So. How do you pick up a guy? Easy. Look totally hot and kinda slutty. Wear lots of shiny lip gloss and get big fake bubble tits and laugh a lot, making sure to part your lips in the prelude-to-a-cock shape and getting your gazongas to jiggle convulsively.
And if that's not a viable option - well, there are nuances, but the two most important components of the game are 1) knowing you are awesome, and 2) not giving a fuck.
The not giving a fuck part isn't easy. So many of us are programmed to consider "what people will think." Well, I can tell you that, most of the time, people are too self-absorbed and worried about what others think of them to notice what anyone else is doing. (Exceptions to that tend to be the kinds of displays that only happen when you already don't give a fuck; either 'cause you're drunk or 'cause you're just cool like that.)
There is a great mind trick that I learned from The Game. Works on job interviews, too, sometimes. Pretend it's a video game. None of it is real. If it gets annoying or if it stops being fun, you can always unplug it and leave. So don't give a fuck. Experiment. Do things that don't "fit" with your personality. In truth, there is very little you can do while sober that will really make people think badly of you.
Think about it. What's WRONG with smiling at a stranger? What's WRONG with saying "hi"? What's WRONG with joking or being a little outrageous or even shocking? Don't punch him in the dick, don't puke on his shoes and don't diss his peeps. Other than that, you're pretty much okay. So, really - don't give a fuck.
The other one is harder. Believing you're awesome. Intrinsic self-worth is a much bigger subject than I am prepared to tackle - many, MANY books have been written about it - so I'll just give you a couple of shortcuts.
You don't build a sense of self-worth overnight. What does help - in the short-term, anyway - is positive feedback from other people; feeling that you are liked. Irony is, your interpretation of other people's signals is influenced by how you feel about yourself at any given time.
So you are going to trick yourself. Whatever you feel you look like, I want you to make yourself look AWESOME. Put on the cute outfit, the nice shoes. Do the hair, the makeup, the nails. (Enlist a non-bitchy friend or two to help if hair/makeup isn't your forte. Besides substantive assisting, they'll make you feel pretty.) Get rid of the unwanted hair, even if it's winter and you're not planning to get laid - it'll make you FEEL sexier if you know you're homemade-porn ready under your clothes.
Also - this is advice that I wish someone had given me when I was younger - try to be as physically comfortable as possible. If the shoes hurt, don't wear them. If you feel the dress is too tight, you will feel that it looks too tight (even if it doesn't). You will be fidgety and a little bit stresses out and you will project unease.
Of course, this is a question of what you're used to and what you don't mind. For example, I'm okay with being poked by a push-up bra or corset all night; but put me in a pair of tight shoes, and I turn into an irritable bitch who just wants to go home. Other girls have no problem with tight shoes, but turn spastic over tight jeans and real or imagined muffin-top. We all have our hang-ups.
(Note: if I were a mathematician, I bet I could come up with some sort of equation of physical comfort and aesthetic self-enjoyment as they relate to one's general confidence level. Thing is, if you look REALLY, REALLY friggen hot, no amount of physical pain will take the wind out of your sails. We've all had nights when our feet were killing us, the chandelier earrings were pulling our earlobes out and our contacts made our eyes itchy - and yet, we looked fucking hot and we knew it, we were total rock star divas and left the place with several numbers and a dozen hearts in our pockets. And bleeding pinky toes. But who cares?)
If you leave the house feeling physically comfortable and prettier than usual, you will be "in the zone." You will exude a confidence and general buoyancy that will make people respond favorably to you. Men and women. People like to be around happy, bubbly people. Be the happy, bubbly one. And recognize that every smile, every glance, every compliment is a tribute to your AWESOMENESS. Revel in it. Enjoy it.
At the same time, if, by some misalignment of the stars, people aren't giving you the love you deserve, do NOT presume this is a refutation of your AWESOMENESS. (Yes, all caps.) Who knows what the hell is up - maybe there was an epidemic of cat deaths or a comic book store closed or maybe Uranus is in retrograde and everyone is constipated - who knows, who cares. You are AWESOME.
Sounds a little silly, but it really helps. VERBALIZE it to yourself (not necessarily out loud). Remind yourself of everything you've accomplished and everything you have going for you, whether it's professional success or good friends or really shiny hair. It doesn't matter, just think positive things about yourself. OFTEN. Do NOT dwell on negatives.
