On Friendship and the Dichotomy Within

The guys over at Return of Kings, Chateau Heartiste, and The Rational Male have covered this concept and its underlying causes fairly well. Regardless, this post will detail my take on the subject and specifically the differences between male and female friendship.

Male Friendship

Male friends tend to value each other as people and stand with each other when the shit hits the fan. Take your average motorcycle club (MC) for example. Sure, the guys there may reek of beer and piss (especially if everybody else urinated on his vest after the guy finished his prospect period to become a full-fledged member and he has refused to clean it) but there’s something there that is indicative of how males care for each other in a pack: a deeply-rooted altruism and a watchdog mentality. Don’t give me any of that bullshit about the one-percenters either; I grew up around a lot of the 1% MCs and the majority of their members are great guys who just love to ride. There are bad apples in any group regardless of the context but unfortunately they’re the ones that get the most publicity.

Getting back to my point: I’m not talking about the kind of dick who uses the word friend freely where it would usually mean acquaintance; I’m talking actual and therefore close friends. I’d go as far as to say these men see each other as brothers close to the relationship that blood-line and familial brothers have. Once bonded, they watch each other’s back with a fierceness that is unrivaled anywhere else.

Essentially, men who are friends watch out for each other and attempt to keep things in perspective. I know I can trust any of my true friends to tell me when I’ve fucked up or when I’m going down a nasty path despite how shitty it may make me feel. I expect it because I trust them; I’m willing to listen even when I’m being an idiot. I’d do the same for them any day and that fosters something akin to the aforementioned closeness.

Female Friendship

This is where things get a bit hairy (or a lot hairy depending on the person). An interesting issue arises here in that females are all for helping each other on the surface yet will strike down and attack each other at the slightest provocation if they feel it would be beneficial.

Two-Face from Batman

No, not that Two-Face. However, the interaction is absolutely two-faced. Yes, I know that was a bad analogy and a ba-dum-tiss; you can direct all subpoenas and hate mail regarding my blatant attempts at comedy to jessica@jezebel.com. I’m sure she’d love to be privy to the wrath of the evil patriarchy’s hatred of one of its own. It’s all in the name of equality, right?

What female wouldn’t stab her so-called friends in the back for a shot at the oft-desired swole alpha male? Regardless of what anyone else may say, females are out for themselves just as much as men are but they aren’t willing to be up-front about it and would instead prefer to hide it behind their “OMG!” and “Better check my phone every five fucking minutes for new texts from orbiters otherwise my self-worth disintegrates without a constant stream of validation” culture (AWALT). That’s one of the biggest things that separates the two genders (yes, there are ONLY TWO).

The biggest danger to female friendship is that any one of them will stray from the pack if the opportunity to “trade up” or differentiate herself from the group presents itself. Women flake, not just on men but on each other.

Can Men and Women be Friends?

If the male side of the equation wants to bed the female side, there’s absolutely no way. That previous sentence disqualifies probably about 95 percent of male-female friendship dynamics. Otherwise, rock on, especially if you see that woman as a sister; nobody barring the sick fucks would try to bed their blood-relative sister (step-sister is fair game, though).

Manosphere Association

Like Roosh, I have similar thoughts on such a designation.

The phrase manosphere gets thrown around quite a bit when anyone mentions something related to male self-improvement. This begs the following question: is this blog actually associated with the manosphere? I’m hesitant to associate myself with such a circle since it often places negative traits first on a general level. In doing so it fosters a victim mentality that I so vigorously detest. Why the hell would I want to portray myself as an eternal victim? Nothing could make me weaker in anyone’s eyes.

What’s the first thing you think of when you hear the debated term? If you’re like most readers who are yet to be enlightened the first thought that pops into your mind is MRA (Men’s Rights Activist). The idea is solid on its surface: men fighting for equality and the notion that men can be victims of the same issues that women face. Unfortunately, there’s a fundamental flaw in this argument that kills any manly stance from being able to develop: these MRAs are willing to use victimhood as their one and only identity. What exactly do we gain here when we zoom in on the “me, me, me” that pervades our society?

