We’ve all experienced the break-up blues: when the uncomfortable sensation in the gut strikes, the foolish name calling begins and the various rebounds and trips to the strip joint — to “make it all better” — commence.

But how long do we really feel better for, especially when we exhaust a great deal of our post-breakup energy trying to numb the pain. It still sucks, we know.

At some point you gotta stop (in the name of future love) and willingly submit to the House of Pain. Once uncomfortably inside, it’s imperative you learn to navigate through this darkness before moving on to the next relationship.

Otherwise, you inevitably end up relationship-hopping, and dragging your bags along with you. These bags get piled up on her bags, which are piled up upon her parents bags, which are piled upon…you get the point: One big clusterfuck if you don’t take the necessary time to heal.

Even Real Men Cry

It’s been said that real men don’t eat quiche. It’s also been said that real men don’t cry. But, dude, I’m a real man and I’ve eaten quiche. I kind of like it. As for crying, let’s take an example from Mr. David Beckham, who wept at the birth of his first child. Awww. Yup, that Posh Spice is a lucky woman.

I can’t stress this enough: there is nothing wrong with feeling something, even though, as men, we’re not often encouraged to do that kind of thing. “Stop that! That’s feeling! No fair!”

But that’s exactly what you need to do if you’re ever going to get over your ex and move on to a better relationship. The more years you repress your emotions, the greater the midlife crisis you’re bound to have. Or the more apt you are to lose all your marbles and Go Postal. And doesn’t the postal service have a tough enough job already?

I’m not saying we have to break down “girly men” style. Rather, we have to get in touch with that place inside that cries out for understanding. You know, it’s the same place that rock stars make a killing off of: the inspiration for gold records?

The danger of not releasing the junk, besides Going Postal, is that pain, if not dealt with, has a nasty habit of transforming itself into its distant cousin: A-N-G-E-R. And women are very savvy at sensing anger, and they do their best to stay away from it. Except the screwed up ones. Which, unfortunately, there are plenty of. But, hey, it’s your choice:

Be one of the countless f-up souls that pollutes, and gets lost, in the dating pool — “Marco!” — or the rare, dedicated swimmer who takes his time to find his stroke. Which, while in training, may be rosy for a few months, true.

Start Making Sense

The major mistake we make After the Fall is wasting our energy ragging on the other half: How should they have been different? How they should change for us? Why they were such assholes? Blah, blah, blah. Enough!

Sure, it’s a natural reaction from a wounded ego. But once you recognize it going off, tell it to take a T.O., baby, step back and begin to ask yourself some pertinent questions:

1) Why was that person in my life? To teach me what about myself?

We tend to be mirrors for each other. Therefore, when we’re repulsed by a negative trait in another, chances are, that same trait is something we need to work on in ourselves. Or look it like this: She pushed a button in you that needs working on. Forget her. It’s about you. Take that responsibility.

Granted, one of the hardest things to do, in terms of personal growth, is admit our own faults. But it’s essential if we plan to attract the good shit into our lives.

2) Were my expectations going into the relationship unrealistic?

Unfortunately, we often enter relationships with the pressure that “this has to be the one.” Once we’ve done that, we have set ourselves up to fail, and fall. (Man over board!)

It would be better if we began relationships with the knowledge that, like everything in life, it will one day wither and die. Whether it’s in a week, or 50 years, that’s not up to us to decide necessarily. Our part, in the equation, is to learn, and discipline ourselves, to appreciate the moment-to-moment interactions with our significant other and allow the mystery to unfold. Say what you like, but it is a mystery.

And let’s not get into this crap about “wasted time.” No matter how wrong it is/was, nothing is ever a waste, and there’s always something to salvage from the wreckage: you can always turn a negative into a positive if you dig deep enough.

You should never be saying to yourself: “I spent so many years in this relationship and what did I get for it?” You may not have got what you expected (once again, change your expectations going into it), but regardless of how spurned you feel, you gained valuable experience in the lessons of love. And your next relationship will be that much richer, because you took the time to learn from your mistakes, and you accentuated — and learned to feel good — about the things you did well.

3) Doctor, how is my pain related to my mother?

I’m glad you asked. Sigmund Freud was right when he hypothesized that our ability to have healthy relationships directly correlates to our relationship with our parents. For men, the key is with the mother. For women, the father. Here’s the short advice: Work out what you need to with your folks, within yourself. They don’t even need to be included. Your task is to love them for who they are, without anger or regret (no matter what they did to you).

You need to walk a mile, or a few hundred miles, in their shoes and come to an understanding of how they became who they are. Then you can forgive, accept and make peace with them. If you accomplish this, you’ll be making peace with yourself, and well on your way to having happy, successful relationship.

Help! I Want it Out!

Okay, so you don’t play in a band. So what’s next? How to let it all hang out? One way is to start journaling. It’s the same thing you would do if you were on a shrink’s couch, only a helluva lot cheaper. All a therapist does is ask questions that provoke you to start getting at your problem.

