Lunch is Not a Date

1) You’re using lines. Don’t. No “Did you see the fight outside?” or “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” It hurts when you go home without a number or a woman, that’s when it hurts. Instead, use the common-denominator–the thing or things in the room that you have in common; that she’ll relate to instantly. For example, if you’re in Chi-Town tomorrow night, simply stand next to a girl and toast her with a “Go Cubby’s!” She’ll toast back and you can start a conversation easily enough. “Where’s your Cub shirt?” or “How many Cub shirts do you own? Caps?” It’s not hard and much more natural. Keep doing it. It will be tricky at first but it gets easy enough in time, once you’re used to it. Practice makes perfect; there’s no way around it.

2) Listen and respond. Too often guys are so busy thinking about what they are going to say next, they fail to hear what the woman says. This comes off to her as rude and just wanting to get into her panties; she doesn’t realize you’re nervous, let alone empathize with it.

3) Flirt and keep the conversation light, even through the first date. “What do you do?” “Where are you from?” “Do you have brothers or sisters?” makes the conversation dull, quickly. “What do you do–wait, let me guess… you’re a spy,” works much better and keeps things interesting and her guessing.

4) Be mysterious. No one ever explains what this means. It simply means be evasive. “What do you do for a living?” “What do you think I do?” Again, this keeps her engaged and the conversation going. It’s fun and light, a good way to start things.

5) Heed actions over words. Women speak via their actions over their words. Pay attention to their actions. If their actions don’t match up with what they say or do, heed their actions. For example, when a woman at the bar says she didn’t come out to meet anyone but she is wearing a high skirt, low-cut top, and lots of makeup and perfume, she’s full of it. Now, she might not want to meet you but you should stick around a little to find out; oftentimes, you’ll quickly find she is interested in meeting someone and you can be that someone.

“Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.”

“A friend is a second self.”

-Aristotle

The night I met ”Nancy,” for whatever reason, I felt I had just met a great person and someone with whom I wanted to be friends. She was fun, personable, lived in my hood, witty, and pretty. Since we met among friends, I knew I’d see her again and left without thinking about it anymore. Soon Nancy subbed for vball for a few of my teams and we swapped emails back and forth. Somehow–I’m not sure how it happened but it did–I jumped right into the friendship with Nancy instead of easing into it, as per the standard. I didn’t share with her deep things or thoughts but I did contact her as though we had known each other for a long time when we hadn’t.

I won’t get into all the details (I’ve posted some before) but at one point I felt Nancy pulling away from contact. I anticipated it was because she thought I was overly interested in her. I sent her a brief email to correct it. When, surprisingly, it didn’t work (most likely because she didn’t believe me), I found myself wanting to fix things quickly, as summer was approaching and that has always proved to be the best time to make friends in Chi-Town. My plan was not to call or text Nancy and to limit my emails, unless I saw a problem. I’d let her see who I was when I was out and she’d see all was cool and that I was sincere. I moved her to the outer ring, where she should have been to begin with. Typically, everything seemed fine when Nancy and I saw each other among groups of friends but when I felt there was a problem, I sent Nancy a long email. Unfortunately, due to dealing with some family problems, I wasn’t sleeping and exercised poor judgment. I tried too hard to fix things with Nancy via some long emails (in which the message of things are light and cool get lost in the wrapping).

By the end of summer, everything seemed perfectly fine. Nancy and I played some vball together (and played well together, as I knew we would) and chatted some. I thought we would finally be able to ease into a friendship and all was saved. Turns out it wasn’t. I didn’t know why and when I discovered some gossip on the beach, I was certain that was the problem, so I addressed it. (I’ve never had any trouble making friends with women, especially with one who has lots of male friends, as does Nancy, so this is totally weird and extremely uncomfortable to me. I don’t like being this guy. I don’t like being disbelieved.) 

To give you an idea of how important friendship is to me, the woman I had been dating broke up with me yesterday because of her ridiculous travel schedule at work. I shot her two short emails following the break up and she shot back one to me. That’s it. I’m bummed she’s gone but I won’t give it much thought. Nancy, though, I really want to fix things with; why the difference? I realize a good, girl-next-door friend is much harder to find in my hood than a woman to date.

I’ve been an ass to Nancy because I’ve tried too hard to fix things. (It bothers and somewhat hurts me that she doesn’t seem to believe me; if she did, all should be well with us.) I forget I send and receive well over 100 emails a day while most people do a fraction of that; so, clearly, I over did it. (Say I send an email to you today. Then I send you another two days later. You may have only received a dozen emails in that time, so it seems like a quick turnaround time to you. For me, I’ve received over 300 emails in that time, so I’ve forgotten when I even sent you an email last.)

I’m sorry, Nancy. There’s not much else I can say. I hope you’ll forgive me and realize that while I was an ass, I was one for all the right reasons–to fix things so that we’d be comfortable around each other (achieved) and to see if we could be friends after all (still questionable). Sometimes all you can say is, “Sorry,” and just hope for the best.    

