I Am Afraid.

Something I’ve seen recently is guys talking about “getting your IG (Instagram) on point.” I want to address that for a moment and then get on to what is really going on underneath it.

Okay, so if I’m going to “maximize my prospects with the ladies,” I need to sign up for IG and “get it on point.” Because IG is the future and the way of meeting women and blah blah blah.

Right. So when I take on any endeavor, whether sex-related or otherwise, I look at the ROI (Return On Investment.) Basically, for the amount of time, money, energy, and effort, what can I reasonably expect in return? I’m all about investing as little as possible and getting as much from “it” (whatever it is) as possible.

So with IG, in order to compete with Chad and all of the other “World’s Most Interesting Men,” I need to get great photos of myself for starts. That means hiring a good photographer. I don’t know where you live, but where I live, a good photographer is going to run you $100 USD per hour minimum. That may or may not include post production editing of the photos that were taken. Also, a good photographer around here is booked out solid for at least three months, and yes, this is during the pandemic.

Then I have to either pay someone or scout out interesting locations to do the actual shoots. You can’t just have studio head shots. Anyone can do those. So I need to drive around and go to “exotic” locations. Which means I’m hiking around to find the perfect location to get the perfect shots to convey that I’m a man of interest and intrigue.

Then there’s the time of day to do the shoot. There’s really only two times of the day to do it for maximum results. That’s right at dawn and right at dusk. High noon shoots on a sunny day are horrible. You get weird shadows that are hard to remove in post production, you look old and washed out, and the photos look “flat.”

Did I tell you that I do photography? I do. All of my shots that brought out certain emotions and just “popped” were either done in a studio, or they were shot on location, either right at dawn, before the sun fully came up, or right at dusk, right as the sun was going down, but just before it disappeared from the horizon. That means you have about 20 minutes, tops, to get your shots. You better have already scouted out your location and you better pray that the weather is cooperating with you.

So now you’ve found your location, the weather gods are smiling on you, and you paid to have your photographer drag their gear up the mountain right? Oh that’s right, most photographers that are good are going to charge you “travel expenses” if you are shooting anywhere other than their studio. Now you have to be on top of the mountain, in the dark, because you’re shooting before dawn right? Or you get to hike down the mountain in the dark because you shot at dusk.

And you get to repeat this whole process over and over because you want to be seen as the man of adventure. Gotta have different locations to show the women right? Different times of day. Gotta drag your animal if you have one along too. Same with your bros because you want to be seen as a sociable guy right? Oh wait, you don’t have bros. Never mind that one.

So now I’ve spent a few hundred dollars on photos of me doing strange and interesting poses in exotic locations. I’ve had to scout out the locations or pay someone else to do that for me. I may or may not have to pay for post production on the photos, or I can always edit them myself, since I know how, but that also takes time. Also there’s gas for my bike or my car plus wear and tear on said vehicles. There’s also sitting around in traffic in order to get out of the city. Oh and if you’re into shooting photos in a nightclub or a bar? Good luck. Most of those places prohibit photography, especially if your dragging your photographer around. There’s also getting written permission from anyone that is in the shots if the establishment allows you to shoot photos. You don’t want to get sued because Chad was fucking some guys wife and you happened to get him and her in your shot while at the club. You know, privacy and whatnot.

If you’re not doing all of this, then you are probably half-assing it and you’re going to get half-assed results at best. Most likely what you will have is a mediocre IG account that gets swallowed up by all the other IG accounts that are already out there, plus the new ones that go live every day. Lots competition if you ask me.

All this expenditure of time, money, and energy with no guarantees that it’s going to get you laid.

Sounds like a poor ROI to me. All of this work and hustle when you could be out talking to women.


Lots of guys complicating their sex lives because of the one underlying thing that they don’t want to say and to admit to:

“I am afraid.”

It’s okay guys, I’ve been there too. Once upon a time, I was afraid of approaching women. Sometimes I still am. I was afraid of rejection because if one woman rejected me, then that must mean all women would reject me, and everybody was watching, and my bros would raise their eyebrows and say, “Dude…Really? That girl? Are you serious?” and there was a huge spotlight on me, and everybody would point and laugh at me and Chad would come along and just steal the girl away, anyways, so I might as well either give up because chasing skirt just isn’t worth it, or I need some schtick like IG so that I don’t have to approach women, but I’m hustling and I feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. I’m being busy for the sake of being busy instead of just admitting to myself:

“I am afraid.”

IG, dating apps, dating websites, match making services, and even texting to some degree are just crutches and buffers. They shield you from rejection. Being able to walk up to a woman and letting your intentions be known, and also being willing to be rejected is a tall order. It’s scary. I still get approach anxiety. I still hesitate and freeze up. I still blow it and get rejected. I get rejected way more than I succeed. I still keep going though.

