“Beer has too many calories/beer makes you fat”

“Beer has none of the complexities of wine”

These are the usual comments of women who, after being barraged by horrendous television and print ads showing idiotic man-children drinking insipid flavored-water beers like Coors Light, Budweiser etc (the one recent exception being the smart Dos Equis “most interesting man in the world” ad… can you say alpha in multiple languages like he does).

In anycase, last night I brought a self-professed “wine girl” back to my place. In an effort to reduce my cost per notch, I decided not to reach for my good bottles of Barolo , Chateuneuf, Silver Oak or Duckhorn. For as much as she talked about wine, her insistence that “women have better palates than men” threw a red flag at me because I know this to be patently untrue. The best bartenders/mixologists in the world are men, the best sommeliers in the world are men, the best brewers in the world are men, the people who tend to drink the good stuff, regardless of what it may be – XO cognacs, 21 year+ scotches, small batch ryes, Jewel of Russia vodka, etc are all exclusively men. Because it is men who KNOW how to enjoy the subtleties of these delectable beverages and quaff them accordingly. In contrast, women will drink anything that looks pretty, smells pretty, tastes insipidly sugary, and/or sounds naughty.

But once again, I digress. I am unable to close without significant last minute resistance from her, so lubrication with sophistication is in order. After all, a woman always needs to have an excuse for their gina tingles in order to rationalize in their minds that they are not sluts.

I bust out a Hitachino White Ale first, and I tell her the story of the sake Kura/Brewery that makes this beer on the first day of the cherry blossoms in Japan. She doesn’t wince so I move on to the next beer.

I give her the choice between an Honesty Ale or the Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’ and I warn her that whichever beer I pop, she’d be bound to oblige with the spirit of the label. She chooses the Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’. I go for the close, we make out for a bit while drinking beer but she’s still holding back. I pull out the big guns.

Cantillon Rose de Gambrinus Raspberry Lambic and the Southern Tier Chokolat. She ooohs and aahs as the fruit and chocolate respectively hit the back of her throat. I kiss her and taste tangy raspberry laced with deep chocolate. A little later as she is panting underneath me I smell the centuries old lambic yeast and the bitter chocolate in her breath and make a mental note to develop a mouthwash with these exact flavors.

The next morning she declares herself a fan. I’m a fan too, her morning breath is not too terrible, as opposed to a half a dozen chemically flavored apple martini induced morning breath.

My ideal woman right now – one (or both) of these lovely ladies at Beer for Chicks

Anyone who knows Russians know that no amount of negging is ever enough. You have to be even more ice-cold and ruthless than they are or you lose respect. I ridicule her about her boytoys supreme betatude and linked that to her aging looks and her inability to land any decent alphas anymore. She then uttered those words “half a good man is better than none at all”… upon which I carried her kicking and flailing to the mens room and bent her over to give her the better half of a great man.

I just read this article about women in Russia clamoring for legalized polygamy, especially outside urban areas.

“It’s unlikely. But it remains the case that the reasons why men – and, even more interestingly, women – are advocating polygamy in Russia and Mongolia are as much about economics as they are about sex. The critical issue is demography. The Russian population is falling by 3% a year – and there are 9 million fewer men than women. Nationalists, such as the eccentric leader of the Liberal Democratic party, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, claim that introducing polygamy will provide husbands for “10 million lonely women” and fill Mother Russia’s cradles”

Although I am always wary of Russians and Russian women in particular, they are very calculating and very straight forward with what they want and what they need. The author tries to imply that its more about economics as opposed to sex… WRONG! -

In a woman’s mind, sex IS economics

At least Russian & Mongolian women are not ashamed to admit as much.

Early on in the beginning chapters she immediately acknowledges that the semantics lends itself to bias. To use the words “infidelity” and “cheating” automatically implies morally dubious behavior. I assumed from here on out that the book would unfold without a moral bias, and although she attempts to do so, it is blatantly obvious that her bias is a necretizing fasciitis under the surface, her obvious feminist bias infecting and invading and inevitably destroying the credibility of her “research”.

I immediately remembered some memorable posts by the FEMALE MASCULINIST here, here, here and here regarding feminist bias having infected academia and wordsmithy.

But I digress. Some of the facts and figures Pamela tries to claw out are noteworthy, and it was a fascinating revelation to me that its rare to find queen or king-size beds in Japan and that most beds sold there are “single” or “twin” sizes. I just remember the last time I was in Japan every coital collision that I had was at my hotel room – on a queen-size bed – presumably for their foreign traveling clientele, therefore I never noticed this aberration.

However, as in any good social science, participant observation is crucial in studying a demographic… which leads me to believe one of two things -

The (supposedly happily married) female author got her vag pounded out by one or more foreign or domestic “infidels” on one or more occassion in one or more position and geographical area

or

She wasn’t hot enough to warrant a potential paramour’s prediliction for pussy
(hence she never got banged)

A quick search on the Googles lends me to believe my second theory. My third theory? She’s a dude.

