Quote: (05-16-2018 11:23 AM)heavy Wrote:
Not to take away from your overall point about chicks, but I'm trying to detect exactly how these rules are implemented...
SNIP
...The question I have: When the topic of coffee shops come up, and a girl mentions Starbucks, do they talk about this homeless incident? Do they talk about the socio-political concerns, even if it's retarded chick talk?
Jump ahead if you want to read about Starbucks: this is just a game digression for Heavy.
I'm talking about a specific
theoretical situation to illustrate how this applies to
all social interactions with females. Whilst, the chance of that particular Starbucks situation arising in your life might be slim - here in Australia, where we imported European Coffee Culture post WWII, Starbucks is mainly a thing for the Chinese, American ExPats, and that Uncool Aunt Mistakenly Thinking Going There Makes Her Hip - you can understand the gist of how the female pattern for social navigation works, and then apply that to what experiences with them you do have.
Girls very, very rarely mean what they say. What you do is look at the statement being said with the assumption that it's a Rule #4, identify the social currency they think the statement gains them, then you work backwards to discover the true motivation from there. The more experience with women you have, the more you see how similarly they think and act in their attempts to deceive for social gains, and respond much quicker.
So, she says "[Boring, braindead. self-obsessive social posturing]."
You say," [Sounds like boring, braindead, self-obsessive social posturing]" and most-likely either "[Huh, does that work on other guys?]" or "[This bores me... moving on...]."
Rule 4's are just Eve offering you the Apple. If you bite it, she thinks she can control you, lose all respect for you and her attention will wander to that dream man she can't ever understand the mind of, let alone tame, at least, until the last few pages of the romance novel she believes she is starring in, which, tellingly, is where most romance novels end.
For illustration purposes:
An incident happened back in what must have been Early January, that I meant to write up, but it was during the intense business of child abandonment and house cleaning I've written up elsewhere, so I think I forgot to, as I can only find a couple of passing references to it. It's only back on my mind due to recent events.
My mate Bill's shop is a very old building, and due to severe flooding in the town over the last couple of years, some of the heavy support posts had sunken slightly, distorting the front wall. We set about jacking them up and resetting new foundations under them, and part of this process was carefully and slowly-pulling the frontage back into shape to avoid any breakage.
It was a 42 degree C January day. Bill, myself and, Guy, the younger fella whose been working for him, were all trying to concentrate on getting the work done. The roof is huge old hardwood beams - the type that some wanky inner city lawyer would pay 20 grand to have cut up into a dining table - and, needing to pull the frontage back towards the store, Bill came up with the idea of bolting the winch from the front of his truck onto one of the beams, and pulling the front back from there, to hold it in place whilst they supported it and reinforced it.
Unfortunately, the hardwood was DAMN hard after 100 years, so, as Guy and I held the rope tightly trying to keep 300+kgs of winch in the air, he only got one bolt in. Since I was the biggest, I was volunteered to keep holding the rope to keep the other half of it in place as they quickly-worked.
This is when a woman, strolling past, saw two fit, sweaty, shirtless men working in the sun and decided, in classical female fashion, that despite the fact they were obviously trying to get some demanding shit done, it wasn't as important as her need for men to pay attention.
So, I'm holding onto this rope, sweaty and exhausted, but trying to keep the winch in place, and overhearing bits and pieces of her conversation with Bill as she constantly tried to position herself to get a look inside the door of the shop to see exactly what is going on inside, knowing this would give her knowledge to control the local Bird Telegraph for a while [Aussie Slang for the female gossip network in a community], and each time she moved, Bill would faux-casually move himself to block her line of sight. It ended up like a dance, and each time, she'd get more flustered.
I found her voice annoying, and her manner reminded me of a disliked Aunt I haven't seen for 30 years. Still, I'd hear some great bits and pieces, as she'd tell us too much information about her life that we didn't care about, then fish for information as Bill would instantly-deflect and then wind her up.
Ah, I just remembered one bit. Turns out I did mention it in passing on the Trump thread (Memory is correct - it was the 7th of Jan):
Quote:Quote:
- Bill and I and another workmate were doing some heavy duty repairs yesterday in a heatwave when we were targeted by a woman whom must have decided that a group of fit, shirtless, sweaty men in the middle of an obviously-complicated task would want to stop what they're doing and pay attention to her.
One of the first things she said was that she used to be a school teacher. Bill immediately-started dropping incorrect words into the conversation, so obviously-stupid that no-one could take him seriously.