And if you do get a crisis of confidence - remember, you don't give a fuck. Who cares what these people think? There are millions of men out there - even if you alienate a few of them completely (surprisingly difficult to do, btw), you've got LOTS more chances.
Incidentally. I would be doing you a disservice if I did not tell you that one thing that will help you feel better about yourself is . . . actually improving yourself. Losing weight, getting good at something, attaining some sort of success, reaching some sort of goal. Measurable, objective self-improvement will go a lot further when it comes to enhanced self-esteem than any amount of rah-rah psychobabble. And bringing yourself objectively closer to the female ideal will definitely expand the pool of men you can score just by walking into a room. But I'm assuming you already know that; and also, that you realize an ideal is inherently unreachable. (Although not nearly as unreachable as some lazy, complacent people would have you believe.)
Love yourself, but be honest with yourself. Try to be the best YOU you can be - in the long-term and the short-term. And, ultimately, no matter what, remember: you are awesome, and you don't give a fuck.
Repeat as needed.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
how to be a fpua pt 2: origins of the beast
A few years ago, I read The Game by Neil Strauss . . . actually, I'm gonna back up. Way MORE than a few years ago, I was carrying on this on-off IMing friendship with a kid who was trying to, for lack of of my desire to euphemize, get all up in me. (We met on an early-years social networking site.) It was on-off because, although I really had no interest in even meeting him, once in a blue moon, he'd come out with a line or two that made me think he was worth chatting with. (And also because I was in school and my IM was always on.)
Being that he was young, male and average, one of his favorite topics of conversation was the girls he met and hit on and went out with and fucked, and the many clever ways he had of completing that sequence. And then, one day, it slipped out. A name. David DeAngelo.
He cited a few of DeAngelo's principles, and I was actually impressed. He seemed like someone who had a decent grip on those points of the female psyche that had always seemed obvious to ME but shrouded in mystery for most of the men I knew. (Unfortunately for the boy I was talking to, I instantly realized that about 80% of the less-boring/predictable things he'd said were derived from DeAngelo.)
He was so delighted by my interest in this - for he was clearly a passionate acolyte in the PUA faith - that he actually sent me the Double-Your-Dating e-books. I skimmed them - again, I'm a girl, most of the info wasn't news - and thought, "Good stuff; total duds can't hide behind it, but it might help some well-meaning nice guys become less shy and boring. I wonder how many guys read this. "
That question was answered just a few weeks later; another guy sent me a message on the same social networking site. He had a lot less "work" to do, being far more aesthetically pleasing than the first one. But his overt cockiness didn't jibe with his obvious interest in me. Something was up. And then, he negged me.
To his credit, he didn't try to deny having read DYD or having tried to use it on me. We ended up having an honest conversation, and all was well. (But, again. He was hot and not a complete idiot. That would have been enough to fuck him without any of the bells and whistles.)
So. Flash forward a few years, and I read something online about PUAs. It rings a bell. I see something about The Game and read an excerpt on Amazon. I find it well-written and engaging, so I get the book and quickly read that.
It is an awesome book. Neil Strauss is a terrific writer and he manages to handle the subject matter without the usual dose of latent misogyny. The principles in the book, while obviously geared to helping straight men get laid, could really be used in a variety of settings - a party where you don't know anyone, befriending someone you've just met, even a job interview. By women as well as by men. It's pretty much a more aggressive version of Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends & Influence People. (Which, btw, is also a great book, under all those cobwebs and parodies.)
I read the book. I lurked in a few online communities. I admired the craft of the PUA game, though I noted some errors and oversights within it. I felt horrified that, apparently, the ones getting the most action out there were Total Assholes and the Mindless Sluts who loved them. But mostly, I just wondered - how can a WOMAN do this?
How can a woman - who isn't a 10 or even a 9 - get hit on and laid by cool, desirable guys? How can a woman take control of her dating and sex life without feeling frozen, guilty or used? How can she thoroughly enjoy all the delights of being an independent woman in a modern society without turning to feminist rhetoric? (Not that I see anything wrong with feminism, per se; just that it sometimes becomes more about the "ism" than the "fem.")
So I started - slowly and cautiously - taking what I learned on test drives. To parties, bars, etc. (Not clubs. I get headaches if I attempt to do anything in there but dance my ass off, make out in utter silence and then vanish into the night.) As suspected, some of what the male PUAs teach are just the basic rules of successful non-gender-specific human interaction. Some of the lessons do require some tweaking to better fit female PUAs. And then, of course, I picked up a few lessons of my own.