We gain precisely jack shit from embodying the exact same strategy that the feminists use. Do you really want to use the same tactics that these vapid shrews use? You’re now no better than any of them (there’s your “equality”!). Is that a harsh truth? It absolutely is a harsh truth but it’s a necessary one. We cannot relegate ourselves to being content with this association. If you’re like me you throw caution to the wind and say exactly what you need in order to command the respect you deserve without giving a second shit to how you make people feel. Take the last phrase with a grain of salt, however, as I’m not trying to push an entitlement mentality either. As men we have to say exactly what we mean and not allow our words to become diluted by over-use. The great John Wayne put it thusly: “Talk low, talk slow, and don’t talk too much”.

The phrase respect you deserve is also fiercely up for debate and I’ll fight you with the force of a thousand imploding stars if you start watering-down the word respect. You don’t deserve a goddamn thing; you have to work for everything and any reward you reap is well-earned. The concept of respect is one that is near and dear to me as I have friends who have fought and died for it. Yes, I’ve had friends die to defend the definition of the word. As far as I’m concerned, nobody is deserving of respect unless either (A) they are willing to take a bullet for me or (B) I’m willing to take a bullet for them; this is the long and short of the situation and an absolutely unforgiving assessment of how I gauge whether something is deserving of my respect. If I’m willing to put myself in mortal danger to save your sorry ass then that’s the ultimate test of friendship and respect (I hate over-using that word but I feel as though it’s necessary here). Remember this phrase: “Respect is never given; respect is earned“.

To illustrate what I mean about respect (in the context of getting shit done in the office), I’ve actually had this conversation with my female boss regarding a client’s reaction to something I was working on (and yes, I’m known for my unapologetic directness and usage of profanity to prove my point):

Boss: “You have to make them feel good!”
Me: “I don’t give a flying fuck how my client feels.”
Boss: “Oh, you can’t feel like that” (while playfully slapping me; she’s a real sweetheart and she’s kept me out of trouble more than once for my views. I’d almost say she’s a Red-Pill Woman)
Me: “Sure I can and I just did. The big boss doesn’t care how I made the client feel; they only care whether or not the project gets done.”
Me: “I’d rather have the job done and the client hate but respect me than make them like me and have nothing to show for it.”
Me: “I charge through problems and solve them to my ability; if that pisses my client off, so be it. I still got the job done.”

I always have a black-and-white view at work and admittedly it pisses off a lot of people. I can’t afford to work any other way, however. I perform almost everything as a cost-benefit analysis and my dickishness gets the job done a lot quicker. If there ever needed to be any proof for how Asshole Game works from a professional standpoint it would be perfectly shown in my experiences.

Beating Alcohol Addiction

I’m writing this post at the behest of my therapist regarding my prior dependence on alcohol since I beat it entirely with the force of willpower alone (you may have read about some of it with my post Re-igniting the Fire); it was a lot worse than I had previously let on.

Yes, I have a therapist; she has known me for the better part of the last twenty years and is probably more in tune with me than my closest friends. It really helps to have an objective third party listen to the things you need to say regardless of what those things are. She knows, though, that if I’m being an idiot she needs to tell me so I can get my head on straight. It’s immensely helpful and I’d go as far as to suggest that everyone should see a therapist at least once in their lives (don’t discuss Red Pill stuff with them, though).

Drunk guy on a bench

I used to be a drunk dickhead for years; that should just about describe it and set the stage for what’s to come. When I decided to stop my first thought was regarding what I would be losing if I gave up the bottle. Obviously I’d be losing the kind of feeling I used to get from being blitzed out of my mind; admittedly it’s a pretty nice feeling until you overdo it. My main problem, though, was two-fold:

  • My stomach had been hurting something fierce and it was only getting worse as I guzzled more and more bullshit
  • I was turning into an absolute fatass by putting on around 20 pounds of fat with all the empty calories (again, I wasn’t working out during this period since the whiskey family lowers your testosterone) and I was the wrong kind of asshole (angry and combative for absolutely no reason)

Nobody wants to have a constant pain follow them all throughout life and have it prevent any kind of meaningful interaction with anyone of either sex in particular. You’ll never want to go out and meet new people (or interact with existing ones) since you will always feel that pain and nagging doubt in the back of your mind before you decide to break out of your shell. You wind up looking at the world in a much more malicious way and hate practically everything and everyone if you sink far enough into the pit that I had found myself in after years of guzzling alcohol.

drunk-guy-toilet

Specifically, I considered the following four criteria when I decided to analyze my problem (and you can really do these questions for any addiction):

  1. Who am I hurting?
  2. Am I ashamed?
  3. How much money am I expending by doing this?
  4. How would I be better off by stopping?

