Author: Rob Says

A man who loves and likes women.

Be Approachable

Rob SaysLeave a comment

black chimpanzee smiling

Here’s something I’ve noticed recently:

Lately I’ve been in contact with quite a few women. Some of them online, and some of them when I’m out and about. The really interesting thing is, they’ve all said something similar:

“You’re approachable.”

It got me to thinking. Why wouldn’t I be? My whole goal, my mission as it were, is to live life as fully as I can. In order to do that, I need to connect with people. Aaron Clarey got it right when he said something along the lines of, “people are the most important thing.”

They are. People are the most important thing. Not your money, not your clothes, or your house, or your car, but people.

Another interesting thing:

The women that I’ve interacted with online? Most of them have approached me first. Literally “slid into my DM’s,” or reached out via other online means.

Some of the women are on Twitter. They’ve been hanging around the circles that I run in, watching us guys talk shit to one another. Taking a peek in the “locker room,” if you will.

I got some feedback from them that I found interesting, but not surprising:

Most of the guys that they observe, they take those guys at face value. Whatever you are saying online, they are taking as gospel truth. So when you have a sperg moment and go full retard, they are assuming that’s who you are. “Spergs and retards, spergs and retards.” Sorry, had a tune in my head for a moment there. (Damn you Aaron!) All the anger and all the bitterness towards women? They see it and that’s who you are to them. Angry, bitter, and sometimes scary dude.

So yeah, when you are coming across as “Mr. Alpha” with a capital A, they are assuming that’s who you are, but before you start patting yourselves on the back, consider what image you are projecting.

Are you “hard core Mr. Alpha” who drinks Drano, snorts powered glass, eats razors and shits barbwire? That’s who you are to them. Are you so hard core that the last time you laughed was, well, never? That’s what they see. Are you the ultimate “hard to kill, badass warrior of warriors?” Understand this, women like guys who can take care of business, protect themselves and ultimately protect their women as well, but they also like a guy who is laid back and can laugh and tell a few jokes. A guy who can smile and not take himself so goddamn seriously.

A guy that is approachable.

Why did they reach out to me? Because I’m approachable. I don’t take myself too seriously, or anyone else for that matter. I’m quick to laughter and I’ll tease and clown on you from the word go. That’s just how I roll. Especially with women.

I mentioned something along the lines of, “I’ll have you laughing your pants off all the way to the bedroom,” to one of these women. She came back with, “Yeah, I really don’t understand why that’s not a bigger subset of advice for guys on here. Getting a chick to laugh..They are leaving a lot of pussy on the table.”

Relax for a minute guys, I can already here you now: “Rob! Don’t take dating advice from da wimmin!”

I get you, I get you. It’s not dating advice though, it’s just the truth. What I lack in height, money, looks, all of that shit? I make up for in teasing, bantering, and humor. I’m not patting myself on the back or bragging, but I’m not kidding when I’ve said that “I can have you laughing your pants off all the way, right into the bedroom.” I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. In many cases, it’s one of my “signature moves.”

Guys it’s okay to be the “ripped/jacked warrior of warriors of all time.” You can be “hard to kill, straight from the ‘hood,” for all I care. You can shit razors, shower in ice water that you got from your own veins, and you could have a “1000 yard death stare” all from the massive body count that you stacked up almost as high as your money pile is, but if you aren’t approachable, good luck. Like the woman that I mentioned earlier said, “You are leaving a lot of pussy on the table.”

That being said, you’re still going to have to do the work. You are still going to be the one doing the approaching 9 out of 10 times if I had to guess. But that one time? Or maybe even 2 times? She’s doing a little of that work for you. Doesn’t mean you get to fuck off and step on your own dick, but she’s giving you a chance, why not take it?

Guys that are too serious, both online and in real life? Yeah, there’s a term for that. It’s called a “stick in the mud.” I’ve seen plenty of guys online that I would consider sticks in the mud. I’ve met a few guys like that in real life too. Always too serious. Always have the weight of the world, or at least the West, on their shoulders. What a buzzkill. What a downer. What a drag. What a “stick in the mud.” Another term I’ve seen that is applicable and is thrown around quite a bit too, is “caricature.” Hmmm….

Don’t be that guy.

Show people, not just women, that you are approachable. Smile once in awhile. I promise your face won’t shatter and it won’t kill you to do it. Be able to laugh and be quick to laugh, even at yourself sometimes. I do that all the time, otherwise I just get to burn. Tease, banter, play, goof around. It’s okay to be a clown once in awhile.

“But Rob! Nobody will take me seriously!”

You’re right, nobody will take you seriously.

Newsflash: Nobody cares.