I've made mistakes, of course. I've overshot and undershot and cared too much and didn't care enough, and all that jazz. I've spent evenings wishing I could talk to a particular guy and ending up alone; I've left potentially exciting encounters because some female good-girl neurosis kicked in; and I've felt like a dirty, ugly whore after things didn't end up the way I wanted them to. Sure, I've made mistakes. That's how I learned.
But, in the end, I had fun learning. And even more fun realizing that there is a whole lot of cool, fun, cute guys out there, who can fairly easily be "picked up" - that is, who can be induced to flirt with me, make out with me, fuck me, and make me thankful that I was born a woman. And it's not about who wins or loses; the way I play the game, everyone wins.
Unless I'm feeling a little bit evil that day :-D
Being that he was young, male and average, one of his favorite topics of conversation was the girls he met and hit on and went out with and fucked, and the many clever ways he had of completing that sequence. And then, one day, it slipped out. A name. David DeAngelo.
He cited a few of DeAngelo's principles, and I was actually impressed. He seemed like someone who had a decent grip on those points of the female psyche that had always seemed obvious to ME but shrouded in mystery for most of the men I knew. (Unfortunately for the boy I was talking to, I instantly realized that about 80% of the less-boring/predictable things he'd said were derived from DeAngelo.)
He was so delighted by my interest in this - for he was clearly a passionate acolyte in the PUA faith - that he actually sent me the Double-Your-Dating e-books. I skimmed them - again, I'm a girl, most of the info wasn't news - and thought, "Good stuff; total duds can't hide behind it, but it might help some well-meaning nice guys become less shy and boring. I wonder how many guys read this. "
That question was answered just a few weeks later; another guy sent me a message on the same social networking site. He had a lot less "work" to do, being far more aesthetically pleasing than the first one. But his overt cockiness didn't jibe with his obvious interest in me. Something was up. And then, he negged me.
To his credit, he didn't try to deny having read DYD or having tried to use it on me. We ended up having an honest conversation, and all was well. (But, again. He was hot and not a complete idiot. That would have been enough to fuck him without any of the bells and whistles.)
So. Flash forward a few years, and I read something online about PUAs. It rings a bell. I see something about The Game and read an excerpt on Amazon. I find it well-written and engaging, so I get the book and quickly read that.
It is an awesome book. Neil Strauss is a terrific writer and he manages to handle the subject matter without the usual dose of latent misogyny. The principles in the book, while obviously geared to helping straight men get laid, could really be used in a variety of settings - a party where you don't know anyone, befriending someone you've just met, even a job interview. By women as well as by men. It's pretty much a more aggressive version of Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends & Influence People. (Which, btw, is also a great book, under all those cobwebs and parodies.)
I read the book. I lurked in a few online communities. I admired the craft of the PUA game, though I noted some errors and oversights within it. I felt horrified that, apparently, the ones getting the most action out there were Total Assholes and the Mindless Sluts who loved them. But mostly, I just wondered - how can a WOMAN do this?
How can a woman - who isn't a 10 or even a 9 - get hit on and laid by cool, desirable guys? How can a woman take control of her dating and sex life without feeling frozen, guilty or used? How can she thoroughly enjoy all the delights of being an independent woman in a modern society without turning to feminist rhetoric? (Not that I see anything wrong with feminism, per se; just that it sometimes becomes more about the "ism" than the "fem.")
So I started - slowly and cautiously - taking what I learned on test drives. To parties, bars, etc. (Not clubs. I get headaches if I attempt to do anything in there but dance my ass off, make out in utter silence and then vanish into the night.) As suspected, some of what the male PUAs teach are just the basic rules of successful non-gender-specific human interaction. Some of the lessons do require some tweaking to better fit female PUAs. And then, of course, I picked up a few lessons of my own.
I've made mistakes, of course. I've overshot and undershot and cared too much and didn't care enough, and all that jazz. I've spent evenings wishing I could talk to a particular guy and ending up alone; I've left potentially exciting encounters because some female good-girl neurosis kicked in; and I've felt like a dirty, ugly whore after things didn't end up the way I wanted them to. Sure, I've made mistakes. That's how I learned.