My suggestion is to go to a bookstore and find a couple of books on the subject of love/pain and use them to get your pen/mind/soul moving. You’ll be surprised at how the pieces begin to fall into place once you actually take the time to dump them out of the box.

Final note: No one, repeat: NO ONE, can ever put your puzzle together for you. That’s the key to this puzzle.

Ah, to be a rock star for a week…Hell, we’d even settle for being David Hasselhoff for a day. The dude kills in Germany. [1]

No, but really, our point is: if you’re in a band, any band, you’re getting laid. If you’re in a really famous band, you’re getting tired. Tired of too much ‘tang. And all we can say is: “Those lucky fuckers.”

And, they’re not alone at the top of the Fucktabulous Food Chain™.

And speaking of the FFC™, is that a nature or nurture thing? Is a dude born into being a chick magnet? Or does he develop into one by way of how he is raised and his education in the arts of scammery? Perhaps a little of both? But we digress. What are these professions that we’d all kill for?

Rockstar

The Scent: Music transcends the flesh and strikes at the very core of immortality – or at least a chance at writing a great song before blowing your brains out by the age of 30.

The Prey: Models, and any groupies that look good enough to be models. Remember girls: BYOR. Bring your own rice cakes.

The Formula: The mastering of 3 chords, a band ad on Craig’s List and a Myspace page that lets the world (and Tom) know you have arrived. All right, fuck Tom, what a tool.

The Trap: Competing with the 30,000,000 other bands on Myspace, and ending up having to beg your cousin to play at his kid’s Bar Mitzvah.

Professional Athlete

The Scent: It’s been scientifically proven that chicks dig sweat. It’s also been scientifically proven that all life is about Survival Of The Fittest. Athletes are living proof.

The Prey: Gold digging hoes, a stripper in every city and Madonna.

The Formula: Bring the athletic swag, a crooked agent and some ‘roids for starters.

The Trap: Physical and mental breakdown, and/or signing autographs in the Home Depot parking lot with Pete Rose. We’re betting your signature would fetch more than Charlie Hustle’s on eBay.

Professional Actor

The Scent: Steeped in a coddled existence and perpetual adolescence, it’s puppy love every day of the week for actors and their mates. Of course the name on the dog bowl is always changing – throwing the tabloid industry continual chops to feast on.

The Prey: Other equally as dysfunctional humans (read: actresses), and anyone who can convince said actors they are loved beyond the weekend grosses and the intermittent trips to a Malibu rehab center.

The Formula: These days being famous isn’t about being talented. It’s about positioning yourself on the latest reality show and proving to the world you’d do anything for their adoration – “Prepare the jar of leeches, and Viagra, I’m going in!”

The Trap: Falling into the 95% of the pool that doesn’t make a living. Death by waiter job.

The Politician

The Scent: Powerdisiac. He rules, she/he obeys.

The Prey: Anyone but their wives: interns and cyber pals—oh my!

The Formula: Start by controlling the action at your local dope shop (or college dorm) and in a few years you could be the next Marion Berry. OK, who is Marion Berry, you ask? Click away – base pipes optional.

The Trap: Scandal, being ostracized, and the joy of having your parents read your text messages on CNN. “Larry didn’t learn to type like that from us!”

The Fireman

The Scent: Le´ Hero. When your weapon of choice is a hose, you’ve already got a head start on the competition.

The Prey: Damsels in Distress, and anyone who still believes in tooth faeries and unicorns.

The Formula: The balls and ability to run into a burning building to save the life of a convicted crackhead. Having a dalmatian wouldn’t hurt either.

The Trap: Long, slow days at the station with the guys talking about poles. Hopefully they don’t get smoked. Um…

The Carrot Top

The Scent: Funny Boner. That’s right, the babes love a good laugh every now and again. At least they say they do on match.com.

The Prey: High school nerd club girls, Plushies, and middle-age divorcees on loan from Branson, Missouri.[2]

The Formula: A few hundred gadgets, two jokes and a weight training video and you too could play Vegas!

The Trap: Everything that happens in Vegas…That’s right, Mr. Top, you’re never getting out. The only way up now is down. May the celery sticks treat you nicely – in the fiery pits of hell!

Oh, whoops! We put you in the wrong category. Our bad! We meant to stick your ass in:

Exceptions To The Rule

Ozzy Osbourne – Even if we were the skankiest chick in the world, you couldn’t pay us enough money to blow the guy. Sorry Sharon.

Andy Dick – Not sure one can call Mr. D an actor, but we can’t imagine any chick in her right mind wanting to shag his carpet. Even in a parking lot of a Buffalo Wild Wings Grill & Bar.

John McCain – Sure he’s running for president. Sure he was a spokesperson for ED (oops, that was Bob Dole. McCain’s the one with the funny jowls, not penis). But, nevertheless, do you think interns are lining up to get their dresses soiled by him?