I definitely won’t take you seriously, especially when you are being a stick in the mud. So who cares? The world is too goddamn serious as it is.

Remember what I said a while ago:

Nobody gives a shit. So why should you?

Instead of being Chad Thundercock, the black coffee drinking, cold shower taking, kill a million guys with a five finger death punch, maybe you could just be…Approachable?

But fuck me, right? What do I know?

Better yet, you keep doing you bud, that just means there’s more for me. You get to burn.

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Knights and Dragons

Rob Says3 Comments

ancient animal antique architecture

A distant sound of thunder woke the Wizard from his sleep. He sat up, stretched, yawned, and looked out the castle window. Dawn was just approaching. Clear skies, a purple hue on the horizon, no sign of rain.

The woman in his bed mumbled and frowned, she was stirring from her sleep.

“Sshh.” The Wizard said as he kissed his fingertip and touched her forehead. The woman sighed and eased back into her slumber, a smile on her face. He looked at her for a moment, her hair askew, accentuating and highlighting her face. She was young, she was beautiful, and for this moment in time, she was his. He traced her naked shoulders with his eyes, absorbing her every tiny detail. He followed the curve of her shoulder down to the swell of her breasts, hidden under the covers. She stirred slightly. He sighed softly to himself and lazily scratched his beard.

The Wizard slowly got out of bed and threw on his cloak. The sound of thunder still echoed in the valley below and reverberated off of the mountains. “Time to see what this is all about,” he thought.

He left the bed chambers quietly, padding across the stone floor into his private study. The Orb of All Seeing sat waiting on its pedestal, gleaming in the first rays of the morning sun. The Wizard walked up to the Orb and gently ran his fingers over it. Gently caressing it, touching its smooth shape. “Much like that woman’s face,” he thought. A smirk played upon his lips.

“Show me.” He said. The Orb of All Seeing lit up, coming to life. Swirls of color danced inside the sphere, lightning played upon its surface. Dazzling flashes of light bathed the Wizard, engulfing him. He bent forward, closer to the Orb, scanning the pictures that flashed before his eyes. Seeking.

No, not that one. No, not that one either. “Ah, there.” The swirls and colors solidified into an image. “That’s the one.” The Orb slowed and stopped, showing the Wizard what he wanted to see. Many miles below, deep down in the valley, sat a castle. A black flag hoisted high and waving proudly from its highest parapet. Outside the castle walls, the moat surrounded the castle, a deterrent for those who would try to invade it; the drawbridge was up.

On the other side of the moat, the riders were approaching. This was the sound of the thunder. “They are coming out in force this time,” chuckled the Wizard. From where he gazed, the thunder was dull, mute. But down there, it must have been deafening. “Quite impressive,” he thought. “They are truly serious.”

In front of the castle the riders stopped. Sunlight reflected off of their polished armor, dazzling to the eye. Over two hundred men sat upon horse, their war cries filling the air. As one, they all raised razor sharp swords and incredibly strong lances to the sky. Their colorful shields gripped and ready for battle. It was truly a sight to behold.

The castle remained quietly defiant. No archers on the ramparts. No lowering of the drawbridge to meet the knights in battle. No sound of trumpets or drums calling for battle. Not a soul stirred.

The Wizard concentrated intently, focusing on the men on horseback. He could see some of their faces now. Helms up, eyes flashing. They were angry. Defiant.

“We know you have her in there! Bring her out! Give the maiden back to us, you vile bastard!” One of them cried. Cheers and shouts of agreement accompanied him.

“It’s the same as last time,” the Wizard thought. “Always the same. It’s sad, really. Almost pathetic. Predictable.” A maiden would disappear from the neighboring kingdom, and inevitably, the knights would show up to this particular castle, demanding her back. The end results were always the same too, the Wizard had seen this scene play out many times before. And yet, something was different this time. There was an energy about this particular scene that the Wizard hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something was going to happen this time, something different. That excited him. “Perhaps I need to go down there and take a closer look,” he thought.

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” The woman stood in the doorway to his study, draped in a bearskin blanket. She was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was beautiful standing there, yawning.

“Nothing much to concern yourself with, my dear. But if you must know, the knights are down at the castle again, wanting their maiden back.” He smirked as he said this.

“Another maiden is missing? When did this happen? Do you have any idea of who it is?” She asked.

“Of course I know who the maiden is. She went missing last night. The maiden they are looking for is you.” The Wizard pointed at her and laughed.

“Me?! The maiden? They are looking for me?!” She asked, perplexed.

“Of course, darling. And I’m sure they think you were taken against your will. All maidens are taken against their wills, didn’t you know that? And taken by none other than the Black Knight, no less.” The Wizard smiled.