Except a Midwit.
So, he'd be commenting on the job and say something like "Well we can't make it any worserer."
She'd be struck by that insatiable female need to be a know-it-all. "That's an... interesting word."
"Well, we can't all be edjumacated."
... and on and on. Each time she'd say something. Fuck knows how Bill could mangle language on the spot the way he did, but it started to reach Spike Milligan levels, and I was having a hard time keeping a straight face.
Later, our workmate, Guy, a dependable Delta, commented on the fact that she seemed to have no idea she was being wound up, and would take the bait every time.
There was a lot more to this event that I didn't write up, thinking it was off-topic. Note that reading it now, I remember that the woman said she was an ex-schoolteacher, as was my annoying Aunt, explaining my instant dislike.
There was a lot more: She'd moved from the city to look after her father, but they don't get along, and doesn't really know anyone in town. She'd try flattery, and talk about Bill's "Beautiful Beard". Each time, Bill would have a quick comeback. After a while, when, faux-
apropos of nothing, she explained that she 'doesn't sleep around', I laughed out loud.
It was just:
Her: Rule #4.
Him: Bait.
Her: Rule #4.
Him: Bait.
He was constantly winding her up for his own amusement. So she'd say how it was "Too hot," and "You shouldn't we working so hard on a Sunday" and he'd answer "Yeah I know, but the Boss is a real slave driver," her not knowing he was in charge.
Luckily, Guy got the door supports done and came inside to unbolt the winch for me, which lead to an intense burst of strength to keep the damn thing in the air until Guy could get back down the ladder to help me lower it down.
Annoyed, and knowing it would have been much easier with three of us, I walked out the front to move this stupid bitch on.
Now she had three fit, sweaty, shirtless men around her, and the game was really on.
She praised my 'amazing' beard. Stone faced, I shrugged. "What did I do? It great itself." She wanted to rub my shaved head, because it looked so soft. I said "Why? It's not like a genie will pop out."
Bill said "Something else might!"
See how now it's:
Her: Rule #4.
Me: Not interested.
Her: Rule #4.
Me: Not interested.
I then walked back inside, firmly-underlining my lack of interest.
Of course, much like what Bill was doing, this only increased her damn sexual interest, so by the time she suddenly brought up the fact she'd had 'five children', Bill gave a cheeky grin and said, playfully "... and you said you didn't sleep around!"
Completely-flustered, she immediately burst out: "No! They were all with the same man!"
"And were they all named John?"
Damn Bill is good. Note the callback above. She was completely-stammering by this point trying to gain the upper hand. That's when he thanked her and wished her a 'luberly' day but the Boss needed him to get back to work,
and then shut the door in her face.
The gregariousness instantly-vanished, replaced by weary-eye rolling. "I think it's coffee o'clock". As I've written before, Bill is a Sigma, so can be a 'charming motherfucker', but only when he wants to be. Most of the time - like me -
he can't be bothered.
We sat down in the kitchen and were laughing about this woman. It's interesting to note that Guy's experience of the situation was vastly-different to Bill and myself. Since Bill and I are both self-confessed 'sluts' - he's had much less experience with women compared to us, and his alcoholism makes him very gullible to their exploitation.
So when Guy said "She was alright, for an older bird," (probably 40 or so) and "had a good body", Bill and I immediately-deflected to discussion of Rule #4 - what were her motivations?
I pointed out how I'd laughed aloud when she'd suddenly decided how important it was for us to know that she 'doesn't sleep around', despite no-one asking.
Bill chuckled to himself.
Guy didn't get it, so I explained how it meant she was thinking about sex when she was talking to Bill, and her inner discussion slipped into the outer discussion - the comment comes 'out of nowhere' to us, but logically-flowed inside her head.
Bill sipped his coffee. "Gutter slut. She would have done all three of us if we'd asked her in. She's just had a fight with her father."
"I missed that."
"She likes walking around town to 'get away' sometimes," he said, snorting his contempt to finish.
I said how I enjoyed him constantly putting himself directly-between her and the inside of the shop.
Bill nodded. "Nosy cunt, wasn't she? Wanting to know what's inside."
"What are they
doing in
there?"
"Women never think you're just doing
boring fucking work. They think if they're not around, you must be getting up to no good."
I groaned my assent. "Control freaks. I have an Aunt just like her. Spent years colouring and gluing with kindergarten kids all day, so could never turn it off with adults. It's like she viewed everyone as being potentially-naughty without her guidance." (I bet she's gotten in to the Adult Colouring Books in a big way).