The 9-11 Connection

Shortly after the Towers disintegrated, the volunteer lines to feed the firemen and police at Manhattan soup kitchens exploded so large that there had to be a waiting list. It was packed with every single 20-and-30-something chick in NYC trying to land themselves a hero. That’s right, nothing says tragedy like hooking up with a fireman. Or unicorn.

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[1]Germany’s best selling pop artist of 1989. But you probably should get reacquainted with him on youtube and his Jump In My Car video. You want to talk bad boy? America’s Got Talent, but so does The Hoff!

[2] For a good time see: Branson. For an even better time, don’t be caught dead there. Which doesn’t quite explain how Yakov Smirnoff is still making a living.

“Is this a face to take home to mom, or what?”

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Don’t leave without checking out our FREE SEX TIPS.

Why do we consistently fail (refuse?) to read the body language? Is it because we suck at reading?

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It’s not hard to tell when a girl is interested in what we have to offer. (Namely, a penis, and a roof over her head.)

They’re either in, or out, from the get-go. There is no “thinking about it.” She knows the second she sees you if there’s a possibility the two of you will be sharing bodily fluids. You know the second she sees you that she knows if she’ll be sharing bodily fluids with you.

It’s in her body language, dude. Stop looking at the pictures and read it. No words necessary.

You want to know what the real Game is all about? (For absolutely, shite, nothing?) Stop trying to force the round peg into the square hole. That’s a child’s game.

Focus your attention on the cards dealt to you, Grass Hopper. Not the ones you wish you could play.

P.S. Hey, Katy, from gothicmatch.com, if you’re reading this, the teeth marks have not healed yet. F-you very much.

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Dating Tips 2
Dating Tips 3

On we sweep with threshing oar,
Our only goal will be the western shore.
- Led Zeppelin, the Immigrant Song

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Let me start by saying: Be thankful you’re an American. For the simple reason that you don’t need to be subjected to the outrageous slings and arrows of trying to gain citizenship in our much sought after country. Since 9/11, well, you know, not an easy task.

Also, something that’s not an easy task, definitely more precarious than dating one of our own countrywomen, is trying to forge a relationship with someone without a green card. I should know, dude. Tried it. Failed. And here’s what I learned.

1. Cultural Exchange

Sure, when you’re exchanging bodily fluids, we’re all one nation, under Forinicus. But when the sweat dries and you’re stuck wiggling away from the wet spot, this is when an actual connection must be forged.

In my case, my girl was from Brazil. First off, it should be noted that I hate soccer. Well, okay, don’t exactly hate it, but I spend enough time OD-ing on the Big 3 that I have no time left for futbol. In the long run, I would have probably had to learn to like soccer to show my appreciation for my Brazilian counterpart.

Okay, okay, that would have been minor, you say. And you speak the truth, brother. Especially for a sweet piece of nectar. Which brings me to the biggest problem when it comes to our cultural differences: Religion.

Like many South American girls, mine was raised heavy duty Catholic. Me? Hippy parents whose idea of religion was to invite the neighbors over for a wife-swapping party. “Hey, give the kid some dope, too.”

Flashback. I once dated another South American Catholic girl. She informed me that, because the church freaked her out about premarital sex, she and her first boyfriend didn’t have vaginal intercourse. See where I’m going with this? They did have plenty of anal. And by the time I got around to her, she wasn’t even considering letting me go back there. I digress.

My recent Brazilian knew how to wield her sexuality, to get what she wanted (or at least, she thought she did), but that doesn’t mean she was giving it up too easily. She wasn’t. She wanted to know that I wasn’t your “typical American” who just wanted to enact the old wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. And, quite honestly, I wasn’t. Been there, done it. I wanted a girlfriend, someone I enjoyed waking up next to in the morning, who could maybe even throw me down a good breakfast.

Okay, forgetting the fact that she couldn’t even boil water, she still wasn’t ready to believe that I wasn’t just into her for one reason: her delectable, how, nectar, tight bod. Okay, maybe it had a little something to do with it. But, I promise you, it wasn’t the total reason.

I am getting so off course here that I am just going to throw caution to the wind: Before engaging with any woman from distant shores, do a little probing. And if it turns out she was raised hardcore religious, then move on. Even if she says she’s over it. Trust me, she isn’t.

The other cultural issue which has to be noted, is the shit-talking. Almost every foreigner who enters our country thinks theirs is far better. They will always be spewing sentences that start something like this: “In my country, people don’t (fill in the blank)…”

In short, they will be longing for their country, incessantly, while still pining to make a living in ours. Now, I am not saying there is nothing wrong with the U.S.A. I am only saying, you will have to hear about the differences to the point where you are going to want to eventually scream: “Then why don’t you go back to your fucking country then?”

2. Survival of the Fittest

They are not going back to their country because, quite obviously, they can make a far better living here. The opportunity our country poses them doesn’t compare to theirs. Here, not only is there a better paying wage, but we let people be whomever the hell they want to be.

My Brazilian apparently wanted to be a prick-teaser. The only thing she was giving up was the constant dialogue: all her problems dumped on my doorstep. I told her I was not her gay best friend, and we weren’t starring in some Julia Roberts film. She laughed. Haha.