But, in the end, I had fun learning. And even more fun realizing that there is a whole lot of cool, fun, cute guys out there, who can fairly easily be "picked up" - that is, who can be induced to flirt with me, make out with me, fuck me, and make me thankful that I was born a woman. And it's not about who wins or loses; the way I play the game, everyone wins.
Unless I'm feeling a little bit evil that day :-D
how to be a female pick-up artist (pua)
So I've been reading all this shit about PUA this and "new dating game" that. And it sounds like a giant shit-fight between the Silly Assholes (dudes who are are so addicted to their own testosterone they probably snort lines of dried cum off their shorts), the Misguided Sluts (youngish and/or desperate chicks who seem think mindless fucking is a means to liberation/self-worth, as opposed to the result of it), and the Prigs (talking/writing heads who just want everyone married, faithful and procreating already). And no one seems to be aware of the Normal Woman - you know, not too young, not too old; attractive but not necessarily a knock-out; open to a relationship but not desperate for one; loves sex/flirting/the presence of men almost but NOT quite as much as she loves her own dignity and self-respect. Who likes to feel feminine but doesn't like acting like a silly dolt; who likes to be chased but not chaste. You know. The Normal Woman.
The Assholes don't really notice the Normal Woman, because they are pretty much programmed to separate women into Fuckables and Non-Fuckables, and subtler differentiations aren't worth their narrowly targeted energies. The Sluts brazenly railroad over the Normal Women in a pick-up-centric environment (club, bar, etc.) and then cry on their shoulder when their chosen Asshole does the pump-and-dump. And the Prigs don't like to acknowledge that there is such a thing as an intelligent, sexually-discerning woman who doesn't give a fuck about getting married.
But here's the thing - the dating scene (and the world) is FULL of Normal Women. I bet you know several. They're the ones who rarely have morning-after regrets; they're the ones who don't date jerks (although they might fuck them; but why not?); they're the ones who, more often than not, do get a phone call when they give someone their phone number. Normal Women really are capable of maintaining totally platonic friendships with guys; they are also capable of having real friendships with other women, because their sex appeal (and "marketability") is a consequence of their self-esteem, not vice versa. They are sexually active and sexually proactive. They are clever, they are desirable, and they are fun to spend time with - no matter what your intentions toward them are.
There are many Normal Women. That being said, there are probably even more women who are . . . well, almost normal. But, you know, a few neuroses here, a few misconceptions there, and voila, you have the "I just don't GET men!" thing or the "All men are dogs" thing and the whole battle of the sexes business rages on. And, while wrestling and role-play in the bedroom (or fuckspace of choice) is well and good, I'm more into gender harmony on the spiritual level. For the simple reason that it makes fucking a healthier and happier experience for everyone involved.
And we all love a happy, healthy fuck, don't we?
So I am going to attempt to chronicle here the lessons I've learned over the last few years - since I first heard of (male) PUAs and got acquainted with some of their resources. In this entry, I've been using the term Normal Woman instead of Female PUA. This is because I don't believe a (straight) woman can be a PUA in the current male-centered definition; at least, not happily. I absolutely DO believe a woman can have a better, busier sex life by being proactive - but I kinda think that this is achieved by just, you know, being normal. (I may be optimistic :)
I do think I may start using the term FPUA, just 'cause it's shorter and snazzier. We'll see.
Oh, and a caveat: this is by a woman who loves to fuck men, written for women who love to fuck men. I have only a passing acquaintance with the lesbian culture, so, seriously, no friggin clue.
All comments welcomed. Just be nice. Or else I'll erase your mean-spirited little ass and it'll be like you never existed.
The Assholes don't really notice the Normal Woman, because they are pretty much programmed to separate women into Fuckables and Non-Fuckables, and subtler differentiations aren't worth their narrowly targeted energies. The Sluts brazenly railroad over the Normal Women in a pick-up-centric environment (club, bar, etc.) and then cry on their shoulder when their chosen Asshole does the pump-and-dump. And the Prigs don't like to acknowledge that there is such a thing as an intelligent, sexually-discerning woman who doesn't give a fuck about getting married.
But here's the thing - the dating scene (and the world) is FULL of Normal Women. I bet you know several. They're the ones who rarely have morning-after regrets; they're the ones who don't date jerks (although they might fuck them; but why not?); they're the ones who, more often than not, do get a phone call when they give someone their phone number. Normal Women really are capable of maintaining totally platonic friendships with guys; they are also capable of having real friendships with other women, because their sex appeal (and "marketability") is a consequence of their self-esteem, not vice versa. They are sexually active and sexually proactive. They are clever, they are desirable, and they are fun to spend time with - no matter what your intentions toward them are.