“That’s not what happened!” She protested.

“Of course not my love, but try telling them that.” He pointed to the knights in the Orb. “Lord knows what would happen if they ever thought that you went willingly, enthusiastically even.”

She rolled her eyes and breathed a sigh of exasperation.

“Go get dressed. I want to go down there and get a closer look,” the Wizard said. “Something big is about to go down, something different, and I want to be there and see what happens. I want you to come with me and bear witness.”

The woman turned and went back to the bed chambers to put on her clothes. The blanket hung low off her back, showing her skin, the curve of her spine. The Wizard watched for a moment in admiration. He then went back to studying the images in the Orb. “Oh yes, something big is about to go down. I can feel it,” he thought.

To be continued….

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Do You Even “Like” Women? Part 2

Rob Says3 Comments
woman sitting on bench
Got Your Fucking Attention, Didn’t I?

Larryzb commented on my post: Of course, the question arises: Do women even know how to love men these days? Have you taken that one up previously?

And I responded with: My experience recently is that they can and do, just not in ways that we as Men want or expect.

Now that I think about it, I haven’t taken this one up previously. So I’m going to give my two cents on it now.

My response is what I have seen, and yes, I’m ripping off Rollo. Why? Because he’s right. Women can’t love men the way we as men want them to. For a lot of years, most of my life even, I’ve wanted women to love me the way that I love them. Idealistically. Passionately. Even fatalistically. I wanted them to take a bullet for me. I wanted them to cry to me their undying love for me. I wanted them to kill themselves for me. Because at least for me, back in the day, I would have done all of that for them. And more.

Pathetic? Yes. Sad? Yes. Sad but true. And then I woke up.

Women will never be able to love us the way that we want them to. That doesn’t mean that they can’t love us. They can only love us how they love us. That’s a shitty answer, I know. It’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. And I know that it’s a kind of circular answer too. They can only love us how they love us. Guys, I’m not a woman, and I can’t read their minds. I don’t know “how” they love us per se, only that they do.

For me, I’m big on affection. I like to touch and be touched. I’m sure there’s a “system,” or a book somewhere that will happily label whatever that means. Oh! Well Rob, that means you’re…

I don’t give a fuck. I just know that I like to touch and be touched. That’s one of the ways that I know that I’m being loved. When a woman fixes me a meal. That’s another way that I know she loves me. It shows me she cares and that she cares about my well-being. It really shows up when she takes the time to make something that I really like. It shows that she put thought into it.

Oh, and time. She may not have a fuckton of it, but if she makes it a point to spend time with me, that shows me that she loves me.

Of course, terms of endearment and words of affection are nice too. Calling me baby, is one. Calling me Daddy is even better, but that’s for another post at another time.

Sometimes when she either puts her head in my lap and puts her arms around my waist, or curls up on me, like a cat, that’s a good one. Even when she puts one or both of my legs to sleep.

Do women even know how to love these days? Yes, I believe so.

I see it in their eyes when they look at me. The sparkle, the shine, the shimmer. Whatever you want to call it.

I hear it in her voice when she answers the phone when I call her. All breathless and whatnot, like she just ran a marathon to grab the phone. And of course, she answered it on the first ring.

Sometimes she’ll send me YouTube videos of some sappy love song with a comment of, “Read the lyrics.”

Or she’ll just text me out of nowhere, “Thinking of You.” With the little kissy emojicons of course.

Or she’ll shave my head for me. Because that pleases me and I like that shit. Or she’ll shower with me and wash my back and the rest of my body. Or she’ll give me a full body massage, even though I know she’s dead tired from a long day at work. And she won’t even bitch, not once.

Or she’ll bring me a beer while we are sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Without me even asking her to do it. Or she’ll whip me up a mudslide.

Sometimes it shows up in her urgency to fuck the living shit out of me. Or the blowjobs. Goddamn..The blowjobs. But Rob! That’s not love! That’s lust! Fuck off, I don’t care.

There’s all sorts of ways that women love us men. It’s just not the way that we want or expect, or even hope for sometimes. She just does it her way, the only way that she knows how.

When we can let go of our expectations that they will love us the way that we love them, life gets interesting. You get to see that they can, and do, love us. You just have to drop the expectations and let them show and tell you in their own ways.

That’s all I’ve got for you on that one. I just know the one’s that show up in my world love me, in their own ways, even if it’s not what I wished for, hoped for, or expected. I guess I just roll with it and assume that they do. That’s enough for me at least.

I guess I could do worse. I could tell myself that they don’t love me, that they don’t know how to love me, and that they are incapable of loving me. But what good is that? Where’s that going to get me? Masochistic, I tell you.

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