Her number one problem, as if you couldn’t sense this by now, was that her visa had expired, she was illegal, and if she ever went back to her country, she wouldn’t be let back into our great big land of opportunity. And she wanted to get home for Christmas, to see her grandparents one last time before they died. And, unfortunately, for every male in her path (including moi), this was her number one priority. Which meant, she had to find a sucker to marry.

When she phoned me out of the blue, two months after I initially met her, I did find it kind of strange. But, yeah, I’m a dude, and she was hot, so I figured “why not?”

During our second phone conversation, she informed me she was going to L.A. to get married in some wedding scam. She told me all about how she would rather pay to be a citizen than sucker some unsuspecting American tool into marrying her — and then bust his balls two years later when she got her green card and he was no longer necessary.

Get this, two minutes after telling me this, she said she was going through with her plans “unless I told her not to.” I was like, “um, sorry, babe, I can’t tell you that right now.”

I thought I’d never hear from her again. But I did. And when she phoned me the next time, she was married. I figured, cool, she obviously wanted me for more than the free pass to America. I would be able to date her without that worry. (Yeah, right! FYI: I was always her backup plan.)

Let me just say that even before you go all Sherlock Holmes on the religion thing, ask about her visa status. Believe it or not, this will be way more important to most of them than you. Shrewd. But, once again, survival of the freakiest.

After her marriage, the Brazilian and I started hanging out, a lot. Though, no sex was going on anywhere, except in my vivid imagination. I have never “dated” a woman for so long without nookie. But I saw it as a challenge, and a step in the right direction: forging a relationship on something other than fornication.

Unfortunately, the foundation became me being her therapist. At no friggin’ charge! So I decided to put her on the clock, because, quite honestly, I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

Eventually, I, Mr. Blue Balls, spoke my peace via text message. This was after she came over wearing this skimpy little skirt one day. She made me go up my stairs before her, because she didn’t want me looking at her underwear. And, you know, I would have. So did she. I said “Come on, let me see.” She said I’d have to “dream.”

My text to her said “I was tired of dreaming.” She wrote me back that I was a “perve.” Not only a perve, but a “super perve!!!!” She then launched into some schpiel about how she forgot how all American men are when it comes to women, how we only want one thing, blah, blah, BrazilianBlah™. I wrote back that it doesn’t matter what country we’re from, when you want to bone down with someone, you want to bone down with someone.

I decided to cut off her therapy sessions.

When I last heard from her, she was getting divorced from her L.A. “husband,” after two weeks. She found someone else she preferred marrying. And, wouldn’t you know it, he was gay.

But wait, three weeks pass and I hear from her again! The gay guy burned her, he wasn’t going to marry her. She was out over $3,000 from the marriage scam, and she was definitely out me. I was already off chasing American tail. For good.

You know the only thing stopping you from approaching, and scoring, with the really quality babes? Yourself. And your own belief that you don’t deserve them.

And, if you don’t, deep inside, believe that you deserve them, how do you expect them to believe you’re worthy of anything other than getting blown off? Believe us, they feel that “self-rejection” energy a mile away.

The reason you don’t believe you deserve them is because you have been brought up to do nothing but fantasize about them. To look at them in magazines, on TV, in commercials, dreaming of what you would do with them if you ever…

But that’s not going to happen, is it? Because, with the way you have come to regard them (as a piece of fantasy meat), you feel shame when you actually run up against them in real life. Shame, because of the programming you have received from movements like the Hugh Hefner School of Bunny Worship.

And believe us when we say this worship makes the bunnies all weird inside, too. They also feel shame/rejection, because society always keeps them at a distance: too afraid to approach them, and unable to appreciate them for anything but their T & A.

Yes! Beautiful girls are so fucking lonely inside. (In the sense that they long for a connection beyond sexual.)

So what do you do? What’s your path to actually connecting with her, and bridging that gap to the loneliness?

1) Start by trying a different tack.

Ninety-nine out of a hundred guys are going to come-on to a hot babe like they want to fuck her. You know how sick girls get of that? The one-track mind thing? It’s soooo obvious. And when they sense it coming from you, you’re no better than the rest, even if you are.

If you truly want to be better than the rest, you’ll start to see women as something other than a fantasy. They live, and breathe, and poop, just like you. They have feelings, too. They do shop a lot, but that’s beside the point.

You want to turn them on? Start from square one: treating them with respect, and honoring, not only their beauty on the outside, but on the inside as well.

If she genuinely feels that from you, you may get the time of day. Then the question becomes: What do you have to offer her? Other than a penis, of course. Although, sometimes that doesn’t hurt either. Actually, it may.

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Dating Tips 1
Dating Tips 3
Hottie Hunting

You want to meet hot and healthy girls, right? Where’s a better place to meet them than at the salad bar? This is what we call the Green Approach™.