"She didn't see that bad," Guy said.
"You've got to learn what they're not saying when they say shit," Bill said.
"She wanted dick," I said. "... and something else she could gain from the dick. Either way she's not getting it from us."
Bill flicked some ash. "... which will only make her want it more. Fucking women."
"She'll be trouble," I said.
Guy isn't Blue Pill as such, he just can't always understand.
The conversation moved on to other topics, and then we got back to work for the next couple of hours. Bill and I were busy at the back of the property, and he asked Guy if he could go out the front and finish up replacing the facing, since it was only a one man job.
A while later, it was coffee time again - Bill operates on Nicotine and Caffeine - and he asked me to pop my head out and let Guy know.
Before I could rise, Guy walked in and sat in his usual chair.
"Want a coffee?" I asked.
He didn't answer, but placed a piece of paper in front of Bill.
"What is it?"
Guy smirked. "Have a read."
"Fuck me," Bill said, rolling his eyes. It was her name - Babs - and phone number.
"Good joke," I said to Guy.
"No, I'm serious," he said - and Guy's lies always involve his alcoholism, and he has very clear tells - and I could see he was. "She walked past again, and said it was nice to meet us, and asked me to give that to 'the Boss'."
I laughed. "There you go, Bill. It's got to be the beard."
"Nah, you didn't hear. I told her you were the Boss."
Guy laughed out loud. "He did! He's not shitting."
I deflected. "It doesn't matter, she just wants an in with any of us."
Bill nodded. "She's looking to jump from her Dad's ship. Any berth will do."
"Fucking trouble," I said. "Toss it out."
"Way ahead of you Son." He'd already tossed it across the table and gone back to his smoke.
Guy looked at us, incredulous. Not understanding why either of us weren't interested when a woman was throwing herself at us.
"She's all yours, Guy," I said. "But watch yourself."
"Don't you let her fucking in here," Bill finished.
------
Now, I'd forgotten all about this, but, oddly, this is the second time in as many weeks that the events of January have 'echoed', as in the case of the Haunted Porn Stash I wrote about not long back.
Bill rang me asking me if I could check a couple of places for Guy, as he hadn't been answering his mobile. He'd lost his old one recently. I'd given him my old one, which then didn't fit his sim, so I ended up buying him a new phone, because, without Bill's guidance, the alcohol calls and he goes off the rails. We try to keep him out at Bill's place as much as we can, but sometimes he has to come back into town for Welfare and Job Reasons.
I drove around and checked at some places he might stay but no sign of him. He often is homeless, so I checked particular parks and bridges where he crashes. Still couldn't find him. There's certain regular derelicts I know from my charity work - you'd be surprised how intricate a social network these people have - but none of them had seen him for a day or two.
After a morning of searching, I was starting to get really worried, but all I could do was drive out to Bill to help him with a job that had to get done.
"You'd think he'd just come to my place if he was really in trouble," I said to him.
"No," Bill answered. "He's ashamed by how good you've been to him with helping him, that he doesn't want to let you down."
I got the subtext. "Ah, he's still trying to impress me. You know him better, so he's the chick who no longer cares if you hear her fart in bed."
"Got it." Bill's been at the end of his patience with him multiple times lately, but, interestingly, hasn't lost it yet and cut him loose.
"We all fuck up. Tell him I don't care. Next time,
just come to me."
"I found his phone at least," he added.
"What?" This is one of those bits of information I'd like to hear first.
"Rang it as you were driving out. Some woman answered. Get this. She said she found it at a pub back in [your] town."
It makes sense it would be in a pub, but since it's 50kms between there and here, it was one hell of a coincidence.
"Look, I don't want to deal with it." (Meaning he doesn't want to be too known around the town). "She said she'd be home in an hour or two, but pop up there and see if you can catch her."
So I went up there, only to meet a very-flustered, slightly-slow older woman at the door. "Well, the phone isn't here. We didn't think you'd come until later."
"I won't be in town later. Where is it, now?"
She gave me directions and I headed around, only to find a woman already coming down the driveway as I walked up it.
Babs. Just she'd dyed away the grey hair.
"Ah," I thought. "Guy's been a naughty boy."
If I thought Babs was flustered last time, I hadn't seen anything yet. The whole conversation was me getting my hands on the phone, turning to leave, taking one step back towards the truck, and her stopping me with a Rule #4 attempt with each step. You ever seen a parent dragging a kid away in a store from something it wants? I was Daddy, and she wasn't letting her chance go.