There are many Normal Women. That being said, there are probably even more women who are . . . well, almost normal. But, you know, a few neuroses here, a few misconceptions there, and voila, you have the "I just don't GET men!" thing or the "All men are dogs" thing and the whole battle of the sexes business rages on. And, while wrestling and role-play in the bedroom (or fuckspace of choice) is well and good, I'm more into gender harmony on the spiritual level. For the simple reason that it makes fucking a healthier and happier experience for everyone involved.
And we all love a happy, healthy fuck, don't we?
So I am going to attempt to chronicle here the lessons I've learned over the last few years - since I first heard of (male) PUAs and got acquainted with some of their resources. In this entry, I've been using the term Normal Woman instead of Female PUA. This is because I don't believe a (straight) woman can be a PUA in the current male-centered definition; at least, not happily. I absolutely DO believe a woman can have a better, busier sex life by being proactive - but I kinda think that this is achieved by just, you know, being normal. (I may be optimistic :)
I do think I may start using the term FPUA, just 'cause it's shorter and snazzier. We'll see.
Oh, and a caveat: this is by a woman who loves to fuck men, written for women who love to fuck men. I have only a passing acquaintance with the lesbian culture, so, seriously, no friggin clue.
All comments welcomed. Just be nice. Or else I'll erase your mean-spirited little ass and it'll be like you never existed.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
humble origins
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess. She lived in a castle with her kindly, aged, senile father and her stepmother, who spent most of her time passed out on White Zinfandel and Percocets, recuperating from her latest elective procedure.
The princess had a lot of time to herself. At first, she spent her days talking to the birds and animals who came to visit her in the castle - but a trip to a teen psychiatrist and a prescription for clozapine cleared that right up. So she spent her days reading women's magazines, polishing her nails, and waiting for her prince to come.
And, finally, one day, he did. Well, he wasn't exactly a prince. He was a traveling toilet salesman, doing brisk business in the medieval castle district. He was very handsome. His skin was porcelain-white, and his eyes were . . . well, they were brown. As she saw him, she knew that, one day, she would yank his chain till it rattled.
The day came soon enough. In a peaceful meadow by a babbling brook, he laid her upon the grass. Up flew the gown. Down went the britches. And out came the cutest little pink thing she had ever seen.
The affair, of course, ended shortly. The, er, prince had to leave town. Some sort of fan-hitting incident in the next kingdom over. But she never forgot the little pink thing. How cute it had been. How tiny and adorable. Nothing could ever compare to it.
Until, one day, she came upon a tiny pink pen. Cute, and sleek and bursting with possibilities. She took the pen in her hand, gripped it, delighting in the familiar feel of it.
And that was when she realized that the best thing that could possibly come out of that little pink thing was potty-mouthed sex humor.
The princess had a lot of time to herself. At first, she spent her days talking to the birds and animals who came to visit her in the castle - but a trip to a teen psychiatrist and a prescription for clozapine cleared that right up. So she spent her days reading women's magazines, polishing her nails, and waiting for her prince to come.
And, finally, one day, he did. Well, he wasn't exactly a prince. He was a traveling toilet salesman, doing brisk business in the medieval castle district. He was very handsome. His skin was porcelain-white, and his eyes were . . . well, they were brown. As she saw him, she knew that, one day, she would yank his chain till it rattled.
The day came soon enough. In a peaceful meadow by a babbling brook, he laid her upon the grass. Up flew the gown. Down went the britches. And out came the cutest little pink thing she had ever seen.
The affair, of course, ended shortly. The, er, prince had to leave town. Some sort of fan-hitting incident in the next kingdom over. But she never forgot the little pink thing. How cute it had been. How tiny and adorable. Nothing could ever compare to it.
Until, one day, she came upon a tiny pink pen. Cute, and sleek and bursting with possibilities. She took the pen in her hand, gripped it, delighting in the familiar feel of it.
And that was when she realized that the best thing that could possibly come out of that little pink thing was potty-mouthed sex humor.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Title Goes Here
I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
I am the very model of a modern Major-General, I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral, I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical, About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news, With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.
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