I would like to see a more credible book about infidelity – I would like to someone of the likes of Roissy or Roosh or Style pre-select supposedly committed women and post-coitally administer either a direct or a surreptitious interview and tally the results. I bet it would be much much different from the stuff postulated by blissfully married Mrs. Druckerman. As soon as I finished typing the Mrs. part I threw up a little in my mouth thinking of the hapless beta fool that married her.

On the opposite spectrum, to get the data on cheating men would be easy – just corral prostitutes from around the world and have them interview their John’s, most of whom will be of the marriage variety. Or we can try to sift through the non-evidence/outright lies on sites like DontDateHimGirl.com and other “cheater” databases for women.

Within 5 minutes I’m having a conversation with an Air Force couple making their first foray into the festering waters of downtown LA. I immediately opened up a pair of women trying to squeeze their way between us to get to the bar. Naturally, not an inch was given. The couple excused themselves and I played the two women against each other – “well she has better taste in alcohol thats for sure, but you’ve got better taste in shoes.”  They were at best, cannon fodder and easy conversational practice until the onslaught to come. I had to relieve myself to I relieved myself of the now bickering former best friends.

I ended up talking to woman who had a ridiculously short dress. Seriously, any shift out of the sweet spot position would reveal at best – her sweet spot – and at worst, a well contoured camel toe. She had the confidence to pull it off too and she was definitely worthy prey. She’s sending me a lot of clear indicators of interest and I’m escalating well when her designated cockblock of a heinous bitch comes in and attempts to swoop her off. Clearly Ms. Sweetspot was not in need of rescuing but the bitch must have called to cockblock duty for the first time because she did not get the hint at all. Eventually cockblock blurts straight out to me “She’s off limits ok, she’s got a boyfriend mister.” To which I replied “and I’m pretty sure you don’t. Probably because of your attrocious manners. Did your parents raise you to be so rude?” Both women looked at me aghast and I continued my icy stare at cockblock bitch until they yelled and stormed off. I knew I would implode Ms. Sweetspot with that but hey I’d only invested a maximum of 10 minutes on her. And yes in case anyone noticed, I too have joined the war against cockblocking, as outlined by Roosh.

Oh hey! Whaddayaknow, a birthday party. Birthday girl looks good, but her friends look better. A quick read tells me that at most two of the guys on the periphery are involved with one of the girls in the party. Time to work the group. One dude has potential to AMOG so I nip it in the bud by making friends with him. I figure he wants the birthday girl, fine by me, I’ll even wing for him if need be. I’ve identified the boyfriends and the AMOG and neutralized them both. Now for burning the ugly brush around my potential targets.

Neg cluster bomb.

“Wow you look great, hey spin around real quick so I can take a good look at you… oh hey can you do that again I got distracted by your friend here”

“No way!?! You’re an elementary school teacher? Oh man I used to HATE my elementary school teacher. She was a complete a total bitch. Even at a young age I KNEW that she was gonna be one of those old cat ladies living alone eating TV diners.”

“So which one of you girls is the sexy classy one? I think its her, but I don’t know I barely know you girls yet”

Then its story telling time, time to load up the Prize Bull-shit catapult. I told everyone that I was flying out that very night to South America in about an hour. Target #2 asks me where, I tell her I’m going a country with no extradition laws. Periphery chick says “whats that?”  but I see target #1′s eyes go wide and sparkle like a disco ball. Turns out she wants to go to law school and so I zoom in and attempt to isolate. So it turns out that there is no inverse relationship between beauty and brains after all. I offer to give target #1 (whom for the purpose of brevity we shall call Curlylocks) the grand tour of this old old building.

I invented outlandish stories of intrigue everytime we got to someplace quiet and dark… even took a page out of Edgar Alan Poe and told her that at one time someone actually tried to brick up a cheating wife and her lover in an alcove… except the alcove was too small. To demonstrate I had her pressed up next to me as we tried to fit in.

I flip her with her back to the wall, go into the kiss close, last minute resistance is easily brushed aside. I lift her leg up, escalate quickly and methodically. Nibble on her ear, rub her ass, lightly finger her outside her panties. “I wouldn’t even mind being locked up in a tiny space by some crazy or the feds as long as I’ve got this to savor, it would be worth it… wait, maybe not.” I’m being playful. I ask her if she drove her by herself. She’s giving me more resistance and I feel like an added venue change would be good. I suggest a dive bar around the corner.

On the way she asks if I’ll be late for my flight. I make a call to my “pilot” and tell him that I’ll be coming in a little bit late. She’s trying to figure out if I really have a jet on standby or if I’m bullshitting. I give her a smirk, have joking half serious. Now here is where my rookie white belt peeks through as it holds up my special mormon underwear. While trying to develop high value, I gave off the mysterious jetsetter vibe, but the grave mistake was to let her believe I was loaded. I couldn’t take her back to my place now or the jig is up. I suggested we go near LAX and directed her to the Custom Hotel where I know a guy who knows a guy… but thats another post entirely. I spring three 20′s for a room and ask Curlylocks to open up her cavernous excuse for a handbag. I quickly tell her that I never use cards and don’t like to leave a paper trail.

She buys me lunch the next day. I have her drop me off at LAX. I figured its a good place to test my hungover day game.