Let’s go over these in order:

Who am I hurting?

I was hurting myself above anyone else; you have to look out for yourself above all since nobody else will do that for you. If you’re fucking yourself over constantly and ensuring you can’t push forward towards your goals you need to stop and take stock of your life. I guarantee that you’ll find some kind of thing that motivates you to get back on the right track. You’re your best ally and you need to prioritize yourself above all in order to achieve anything significant.

Am I ashamed?

Of course I was ashamed. I was hurting both myself and the people I loved. I hated seeing the looks in the eyes of my friends, family, and significant others; seeing how other people look at you will be the best motivator you have if you give even the smallest of shits about how the outside world perceives you. If you’re a man you absolutely need to think about how others perceive you even to the smallest degree since the recognition will do nothing but help you both in your professional and personal lives if you choose to take them in the correct direction.

drunk-guy-bar

How much money am I expending by doing this?

Liquor isn’t cheap. I expended a significant portion of my paycheck each month to feed my habit and I had nothing but a fat gut and a shitty temper to show for it. I’m not at all saying that people shouldn’t drink; hell, if you want a beer every so often you’re absolutely within your right to have one as I certainly am as long as you keep it under control. However, the problem arises when you put more and more booze down your gullet and start acting out against the ones that love you as a result with no other recourse other than “Oh I’m sorry, I was drunk”. “I’m drunk” is not an excuse for women to act however they want and it’s damn sure not an excuse for men to do whatever they feel like. “I’m drunk” or “I was drunk” is indicative of a significant weakness that pervades the very fabric of who that person is, woman or man.

How would I be better off by stopping?

The benefits are almost innumerable here. Once I stopped I realized I could have more meaningful interactions with everyone. I stopped accepting the fact that people would walk all over me at work and actively started fighting back regardless of who the person was; I once again gained the respect of my team by doing so and they had nothing but the utmost confidence in me since I made sure I looked out for them. I feel as though a haze has been lifted off me and I’m able both to think and speak more clearly. Breaking an addiction such as mine will do nothing but help you in the long run if you suffer from such a thing.

So what’s my point? Some people need Alcoholic’s Anonymous (AA) in order to sit around with other like-minded people and discuss and solve their addictions as a group; others just need to put their minds to the problem at hand and attack it until it no longer presents a threat to their state of mind or body. Thankfully I was the latter and was able to attack my weakness and turn it into a strength; once you beat a chemical addiction you can do damn near anything without a second thought.

“Men” Who “Need Feminism”

Believe me, I use the term “men” in the title very loosely. I saw this image over on Return of Kings and it made me cringe:

That... expectation exists?

That… expectation exists?

Yeah, somehow I think that expectation went out the window long ago and Mr. Gamma is just holding onto it for posturing. This poor bastard is beyond help and I truly do feel sorry for him. How do you get so screwed in the head that you think this is a good idea? It’s probably not this guy’s fault either; I’d wager that he’s listening to all the wrong influences. His expression screams “orbiter” to the max too. I almost want to fireman carry him into a gym and have him start pumping iron so he can begin reclaiming his testosterone, liberating his balls from his female friends’ purses, and start fighting off this kind of bullshit.

Image originally from http://www.returnofkings.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/gammamale2.jpg

Re-igniting the Fire

For years I was a drunk son-of-a-bitch and a complete asshole (not the good “jerkboy charisma” one I am now; the bad “I’ll fight you just because it’s raining outside” kind). I’d put away roughly half a bottle of booze in a single night; it didn’t matter what kind as long as it got me bombed. I honestly can’t remember roughly half of my entire time in college because I was more interested in pounding whiskey, bourbon, tequila, and something I think may have been chemically similar to varnish. Needless to say (and yet I shall anyway) my days from about 2009 (so halfway through college) to the end of 2013 were drenched in a blurry haze of self-induced stupor. I never wanted to go out or even do anything because I either had a hangover or some kind of ghastly stomach pain every single day for a good long while. People don’t respect you if you can’t respect yourself, right? The stomach issue alone took about three months to clear up after I kicked the bottle; the pain was indescribable and it was a hell of a lesson to learn the hard way.