"I didn't steal it!" isn't the best way to open a conversation. "It looks just like mine!"
She held it up, failing to add "Except my screen is broken..."
"Yeah, OK," I said,
not interested.
One step.
"Your friend said hello to me at the pub."
"Yeah, OK," I said,
not interested.
One step.
"I put mine on the table and picked up the wrong one, and I was thinking 'Oh no, they'll think I stole it.'"
I either tried to steal it, and couldn't swap the sims, or I was getting railed by Guy and he left it here.
"Yeah, OK," I said,
not interested.
One step.
"I mean the phone rang but I thought I shouldn't answer it."
Though I could have easily returned it then if I did.
"Yeah, OK," I said,
not interested.
One step.
This went and on and on, and she swerved her Rule #4's into fishing for information.
"I was thinking I might run into him in the morning, since he lives in the store and goes up to the toilets early in the morning."
Sigh.
Bird telegraph.
"Nah, no-one lives there, just some mornings we have a real early start." It's not her fucking business to know what goes on, the nosy bitch.
I was losing my patience by the end of this. It wasn't of any interest to me, so I was pulling open the truck door when, last ditch attempt, she thrust out her hand and said "And I'm Babs [last name]."
Shit. What could I say? What would an
edumacated man do?
"Good to meet you," I said. "I'm Leonard Neubacher".
![[Image: laugh2.gif]](https://rooshvforum.network/images/smilies/new/laugh2.gif)
I didn't look in the rearviewmirror as I drove away. It felt kind of like leaving Lassie by the side of the road.
I returned to Bill, and explained what happened, and we tried to figure out if this was: a) an innocent mistake, b) Babs being a 'thieving cunt' hoping to replace her broken phone, c) Babs being a Gutter Slut that Guy was pounding regularly and too embarrassed to brag about since neither of us wanted her; or d) if the situation
did happen, was she using stealing Guy's phone as a stepping stone to get to either him or me.
I drove back into town after we finished the job, and said I'd have another look around for Guy. I was just hitting the outskirts when Bill rang, and said Guy had contacted him from the loading dock of a department store that a man they'd done some casual work for worked at.
I went to pick him up. He'd obviously-been on a Bender but seemed happy enough. As we headed out on the highway again, I slipped him his phone and said "Babs says hello."
"Fuck. She came into the pub, and came over when I said hello. I don't think she recognised me at first."
No tells. He seemed genuinely-surprised. He's a very bad liar - a shamed dog.
He continued on. "The Barman and I went over the video footage trying to figure out if she'd stolen it, but we couldn't see anything clearly on the tape. How'd she bloody get it?"
He wasn't lying.
"It looks just like her phone," I said. "Well, without a broken screen. She 'accidentally' picked it up."
"Thieving bitch," he said. "You and Bill said she was trouble."
We were talking about this later with Bill, and I said "Look mate, at some stage, she's going to turn up to apologize. Probably with something chocolately and high-caloric. Don't let her in."
"That's the goal," Bill agreed. "Foot in the door. Like a God-Botherer."
Then, yesterday, Bill rang me. "Babs was knocking at the door. Tray of Lamingtons."
It was my turn to snort. "Were they any good?"
"Fucked if I know. I didn't answer it. But she left another bloody note, then went home to probably give her mouse a tickle."
"You should have answered it, then faked a coconut allergy when she put the tray in your face."
Bill grinned. "That
almost would have been worth it."
See how even a Tray of Lamingtons can be a Rule 4?
I used to trigger the neighbour girls next door as a kid by always saying "Look at me in the eyes that", whenever they lied to me.
"I'm telling the truth!" they'd say.
I'd open my eyes wide, do the puppy dog things girls would do to sway fathers and male teachers, and mockingly-say. "... and I'm being totally honest right now."
They'd always end up laughing, and their lie would be revealed.
Some guys on here have said women are self-obsessed and crazy until they have children, but I think it's more about if they physically-raise their children themselves, or suffer some other kind of personal hardship that involves the care for others.
Anyway, sorry that was so long. Is what I'm getting at any clearer? The point is, statements that hold social currency for a woman are an opportunity to mock, tease and frustrate. Your tone is self-amusement, not bitterness, or snark. It becomes instinct, with experience.
![[Image: 1009_hardly+boys+cover1320191366.jpg]](http://forums.pelicanparts.com/uploads19/1009_hardly+boys+cover1320191366.jpg)