Lesson 1: Before you go Green, or on C.P.P. — commando pickup patrol, always be aware of your surroundings. Let the surroundings be the spark that leads to an opening. Forget those tried-and-cheesy pickup lines. Go with the flow, my man.

How it happened: I was at, yes, the salad bar, behind a very tall and lovely blonde. Of course, I didn’t want to rush her through, it might have been the only time she was eating all week.

Playing over the store’s speakers was Barry White’s “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love Babe.” I must have been under the influence of The Barry, because I turned to her and said:

“Nothing like Barry White and a salad bar. Just makes you wanna move.”

She laughed, and said something to the effect of: “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Over on the other side of the bar, near the sunflower seeds, bleu cheese and various foo-foo shit you can put on your greens, I made my next move. It was simple. I asked her how her weekend went.

No lines, no pretense, no BS, just right at it.

So she started to tell me about her weekend. How it wasn’t easy, she was driving up and down the coast, moving, was tired, etc. Within the conversation, she managed to drop the name of one of my favorite columnists Thomas Friedman.

My thought: “What’s wrong with this picture?”

Because, it’s not everyday that you get a tall, 20-something beautiful blonde bringing up the names of anyone they didn’t read about in US Magazine.

I was impressed. Especially after she told me the part about how she just got back from trying to save the world in Africa, and was headed over again after school finished. This was not a young woman you meet everyday.

I shook her hand and told her how cool it was that she was trying to make a difference in the world. And then I left.

Note: If you live in a big city….

DO NOT LEAVE THE PREMISES! Chances are, if she’s talking to you that long, she’ll give you her number.

But here’s what I did: I posted a missed connection at Craigs List.

Guess what? In a town of 80,000 (not including the 125,000 illegal aliens), she found it.

True story. Stay tuned. There may be a part 2.

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Dating Tips 1
Dating Tips 3
Hottie Hunting

Backstory: I met her in a club down in old Soho, where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry-cola…

Naw, that’s the Kinks. I met this one at a coffee shop where I spent an hour and a half helping her edit her bio for some spiritual guru bullshit website she was going to be on.

In short, she had been meditating since she was five. She mentioned that to me as if it immediately qualified her to walk (levitate?) on higher ground than everyone else.

When we finished, I asked for her number. She asked why. I said: so we can hang out. She gave me her card and when I invited her to the beach a few days later, she gave me some BLAH-BLAH about how she wanted to see where the flow went, and, oh yeah, she was “on her moon” (i.e., her period). And, oh yeah: when she has free time from work (Energy Healer through breath type bullshit she likes to spend it by herself.

OK…You’re up to speed for the text message conversation which took place two weeks later. She arrived out of the blue, long after I had already fed her biz card to the garbage.

HER: Sorry. I never got back to you. Not much time for random socializing. I’m grateful for who you are. Becky.

ME: “random socializing” eh.

HER: I new u wouldn’t like me saying that. i meant something like “without clear purpose” or “for no reason”. I guess i don’t know u enough to have a ‘reason’

ME: No worries

HER:

ME: What was the purpose of dipping your toe in the water tonight? Just to tell me you didn’t want to get together for random socializing?

HER: just wanted to let you know that you have crossed my mind several times, including tonight.

ME: I hope I crossed your mind in positive fashion.

HER: Yep. You did

ME: You like to be in the dominant position when it comes to men?

HER: I like to be as authentic as possible. Certainly don’t feel dominant with you. Just listening to what feels real in the moment.

ME: And what my dear feels real in this moment?

HER: To do laundry and go to bed.

ME: That’s no fun!

HER: Sweet dreams, dear Randy.

ME: Let’s have brunch tomorrow.

HER: No to Brunch. I feel not heard actually, since i just finished saying I’m not into much socializing. Nevertheless, i will let u know if the dinner opens up.

ME: To sum up: “hey, Randy, I’ve been thinking of you. But I’m not exactly sure what the point of meeting would be, just wanted to tell you that.” Buenos Noches

HER: I simply wanted to let u know that i do remember you but not ready to hang out. Sorry if it sounded confusing. Sweet dreams.

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Moral: If you ever hear this kind of total bullshit, walk away BEFORE anything begins. No matter how hot she is.

P.S. I’ll let you know how the dinner goes.

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Dude, Dating Tips with the Coors Light Twins, check it out.

Ninth grade. Summer vacation. Upon my return, I find out the girl I was seeing has left me for one of my “friends.” OK, he and I weren’t really tight, we just ran — and smoked dope — with the same pack. And, to be certain, the dude was a complete and utter assholoholic. We only hung out with him because he was older and, here’s the key: he had a car to drive us around in.

And since that fateful summer, a nagging question has perplexed me: Why do girls fall for jerks? And, does that mean one has to become a jerk to get girls — as many of the popular pickup artists of our day advocate?

Let’s start with the first question.

There seem to be several reasons why women are attracted to douche bags. I am going to throw out the word “approval.” It’s something both sexes spend a lifetime trying to achieve.

