform tricks.
-> When men have women metaphorically on their backs, we don't like it at all.

A cool examination of my list tells me that men win this race, but only by a short half-head.



Bottoms Up, Equestriennes!

Friday Fluffer - Ink Your Pink

Jezebel, always a source of solid guidance for the modern woman, explored the world of pubic decoration recently.

They call it 'Vatooing' (as in Vaginal Tatooing) but as the article points out it's really upper pubic area decoration. UPAD isn't quite as catchy. A spirited argument exists as to whether whether the correct term is 'Vatoo' or 'Twatoo', as per here. [link] I have no skin in this game. So to speak.

Here's the original article. [link]<-----click to see. (Beware Jezebel's horribly slow servers.)



Bottoms Up, Cuntstunters!


Hat tip to the ever-on-the-leading-edge Snaf [link]

La Petite Mort

There's a part of me that envies the complexity of the female. I have way fewer moving parts than a woman, and some days - like today - I wonder if being a chick would stave off the boredom.

The reason any given woman will suffer less from boredom than any given man is because you have more mental rooms in which to play. You can take your emotions out for a spin and see what happens. There are always your sisters with whom to share. And if you're in the mood, you can always unbridle your sexy side for some fun.

The sisterhood is really important, because y'all are way more social animals than men. That means there's always someone at the end of your street or the end of your cellphone who might have something to say that will alleviate a dull day. At the very least, she'll call you "Sweetie" and "feel bad" for you. Women empathize.

Maybe life really is more dramatic for babes. Male orgasm (I imagine, backed up by porn) is a pretty standard thing. But female O is Shakespearean. (Irony of a using a playwright and actor noted.) Memories of ex-g/f Os are some of my favourite mental images, especially the near-death-like Petite Mort kind.

I like the Urban Dictionary's definition:

The little death is translation from the French "la petite mort", a popular reference for a sexual orgasm. The term has been broadly expanded to include specific instances of blacking out after orgasm and other supposed spiritual releases that come with orgasm. Speculations to its origin include current connotations of the phrase, including: * Greco-Roman belief that the oversecretion of bodily fluids would "dry out" one of the believed four humours, leading to death.

Seems I'm not the only one who enjoys the memory of climax past:

This is quite the discovery [link]<-----Interesting Link SFW


Bottoms Up, Climaxers!




Pic from here {link}

Allow Yourself Pleasure

"Most women need permission to express themselves sexually and allow themselves pleasure."*

I sense an element of truth in this statement, and yet raise my eyebrows. 'Permission' implies someone has the authority allowing each individual female release. Is is possible that women themselves deny that permission? Do women stop their own natural behaviour? Why?

This kind of self flagellation is foreign to guys. We routinely deny ourselves expression from the other end of that spectrum - controlling our impulses civilizes us. This, too, can be overdone, leading to male sexual introversion.

Perhaps we could meet in the middle. Ladies, give yourself permission. Men, go meet the women.




Bottoms Up, Permit Holders!



Pic from here [link]

*Quote from a quote from "Release the Seductress Within" by Laurie Sue Brockway.

What Do Men Say?

Unusually, I'm about to recommend another websiteslashblog.[link] I have no clue who the people are, but I see there's talent among the production and editorial staff and (guessing) money backing them too.

The premise is one I like and try to put into practice here @ KnB, namely the idea that women want to hear what men think about, and about them. My efforts are miserable, but the following interview is worthwhile.

It helps that Miss Schell, the interviewer, does a bang-up job of not verbally obstructing the guys.

It's worth a look, safe for work, and nicely amiable.





Bottoms Up, Inquisitors!

RubixGirl from here. [link]

Ferrets

Individualism's great, but what you call individualism I reserve the right to call strangeness. Strangeness can be fun and interesting too, but I probably don't want to date you if you're strange tipping to weird. That's the way I roll.

Pets are one area in which I have little tolerance for the non-mainstream. A certain one-upmanship taints pet ownership, especially amongst those whose non-human companions extend beyond cats and dogs.

Take ferrets, for example. A mate of mine from years ago dated (for a short time) a very attractive chick who came equipped with a ferret. Mostly the rat wrapped itself around the back of her neck, with its hideous face poking out from under her hair above her left shoulder. She went everywhere with that beast, talking to it like it understood. It reminded me of a ventriloquist and her dummy, constantly blathering back and forth.

Snakes and other reptiles skip the strange category and move straight to weird. Dating a woman with a diamond python or two in her living room is beyond me. Ditto lizards, spiders, grasshoppers and Madagascar hissing cockroaches. [link]

Even mainstream pets tell us a lot about the owner. Single women with miniature dogs have them as baby replacements; men with miniature dogs are homosexual; anyone with a pit-bull is a retard. Which leaves only cat-owners as sane people. So that's who I'll date.