Even when I didn’t know what “Game” was, the ‘Sphere didn’t even exist, and most information wasn’t easily available online, if at all, I still had to do it the hard way and walk up to a woman and talk to her. And I was afraid. I still succeeded though. Not as much as I would have liked, but more than I thought I would have.

You don’t “need” IG. None of the women I have dated, had relationships with, or had one night stands with had it or if they had it, they only used it for looking at inspirational quotes or plates and bowls of food. They spent more time on Facebook or Pinterest than they did on IG. Hell, most of them play games like Candy Crush instead of worrying about “likes” on social media.

I have not met one woman off of IG. Not one. I’ve met plenty from MySpace (back in the day) Facebook, various dating apps and sites, and of course, when I’m out and about doing stuff in real life. What’s the ROI? For me, I want to meet women with a minimum of ease, spend as little time and money as possible, and ideally I want them to come to me, show up at my house, fuck my brains out, and then leave. If we get along and the sex was really good, I’m always open for seconds, thirds, and so on. I don’t need IG for that. I just need a half decent photo of myself, if I’m going to do online dating, which means upper two-thirds of my body with my face fully visible, some corny intro line, and a little of my humor in the body of the profile. Or I just need to “sack up” and talk to her.

Humor is a strength of mine and it always has been, so that’s my “super power.” I’ve even told women that I’ll laugh them right out of their panties and right into my bedroom, and you know what? It worked.

Play to your strengths. Determine what is your best ROI. Maybe you live somewhere where IG is the new calling card. Fine, so be it. Maybe your looks are your strength, good deal. Maximize that then. I imagine though that if you are like most guys, you are average in looks. You are a “5” and you ain’t shit and that’s okay. Do you really want to spend a bunch of time and money spinning your wheels, pretending that you are doing the work, ultimately getting little to nothing in return?

Or do you want to be honest with yourself and admit:

“I am afraid.”

And then take a chance and risk rejection by talking to that woman that you see and find attractive?

When I look back at the absolute worst rejection I ever had, do you know what it was?

It was a woman looking me dead in the eye and saying, “Fuck off.”

That’s it.

I have never been slapped, punched, beat up, arrested, metoo’d, shot, stabbed, had a drink thrown in my face, or been thrown out of a bar for it. I’ve been thrown out of bars for other things that had nothing to do with talking to women, but that’s a story for another time. I’ve never been run out of town for being rejected, I’ve never had a mob chasing me with torches and pitchforks. I didn’t die when I got rejected.

Newsflash: You won’t die either.

Nobody pointed and laughed at me, nobody gave a shit. Life went on and believe it or not, that one rejection didn’t apply to other women, let alone all women. One woman turned down my offer, another one enthusiastically accepted my offer. Go figure.

I don’t think about my rejections because there are so many. I don’t dwell on them because at least I knew. I knew that nothing was going to happen with that one particular woman in front of me, so I could move on from it to the next woman. And that was the worst thing that could happen: Nothing happened.

The only thing I regret is the one’s that I didn’t talk to because:

“I was afraid.”

I don’t dwell on those regrets, but sometimes they pop up and once in a blue moon, they will wake me from a dead sleep. “What might have happened? What if I had approached her?” “What could have been?”

As Rollo said: “Rejection is better than regret.”

Sharpen Your Mind. Weaponize It. Start here and here. Sign up for my newsletter.

Fear and Shame

hammer-sledgehammer-mallet-tool.jpg


I’ve been reading several books and blogs while on my journey of the Red Pill, and I’ll probably make a post about those books that I’ve found really beneficial to me. But that’s for another time.

Right now, one of the books I’ve been reading “No More Mr. Nice Guy!” by Robert Glover really gave me a punch to the stomach and to the balls. Right from the beginning this book has made me very uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that I’ve had to put the book down for periods of time only to pick it up again at a later date and keep going. Many of the lessons and the ideas that he talks about are like opening old wounds, some that I thought had healed and scarred over, some that I was totally unaware of and didn’t know existed.

Fear and shame over sexuality was and is one of them for me. All my life, I’ve felt that sex was dirty and on some level, bad. This isn’t new for a lot of men, or women for that matter. I wasn’t raised in a strict, religious household. I wasn’t sexually assaulted or abused. My parent’s never told me that sex was bad or wrong. Other than giving me a very watered down version of the “birds and the bees,” my parent’s never talked about sex with me at all. And herein lies the issue. My mother’s idea of sex is that it’s something you do with someone you love and something you do when you’re married. So my wanting to have sex was somehow wrong and bad, at least that’s how I saw it growing up. I wasn’t in love with girls and women that I saw, I was in lust. I wanted to fuck them, I didn’t want to marry them and make a bunch of babies.