For women, from the time they are little girls, in a best case scenario, approval comes from their parents, and, in large part, the father figure. If this is missing from the equation, the girl grows up with a great big hole to fill. And, often, when she gets into the dating pool, she will be attracted to men just like dad: figures who are incapable of caring for her properly, or treating her with respect, many of whom have a commitment phobia, who haven’t learned to nurture properly.

Enter the Jerk.

She chooses him, subconsciously, in an effort to convert him into who she wanted her dad to be. Since this is never likely to happen, she finds herself Pop-Hopping, rebounding from one asshole to the next in a desperate search to be validated by the father who was never there for her.

Now let me throw out a phrase: The Chase Factor.

Once again, it’s the same for both sexes. When something comes too easily, we lose interest and move on to seek our next challenge/conquest. That means, if a woman meets a nice guy and starts dating him, and he shows her little resistance, she can get bored quickly.

Let me just say, rejecting the nice guy, or nice girl, is called immaturity. It has to do with having a warped sense of priority and our culture being wrapped up in “quick fixes,” in which we’re always looking for the next high. Not to mention, we don’t grow up learning how to truly communicate with the opposite sex, and understanding that a good relationship takes cooperation and time, not friction.

The Jerk (same for: The Bitch) is going to be a challenge, for sure. And because our egos are usually invested, we actually believe, if we hang in there long enough, we are going to change these monsters, convert them over to our way of thinking, i.e., it’s a game played for control, not communion.

Let me just get all mushy for a moment and say a solid coupling is about communion/connection, learning to play together on a level playing field. Divorce happens because it was always about control.

Another reason women fall for dickwads is because they are inherently attracted to strong men, a “protection of them and their offspring, survival of the fittest” kind of thing. And often, these men are, indeed, in the position of alpha male. It just so happens that many alpha males also come with the caveat of being a jerk. Their aim is to get to the top of the heap. And if they have to mow people over in pursuit of their lofty goals, then so be it.

The problem for women is hooking up with this dude. Because she becomes his appendage (read: sidekick), all the while thinking he is going to treat her differently. She may be treated differently to begin with, but right when Alpha Boy gets what he wants (in this case: her vagina, and status, by virtue of having a hot vagina on his arm), she is going to be returned to the level of second class citizen — just like everyone else in his me-first life. That’s when abuse enters the picture and she exerts all her effort to win back his charms, afraid to leave him because:

A) She is certain he will change, and not hit or verbally abuse her again.

B) She’s got too much time invested and is frightened of going through the necessary struggle of:

C) Getting her shit together and leaving her Daddy Doesn’t Love Me blues behind.

It’s all about self-esteem, or, more precisely, her lack of it, which is why she hooked up with Alpha Male in the first place: to latch onto his.

Fact: No one can gain self-esteem from another. And, simply put, you can’t have a healthy relationship unless you begin with a good dose of self-esteem. Which means learning to love yourself, and not pining for others to fill that hole for you (ain’t gonna happen).

Are all alpha males jerks? NO.

And do all men have to become jerks to attract women? Unequivocally: NO!

There’s a fine line between being cocky and being confident. Cocky is covering up for feelings of inadequacy, a fear that you are not “all that,” so you try and project that you are.

Confidence is being accepting of who you are and feeling good about it. And, make no mistake, it is a definite aphrodisiac for women.

Think of it this way: cocky is the jerk, the hurt little boy who can’t grow up. Confidence is about taking the next step and being a man.

Here are three things you can focus on while trying to be more of a man and less of a jerk.

1. Be nice.

Many “professional” pickup artists like to tell you to put a girl down to win her favors (“Did your grandma give you that blouse?”) This is total horseshit, and just feeds the Dysfunctional Dating Mill. Charming means throwing out a compliment (“cool shoes”) in an effort to show her she is loved, not abused. That’s really the difference: love or abuse?

2. Be patient.

Sadly enough, the dating pool is pretty f’d up. But, if you’re a good person, someone is out there for you. Sure, it’s a “needle in the haystack” kind of thing, but one day you’re going to step on that needle when you least expect it.

3. Work on your game.

Don’t be out wasting energy and playing the Serial Fucker Game. If that’s the game you put out, that’s the game you get back, i.e. chances are, no decent woman is going to want anything to do with you while you project that vibe. Working on your game is the key to attracting quality women into your life. That means spending time learning who you are, how to like yourself, developing new interests and hobbies, and focusing energy on your personal achievements, as in: work.

Combined, this recipe will give you the self-esteem cocktail you need to blow the jerks out of the water.

P.S. That old “friend” who stole my girl? Total loser who has been to jail on many occasions and, to this day, lives off his parents. The old girlfriend? Well, turns out, she was a loser too, also a frequent inmate. Which should go to prove: like attracts like. That means: losers will generally attract losers into their lives.

It’s your call. Do you want to follow the path of being a loser/jerk because you think it’s going to get you laid? Or do you want to take the high road, and attract something really positive into your life? That starts with positivity, man.