Have pussy? Call me.


Bottoms up!





Photo of Woman with Ferret from here [link]

Change Gears

Repulsion and attraction rest upon the smallest particles. Loving a woman can be about the way she tilts their head. Loathing a woman can be about the way she closes a door. It's ridiculous when placed on a plinth like that, but all my observations and experience tell me it's true.

A lot of the stuff that we might label 'small' is right on the edge of consciousness, too, in my opinion. I don't know exactly what it is I like about her...I just know. Detachment and self-examination are needed to figure out what our brain is filtering out, and what it's including. The answer is there, but we need to point the flashlight at the edges of how we think, towards the less obvious nooks and crannies of our personality.

This is the reason I dislike the standard online dating architecture. The profiles are all about big-picture things, painted with a large brush. Unfortunately, the paint is water-based, and washes away with the first exposure to rain. Yes, I like sailing and martinis, just like you, but where's the hook in that? I have just described about a billion people. Small is special and big is...well, it's just big.

The real point I want to make about this is that because my attraction for you is about the small stuff, you are entirely unlikely to know ahead of time what those small stuffs are. That's why it is such a waste of time to spend time thinking about your shortcomings - as, remember, you see them, not anyone else - to the detriment of being the best you can.

I have discovered this, thousands of years late, but it's worth repeating: change what you want to and accept the rest. Oh, and don't worry about what other people find attractive or repulsive. You have no control over that.

Martini, anyone?

Bottoms Up.




Woman contemplating from this man [link]

Honour and Offer

Slightly bummed tonight because yet again I'm left with another communications mystery around women.

You remember that I had a date set-up created for me by some friends.[link]

The date went well as far as I could tell:

-> she was attractive and very nicely dressed in boots and knock-off (short) Pucci dress.

-> I made no obvious faux pas on initial introduction, always a hairy area.

-> she appeared to not find me completely physically repulsive.

-> the conversation was natural and unforced.

-> the introducing couple were great and made life easy.

-> spinach salad thankfully didn't end in dreaded spinach in the tooth-gap.

-> I made her laugh, three times.

-> we hugged good-bye.

Let's say that my grade was a gentleman's C.

I called the next day to say how delightful meeting her was.

I called two days after, spoke to her, she was busy, and agreed to call back two days after that.

I called then, and the call went straight (I mean, straight) to voicemail.

I called three days after that, ditto.

I called a week later, ditto.

The furrowed forehead I have is because of the minute or so we had together after our matchmakers made their gracious exit. It seemed abundantly clear to me that she would be up for a date sometime later, and that she liked me. We even had TWO good-by hugs and pecks.

Despite my studied disinterest in an outcome, it's still mystifying.







Pic from Czech [link]

Mr Clean

With a couple of hours to spare around noon today, here's what I did.

1. Grabbed my caddy of environmentally friendly cleaning products (which, by the way, I keep close to me at all times.)

2. Collected, from my 'cleaning' drawer, micro-fibre squares, sponges and polishing cloths.

3. Entered the bathroom.

Working from the top down, I cleaned the tiles first, shower and tub. Then on to the vanity, which is probably the easiest part, although faucets can be tricky. Toilet next, making sure to get to all those idiotic curves at the base that those dumb toilet designers create specifically to confound us. Then on to the floor, where you would have found me on hands and knees with an old toothbrush cleaning the grout. Lastly, the mirror, door handles, towel rails and the shelves of the medicine cabinet.

I stood up after about thirty minutes and looked upon my work with pride.

A (woman) friend opined recently that, had it been her bathroom, I could have expected a blowjob at that point. Is this a common reaction, and should I start a high-end cleaning business?





No, that's not my bathroom pictured. [link]

Being Elin Woods

The problem with being Elin Woods is that she will only ever rise to being number 16 in Tiger Woods's life.

Why number 16? Because if you are Tiger Woods, you have fourteen golf clubs in your bag, and a caddy. That's fifteen, then comes the wife, at number 16.

Elin's in a Catch 22, or, as we might call it, a 16 Handicap. To make Tiger the superstar he is, he needs those clubs. To hand him the clubs, carry them around the course, hold his umbrella and give him "yardage" he needs Steve Williams, his Kiwi caddy.

If Tiger's without any of these elements, he's just another guy. The hundreds of millions of dollars, the ocean-going yachts and all the luxury don't accumulate unless he has those clubs. And his buddy.

Elin knows this. That's why she's so mad. Like most married women, she'd like to be Numero Uno, but can never be if she wants to keep enjoying a life of opulence. A mistress would be acceptable but being considered behind golf clubs and a bloke in shorts? That's an insult.