I also picked up the idea somewhere along the way, that women didn’t like sex. Maybe it was my parent’s lack of talking about it, maybe it was after I had my first sexual relationship, the girl I was seeing/fucking said that maybe we shouldn’t have had sex as early as we did, and that maybe we should cut down and/or stop having sex altogether. Years later, I realized what was going on here, but at the time, it seemed to me that she didn’t like sex, regretted the sex that we had, and didn’t want to have sex anymore, especially with me. Maybe it was some of the girls I hung around with at that time that had their own hangups about sex and men as well. I’m sure it’s all of the above and probably some more that I haven’t even tapped into. God, it sucks being in my head sometimes.

Sex for me was enjoyable and I wanted it all the time. I still do. The fear and shame kick in though. I sometimes wonder on some level if the women I sleep with, or have slept with enjoy/enjoyed the sex. I still feel like I’m “pestering” them if I want sex, and in all honesty, I hate asking for it. I don’t beg or do the “please please please can we have sex please?” But I will on occasion straight up ask, “I’m feeling real turned on by you, would you like to have sex?” Sometimes I get a yes and we do, sometimes it’s no, and there is some sort of reason behind it. I hate rejection. I hate being told no. I take it personal. Like it’s me that’s the problem, when I know it’s not me. She’s not in the mood, she had a long day, she’s sick, on her period, busy, pissed off, etc. It sounds bad reading this, I know. It sounds like rationalizations too, I’m sure. Maybe some of them are. Some of them aren’t though. There are times I’ve turned down sex when approached because of a headache or I’m pissed or tired or whatever, and it wasn’t about them. Sometimes I’m being lazy. I like it when a woman initiates sex with me. It turns me on. I don’t have to risk rejection. I can do the rejecting if that’s what I’m wanting to do.

Sex has always been something that is taboo to me I guess. I like fucking in public. I like bondage, especially tying her up. I like sex where we run the risk of getting caught. I’ve even had sex with married women. Not my most shining moment, but there it is. I even had sex in a brothel with a prostitute when I turned 21. Something that I just had to try and experience. Not a bad experience, but not something I would do again.

From what Glover said in “No More Mr. Nice Guy!” in order to get through and past the fear and shame, I need to come clean about it. I need to talk to others about it. “Safe people” as he put it. People who won’t judge me about the shit I feel, the shit I’ve done. I don’t really have that other than here on ye olde internet, what with the semi-anonymity of it all. I could still attract judgment and trolls, but hey, I’m a big boy now, I think I can manage the judgment and the trolling. I’ve been there before with other things on other platforms. What’s a bunch of keyboard warriors to me anyways?

I’ve always felt that since women basically don’t like sex, or that they do it out of a sense of duty, or to get the guy off their back, that it’s wrong for me to want it, that I’m bad for wanting it. So in order to avoid the shame of it and the rejection of it, I’ve tried, pretty successfully, to inhibit myself as a sexual being and to not be sexual. Flirting has been interesting to say the least. How fucking boring is it to not want to bring up sex, even in innuendo? Takes the fun out of it for sure. Makes it fucking boring and sterile. How many encounters have I missed? How much fun have I lost because of this stupid shit? I can’t even imagine. I don’t want to imagine.

And then there is me wanting to be the “Good Lover.” That’s when I focus solely on their satisfaction to the detriment of mine. All you Men out there. If you are reading this, please for the love of god, listen very carefully to what I’m about to say next. Please.

Focusing solely on her satisfaction to the detriment of yours will lead to some fucked up shit. Like not being able to come. I’ve encountered this ALOT. I want to come, and I can pound away for what feels like forever, and it won’t happen. I’m not advocating that you totally ignore her wants and her satisfaction, but for fuck’s sake, you need to think and focus on yours too. Your needs and wants are just as valid as hers. Oh, and not only can you have the effect of not being able to come, focusing on being the “Good Lover” will set up a recipe of a boring ass sex life too.

I’m quoting Glover here:

“Sex that focuses on trying to please the other guarantees a routine, do-what-worked-last-time kind of experience.”

It’s like he was in my bedroom taking notes.

Approval. Seeking approval is part of it too. The more I’ve been dependent on seeking a woman’s approval, the more I would hide my sexual behavior. Can’t have her disapproving of me, god forbid I offend her because I want to fuck her.