Ninth grade. Summer vacation. Upon my return, I find out the girl I was seeing has left me for one of my “friends.” OK, he and I weren’t really tight, we just ran — and smoked dope — with the same pack. And, to be certain, the dude was a complete and utter assholoholic. We only hung out with him because he was older and, here’s the key: he had a car to drive us around in.

And since that fateful summer, a nagging question has perplexed me: Why do girls fall for jerks? And, does that mean one has to become a jerk to get girls — as many of the popular pickup artists of our day advocate?

Let’s start with the first question.

There seem to be several reasons why women are attracted to douche bags. I am going to throw out the word “approval.” It’s something both sexes spend a lifetime trying to achieve.

For women, from the time they are little girls, in a best case scenario, approval comes from their parents, and, in large part, the father figure. If this is missing from the equation, the girl grows up with a great big hole to fill. And, often, when she gets into the dating pool, she will be attracted to men just like dad: figures who are incapable of caring for her properly, or treating her with respect, many of whom have a commitment phobia, who haven’t learned to nurture properly.

Enter the Jerk.

She chooses him, subconsciously, in an effort to convert him into who she wanted her dad to be. Since this is never likely to happen, she finds herself Pop-Hopping, rebounding from one asshole to the next in a desperate search to be validated by the father who was never there for her.

Now let me throw out a phrase: The Chase Factor.

Once again, it’s the same for both sexes. When something comes too easily, we lose interest and move on to seek our next challenge/conquest. That means, if a woman meets a nice guy and starts dating him, and he shows her little resistance, she can get bored quickly.

Let me just say, rejecting the nice guy, or nice girl, is called immaturity. It has to do with having a warped sense of priority and our culture being wrapped up in “quick fixes,” in which we’re always looking for the next high. Not to mention, we don’t grow up learning how to truly communicate with the opposite sex, and understanding that a good relationship takes cooperation and time, not friction.

The Jerk (same for: The Bitch) is going to be a challenge, for sure. And because our egos are usually invested, we actually believe, if we hang in there long enough, we are going to change these monsters, convert them over to our way of thinking, i.e., it’s a game played for control, not communion.

Let me just get all mushy for a moment and say a solid coupling is about communion/connection, learning to play together on a level playing field. Divorce happens because it was always about control.

Another reason women fall for dickwads is because they are inherently attracted to strong men, a “protection of them and their offspring, survival of the fittest” kind of thing. And often, these men are, indeed, in the position of alpha male. It just so happens that many alpha males also come with the caveat of being a jerk. Their aim is to get to the top of the heap. And if they have to mow people over in pursuit of their lofty goals, then so be it.

The problem for women is hooking up with this dude. Because she becomes his appendage (read: sidekick), all the while thinking he is going to treat her differently. She may be treated differently to begin with, but right when Alpha Boy gets what he wants (in this case: her vagina, and status, by virtue of having a hot vagina on his arm), she is going to be returned to the level of second class citizen — just like everyone else in his me-first life. That’s when abuse enters the picture and she exerts all her effort to win back his charms, afraid to leave him because:

A) She is certain he will change, and not hit or verbally abuse her again.

B) She’s got too much time invested and is frightened of going through the necessary struggle of:

C) Getting her shit together and leaving her Daddy Doesn’t Love Me blues behind.

It’s all about self-esteem, or, more precisely, her lack of it, which is why she hooked up with Alpha Male in the first place: to latch onto his.

Fact: No one can gain self-esteem from another. And, simply put, you can’t have a healthy relationship unless you begin with a good dose of self-esteem. Which means learning to love yourself, and not pining for others to fill that hole for you (ain’t gonna happen).

Are all alpha males jerks? NO.

And do all men have to become jerks to attract women? Unequivocally: NO!

There’s a fine line between being cocky and being confident. Cocky is covering up for feelings of inadequacy, a fear that you are not “all that,” so you try and project that you are.

Confidence is being accepting of who you are and feeling good about it. And, make no mistake, it is a definite aphrodisiac for women.

Think of it this way: cocky is the jerk, the hurt little boy who can’t grow up. Confidence is about taking the next step and being a man.

Here are three things you can focus on while trying to be more of a man and less of a jerk.

1. Be nice.

Many “professional” pickup artists like to tell you to put a girl down to win her favors (“Did your grandma give you that blouse?”) This is total horseshit, and just feeds the Dysfunctional Dating Mill. Charming means throwing out a compliment (“cool shoes”) in an effort to show her she is loved, not abused. That’s really the difference: love or abuse?

2. Be patient.

Sadly enough, the dating pool is pretty f’d up. But, if you’re a good person, someone is out there for you. Sure, it’s a “needle in the haystack” kind of thing, but one day you’re going to step on that needle when you least expect it.

3. Work on your game.

Don’t be out wasting energy and playing the Serial Fucker Game. If that’s the game you put out, that’s the game you get back, i.e. chances are, no decent woman is going to want anything to do with you while you project that vibe. Working on your game is the key to attracting quality women into your life. That means spending time learning who you are, how to like yourself, developing new interests and hobbies, and focusing energy on your personal achievements, as in: work.