Once I kicked the booze and the pain cleared up I noticed something interesting about myself: I had WAY more energy and was ready to grab life by the balls. I actually began feeling that I HAVE to go out and do things; I go stir-crazy in my apartment if I stay indoors too long now. That fact alone has done nothing but help my fitness level and give me even more motivation to continue working out; I’ve lost 13 pounds while gaining more muscle so far and I’m still going strong. My testosterone has shot back up to the level it used to be and I’m invigorated; a lowered T level from the booze probably explains a lot of my beta behaviors from my past. While I was still drinking it felt like my inner fire had smouldered to a single ember; now it’s back to the raging inferno that consumes my personality and makes me the ass-kicking hard-charger I am.

What am I trying to get at here? Men who have lost their drive need to figure out how to get back in gear and get their shit together. Right after I kicked the alcohol I started focusing on my other dependencies: coffee, crappy food, and the aforementioned never wanting to do anything. I broke them all by taking them one at a time and committing to being a better man. I talk a lot about self-improvement but it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if I didn’t practice what I preach or have the past life experiences to back it up. I’ve been through my own personal hell and back. If I can do this, it’s proof it can be done since I managed to break FOUR separate dependencies in the span of a few months with hard work and willpower.

Get out there, kick some ass, and be ready to have your inner fire consume your soul once you find your own personal accelerant.

Girl in your Bed? Don’t be a White Knight to Yourself.

This story takes place long ago in college… a college where I was so ingrained in a blue pill lifestyle that I started to get a skin tone like Violet Beauregarde post three-course-meal gum in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

Anyway, I was one of four folks who were hanging out in J’s and my apartment one night. J and his girlfriend M (they were in a LTR) were with T (18yo female with a rockin’ body) and me (20yo at the time). We were relaxing in J’s room and just shooting the shit. J, M, and T are all sitting on the bed and I’m sitting on the floor up against the bed; there was something happening with my back earlier that day and the 90-degree angle I was able to sit in was actually helping.

J and M started getting really cuddly while T slid toward me from the bed and threw her leg from the knee down onto me so her calf and foot were lightly resting against my chest. I figured “what the hell” and started caressing her leg and kissed her calf; she got right off the bed and came down to sit on the floor next to me.

She lies her head against my shoulder and I put my arm around her with my head against hers. We start talking. Looking back now I know she was obviously attracted to me with the way she looked at me and the flirty conversation. She bit her lip and everything; I know I was a dumbass but I actually wound up doing something much more stupid a few minutes after. Go big or go home, right?

It’s already late at night by this point and she asks if there’s an available bed. About the only thing I did right from that point forward was saying “Hell yeah. Mine.” We sit there for a few minutes longer and then she gets up, takes my hand in hers with interlocked fingers, and leads me to my room. She gets in my bed and smiles at me and says “Come here” in that seductive voice that gives us men the crotch tickles.

Given the way this story has gone so far my next actions will most likely be unsurprising. It went like this:

> Me: “I don’t think so”

> T: “Why not?”

> Me: “I’m going to sit here and watch the door as you sleep, m’lady” (yes, I actually said m’lady to her)

> T (disappointed): “Okay…”

A few hours go by. It’s now roughly 4 AM and she stirs awake. The Symphony of Dumbass continues:

> T (groggily): “Come cuddle meeeee….”

> Me: “Still watching the door, my dear”

> T (disappointed yet again): “Damn it…”

She falls back asleep. When she wakes up in the morning, the full scope of my dumbassery hits me like a freight train hauling a ton of bricks. She says goodbye to me with an expression not unlike a glare mixed with derision. I tried to get in contact with her over the course of the next few days since I actually did like her but couldn’t believe she wanted me to bed her but it was to no avail. I had effectively cockblocked myself by being my own goddamn white knight.

Years later I swallowed the red pill and have arguably had a much better life. I take absolutely zero shit at work, lead by example, speak directly to my team and in the conference room, and don’t let anyone rule my life other than me. I still look back on this experience and cringe; let this be yet another lesson for all of ya especially the guys who are new to the lifestyle.

TL;DR Had a girl invite herself into my bed. Didn’t pounce on the chance like a cheetah on the Serengeti and actively screwed myself out of it instead.