Everywhere a man turns he is being told how to catch the woman he wants. Everywhere a man turns he is being told that he is wrong, and this is how to get her. What happened to what men want? For all of the talk we hear about men catching a woman, you would think there would be some sort of discussion on what a woman needs to do to catch a guy worth catching. And yet there is none. Men are being told to evolve their way of thinking while women are still relying on shaking their ass and wearing revealing skirts to catch a guy with a stable bank account. Wait. Was I describing a strip club or one of the 15 females I will meet Saturday night?
Take a moment to let the gravity of that situation set in.
Aaaaaaaaand there it is. So here is the original blog: http://www.scribd.com/doc/2703893/Ten-Secrets-of-the-Female-Mind
And here is a rebuttal from Word.com
We rely on you to make us feel comfortable.
Really? How about you not go out of your way to make shit as amazingly awkward as you fucking possibly can when you see me across the room and decide you want me to come talk to you. In what heroine based world are you living where ignoring someone directly translates into "Come talk to me!" How about we play a game called men like confident women and nothing says confident like you growing out of the high school mentality, walking across the room and saying, "Hey." If you are relying on me to effect the degree of discomfort you feel in any situation then my dear you are in for one hell of a ride because 9 times out of 10 I don't have any semblance of an idea as to what the hell is going on beyond whether or not I'm hungry. If you want a man to make you feel comfortable, make him feel comfortable. We all have comfort zones. If you aren't brave enough to venture outside of yours then why should we step out of ours.
Lesson #1: Grow a pair and approach the guy you want to date.
We EXPECT you to respect us and YOU BETTER respect yourself first.
No shit. We aren't fans of disrespect either. So how about you not rattle off snap judgments like a machine gun within the first 60 seconds of us meeting each other. That guy in your office who obviously has a crush on you doesn't need you to ignore him. If you want to preach to us about looks not being everything, you are going to have to start believing it. Next time he is at the coffee machine find out how his weekend went. If you want us to respect you, offer it... don't just hold your hands out and expect it. Guys will respect a woman who deserves it. We will NEVER respect someone who doesn't.
Lesson #2: If you want respect get your nose out of the air.
We are not that complicated; we long to love and be loved.
Right so... bullshit. You aren't complicated? How did you write that and not have your face melted off by a lightening bolt from the Heavens. You live in the moment and remember the screw ups more than the good times? How does that not strike you as something that YOU need to work on and not me. Turn the tables and let me only remember the screw ups. Don't turn your faults into our challenges.
Lesson #3: Expecting me to deal with your "female personality traits" is not cute, it's juvenile. If you want a grown man, act like a grown woman.
We want to be high on your priority list; but not higher than your mission.
So when we say, "Baby I can't tonight I have to work on these contracts." night after night after night after night you are alright with that? No. You're not. You want to be on top of the list and so do we. Welcome back to reality. Men want a woman who can be completely independent but make us feel like a king. There is nothing sexier than a strong woman who can go toe to toe with your wallet, your intellect and your education greeting you with a hug and a kiss when we get home.
Lesson #4: Make a man your priority and he will be fine with you having to put him second when the need arises.
We don't want you to appear flawless, smooth or too perfect.
Alright, I'll give you this one. On both sides of the road the expectations are perceived as way out of reach. The fact of the matter is that all a man wants out of a woman when she approaches him is the ability to make him laugh. Yes, looks matter. However being amazingly beautiful but dumb as shit takes you right back to the level we put strippers in.
Lesson #5: We don't want the model from the magazine cover. We may want to sleep with her, but the word relationship never crosses our mind.
We want to be able to fully embrace the power and seductiveness of our femininity.
How does that have anything at all to do with us? The way you carry yourself is your responsibility and only yours. If a man is not letting you be sexy and feminine you may be dating a gay guy.
Lesson #6: Men want a woman not a dude. A woman who knows about cars is cool. A woman covered in 5 year old engine grease is not sexy.
We want to be emotionally swept away, and not just impressed.
I agree with this and it goes both ways. Men don't at all want to hear about your daily schedule. I'm sorry sweetie but we just don't care how often you go to the gym or what you are studying. Really doesn't matter. Men want to be excited about hanging out with their girlfriend. We want to laugh at the same things and share crazy experiences. If we aren't laughing withing the first five minutes of our introductions then welcome to the friend zone.
Lesson #7: You aren't the only woman we have ever spoken to. Say something to grab our attention that makes us smile.
The truth of the matter is that everything these lists say is over simplified and more often than not... wrong. Women are as diverse and different as men are and the idea that one can read a list to find his dream girl is nothing more than a way to get people to read something not involving Lindsey Lohan or Paris Hilton. I'm sorry Miss Scribd.com but your list was more fail than I have seen in a long long time.
Cheers,
- Modem.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Everything I Learned In Colorado.
I hate hippies. I hate them the way Encyclopedia Brittanica hates Wikipedia. This is the sole reason I have never truly moved to Austin. Fuck hippies. Highlands Ranch is NOTHING like Austin. There are no hippies in Highlands Ranch. Let's not compare the two anymore. Thanks. Having set that precedent, we may now proceed with my return to the world of blogging.
I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.
So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.
On the plane I learned two very important lessons:
1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"
2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.
I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.
"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."
So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:
1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.
2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.
3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.
4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.
So that was awesome.
Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."
Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.
We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.
I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.
We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.
The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.
I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.
Cheers,
- Muden
I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.
So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.
On the plane I learned two very important lessons:
1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"
2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.
I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.
"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."
So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:
1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.
2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.
3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.
4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.
So that was awesome.
Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."
Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.
We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.
I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.
We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.
The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.
I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.
Cheers,
- Muden
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