Combined, this recipe will give you the self-esteem cocktail you need to blow the jerks out of the water.

P.S. That old “friend” who stole my girl? Total loser who has been to jail on many occasions and, to this day, lives off his parents. The old girlfriend? Well, turns out, she was a loser too, also a frequent inmate. Which should go to prove: like attracts like. That means: losers will generally attract losers into their lives.

It’s your call. Do you want to follow the path of being a loser/jerk because you think it’s going to get you laid? Or do you want to take the high road, and attract something really positive into your life? That starts with positivity, man.

*

Recommended reading: 10 Things to Man-up On.

Just f*cking slow down for a second, buddy. Ask yourself a question: Am I solely trying to get laid in life? If your answer is yes, you probably want to skip the rest of this.

If your answer is something along the lines of: “Well, um, not entirely. I suppose…I mean, well…if the right woman came long, then I might be open for, well, something a little deeper,” it’s time to heed the lyrics of that famous Motown song (you can’t hurry love, etc., etc.,) and read on.

Fact: the Internet, and sh*t like the whole speed-dating phenomenon, has put the kibosh on your chances of meeting Miss Right. I take that back. It’s not just the Internet and speed-dating, it’s the whole of society: it’s moving far faster than ever before and we’re doing everything in our power to keep up. And because we can’t keep up, we’re cutting corners at every opportunity.

That’s where Internet prowling and speed dating comes in: we’re trying to circumvent nature. By that, I mean, chances are there is an amazing woman out there for you, but you’ve been going too fast, and wasting precious time trying to push the Tao, to recognize her. And, if you were lucky enough to recognize her, you probably screwed it up by moving too quickly, i.e., you tried to screw her too fast.

Now that you’ve slowed down long enough to read this (and bonus points because you have), here’s a few tips to consider while trying to find — and win the heart of — your perfect mate.

Tip 1: Throw your check list away: there is no perfect “life partner.”

There is only imperfect perfection (everything in life is perfect in its own imperfect way). Stop attempting to fit your recipe into some cookie cutter mold and surrender to the unknown. That means: let go of trying so hard (speed-dating, etc.). Downshift a few gears and ask yourself two questions:

1. Where am I going?

2. Who is going with me?

Fact: A woman is attracted to a man who knows who he is and where he’s going. She also wants to know that his whole life isn’t dedicated to the pursuit of pussy (yes, a little is okay!).

Your first step then, is finding the passion in your mission. This mission becomes important to the woman of your dreams because it’s going to help sustain your relationship in two ways:

1. How you help the world out (read: the mission) results in food on the table.

2. It’s going to enable you to retain your individuality, so you don’t get “lost in her,” and waste your life away sucking off her energy. No sane woman wants a Klingon.

Tip 2: Once you know where you’re going: GO!

DO NOT forget the two questions: Where am I going? & Who is going with me? Don’t ever let them reverse.

Now, it’s important to note, I am not advocating being a male chauvinistic prick. There’s a big difference between cocky and confident. Cocky is your ego putting up a front because you’re afraid of something. Confidence is exuding the real you. Remember, you have to know who you are, before your mojo is even close to ready to attract her into your life.

My suggestion is to take a self-imposed sabbatical from the dating game for awhile, long enough to get your priorities in order and figure out what you want — and need — in life. And then stick to the plan.

Tip 3: Once you meet her, being willing to ditch the plan entirely.

“WTF, dude?”

Think of it like this: you’ve trained all your life to be this amazing race car driver and, all of a sudden, you have a chance to race on a new track. Obviously, you would proceed with total respect on the new track, letting the track dictate your turns, not the other way around. Once you get comfortable, you can begin to exert more of your prowess.

The trick is to have enough confidence, and belief, in yourself to show her you can go beyond the male ego, and put her needs before your own. You’re definitely going to be called on to demonstrate this kind of respect before she trusts you to go the extra lap.

This is known as the old fashioned “courting process,” not the recent “hooking up” process: “Hey, wanna come over and bone?”

Hey, if we’re talking “long term relationship” possibility, a dog has to be really good before he gets a bone.

Tip 4: You will meet her when you least expect it, when you are following your own path and you are entirely able to let go of the “hunting” mentality.

Hunting is so “yesterday.” As in: prehistoric man yesterday. Now, we have an alternative. It’s called a brain, and it can be reprogrammed. It’s the thing that’s going to tell you there is a possibility of something beyond the hunt. Hunting, as an M.O., is what leads us to a little thing called divorce, simply because the relationship was based entirely on sex. Once that got stale, there was nowhere to turn but the lawyer.

Trust me, you are going to want to find some common ground beyond the sheets with Miss Right if you want a lasting relationship. Otherwise, what’s the point? You could just remain a serial f*cker for life. Which could be fun as all hell in the short run, but in the long run…

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Recommended reading: Nice Guys Finish First