This fear and shame has another interesting effect too. Since I’ve pretty much believed that woman don’t like and don’t want sex, why the hell would they be attracted to me? What could I possibly offer them? That one was and is, a nut-buster. I’ve felt that way for years. It was never really on the conscious level, but always running in the background, like a subroutine.

Quoting Glover again:

“…trying to be nice robs a man of his life energy. The more a Nice Guy seeks approval and tries to “do it right,” the tighter he clamps a lid down on any kind of energy that might actually draw a person to him.”

Ouch. Ding ding! Been there, done that. Still do it.

Taking the Red Pill has been an interesting and challenging journey to say the least. I have no regrets, I’m glad I’ve done it. I know I can’t go back to the blue pill lie, nor do I want to. But goddamn, this one, this part of the journey has been a real motherfucker. I am definitely not a victim here. I will not, and cannot play that card. Fuck that. It’s my shit and I get to deal with it and overcome it. But fuck….

Why am I even writing all of this? This is my “coming out of the closet,” I guess. It’s me putting my shame and fear out on the table for the whole world to read if they so choose to. I can’t get past it unless I shed the light of day on it. I’ve put this off long enough. For far too long actually. And there’s more, but I don’t have the time or the stomach to put it out there right now, so that’ll be another time. Another post. Yay me.

Glover has some wonderful tools and ideas in his book, “No More Mr. Nice Guy!” and if you haven’t read it, I would highly recommend it. I’ve read a lot of literature out there when it comes to being a Man and relating to women and whatnot, and this is definitely a good one.

Pick up a copy today. You won’t regret it.

Sharpen your Mind. Weaponize it. Start here and here. Sign up for my newsletter here.

It’s Been A Minute

crash-test-collision-60-km-h-distraction-163016.jpeg

So it’s been a minute since I last wrote something. Life has a funny way of getting in the way. First it’s life in general, the usual shit. Car needs to be fixed, winter is here and there is snow to be shoveled. Oh and then there is the visit to the orthopedic surgeon to get your knee operated on. By the way, if you are ever in the position to need to have your knee operated on, while I don’t recommend surgery in general, in this case, I highly recommend it. Night and day difference from the word go. No need for crutches from the moment I exited the hospital and no need to use industrial strength pain killers. I could have passed on the compression socks though. On a positive note, they don’t fall down like “regular” socks. I guess that’s a good thing. And that was right before Christmas! Now it’s physical therapy, light duty on the job, and putting off writing here.

Why did I keep putting things off? First, I felt and feel that I have A LOT to say. Yet at the same time, it’s not much different from what other Men in the manosphere have been saying, and quite a few of them have been doing it longer than me and they could gather their thoughts and say what needs to be said much more clearly and succinctly than I could ever say it. My inner perfectionist has been screaming at me from day one about writing down this whole journey. “You need to make sure that what you are saying can be comprehended! Spell check! Grammar! What makes your blog so different?!” And on and on and on. The truth is, I was scared. Scared that I would be boring. Scared that nobody would actually give a shit about what I have to say. Scared that I don’t have a cool, slick blog with pretty pictures in the beginning of my post to distract whoever comes along and just happens to read what I’m saying and goes, “What?! He doesn’t have a picture of a cloud, a cat, a couple! I’m fucking out of here!” But they have to leave the Comment first. You know the comment. “Dude! Your blog sucks balls! You were random and all over the place! You didn’t use semi-colons, colons, and whatever other grammatically correct punctuation that you should be using! Your spelling was atrocious! Christ! I lost I.Q. points just trying to read your inane shit! You didn’t even have any pictures or links to Youtube or to other blogs when you found something you felt was worthwhile!” You get the picture.

I realize now that I was copping out. Is the words that come from my brain and onto the screen going to be amazing epiphanies? Probably not. Most of it has been said before and by better writers and thinkers. Am I going to get a million visitors a day, a week, a month, a year? Again, no. I don’t care though. Really this blog is actually for me rather than for anyone else. If I do happen to garner a few visitors, that’s fine, but all in all, it’s not about the people on the internet, it’s about me going through my own process. So it’s better to write and get it out of me and get it out there, warts and all. Misspellings and bad punctuation and all. It’s not like I’m trying to win the school spelling bee or win some kind of literary prize.

It’s better to write than not to write. It’s better to speak than not to speak. (I’ve got family who would argue this point.) It’s better to do than not to do.

I could go on about going on, but I’m not going to. I’ll be talking about my Red Pill journey in the next post.

And to the 5 people who viewed my blog and decided for whatever crazy reason to follow me, thank you.

Sharpen your Mind. Weaponize it. Start here and here. Sign up for my newsletter here.