Just a little philosophy I self-originated and try to live by:

Tomorrow is not another a day; tomorrow is today’s backup plan.

If you’re not trying, you might as well be dead.

Be what you want to be, as long as you don’t step on anyone along the way.

(I know I promised more on the friends column but some recent developments continue to delay it, as I am learning from it. If you want tips on making friends email me directly at iancoburn@hotmail.com and I’ll help ya out.)

One of my first gigs on the road, I was talking with a waitress. She was really hot and both of us were 19. Plus she seemed to really be into me. When she walked away to check on some tables, the headliner summoned me to him with his forefinger.

“Don’t hit on the waitresses.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll talk about you all the time and it will be like you’re working the club all the time. You won’t get booked.”

He was right about hitting on the waitresses but for the wrong reason. Over the next few months I discovered a much better reason not to hit on waitresses. A couple years later a new comic, the emcee, was hitting on a waitress. When she walked away, I summoned him over.

“Don’t hit on the waitresses.”

“Why not?”

“Look over there.”

The club manager had each of his arms around different waitresses while he looked over their shoulders at some tabs. He rubbed their backs.

“Notice how all the waitresses are hot?” I continued.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you think he hired them? Because he wants to fuck them. Also, most club managers and owners wish they could be comedians but they don’t have the ability. So, if you come in here and screw a waitress, you’re getting someone he wants, as well as doing the job he wishes he could do. No matter how good your show goes, he’ll give you a bad report to the club booker. You won’t be back.”

He nodded his head. “Got it. But they’re so hot.”

“Are you here to be a comedian or a gigalo?

It was true. A lot of comedians who screwed waitresses vanished from the industry, especially as the market became more and more saturated with talent.

I’ve learned it’s the same with groups. Groups, especially clicky ones, breed the friend-who-wants-to-be-more guys. For example, guys may invite women to join a running club so they may get to learn more about them without taking any risk. They will be very protective over these women, almost like they own them. I’ve been in groups where guys take as long as three years to finally make a move on a woman. Three years! Of course, when a guy like me runs into guys like them in a group, there can be trouble. That woman they’ve been working on for three years, I might ask out after just one conversation. That’s a real threat. Enter male gossip, aka the cock block.

It’s hilarious to watch the lies and maneuvers guy “friends” will make to protect 
“their” women. They’ll even gather the wagons together to gang up on a guy deemed to be a threat. Typically, it’s completely unnecessary. Most confident guys typically don’t want to date within a group. If they do, you won’t be able to stop them; they will find a way.

I’m far more interested in making friends in groups. A few times I’ve missed out on becoming friends with some pretty good women because of gossip about me. Of course, gossip is behind your back, so it’s hard to confront, if not impossible. The person who hears the gossip has to trust you to discuss it; however, a guy who’s been her ”friend” for a couple years has a huge upperhand over a guy she’s just met.

How can a woman tell if the gossip is real? Or if it’s bullshit? How can she spot the good guys–friends, “friends,” or otherwise–from the real creeps? It’s actually pretty easy. Here are the traits of a good guy:

1) He’s respectful and honest. (Doesn’t mean he isn’t flirtatious and funny.)

2) He doesn’t say anything about anyone who wouldn’t say, or hasn’t said, to their face.

3) He’s direct and communicative.

4) He hasn’t lost many, if any, previous friends. And he isn’t on the outs with many, if any.

5) He doesn’t need to be around you constantly. 

These four characteristics can be used to spot good and bad women, too. Ladies, notice that guy friends who want to be more, typically bad mouth any guy who shows interest in you that isn’t like a dork or something (i.e. someone he doesn’t feel has a chance with you). They are always around you at group activities or nearby, often suggesting doing something after the group event or later in the week. They want to walk you home, bike you home, and so forth. They try to interrupt whenever you talk with another guy. They may bad mouth people in general, often in lieu of a sense of humor. Sometimes they talk about friends they no longer have due to fallouts and so forth. (A pattern of fallouts usually means they are the friend with the problem, not the other way around.)

It’s really that simple.    

There is a new, free ebook on my site, www.godisawoman.net. The direct link is here: http://www.godisawoman.net/Articles/The%20New%20Way%20to%20Date%20ebook%20-%205%20Steps%20to%20Great%20Dating.pdf  Trust me; read it. It gives you the simple steps I use to date that work every time. These steps build momentum and eliminate all the stressors of dating, like “How long should I wait before I call?” or “Why hasn’t he called me, yet? We had a great date, didn’t we?” These steps are why I have fun dating. Of course, I use my newest relationship as an example in the ebook, so you can clearly see how it all works.

A guy and popular blogger, Legal Pub, who has become an Internet friend posted today about the serious crime of date rape. Here’s the link: http://legalpublication.blogspot.com/2008/09/actress-dame-helen-brings-date-rape.html

I wanted to point out an additional aspect of date rape along with other advice, which comes right out of God. It’s a story in which I nearly date raped someone, which, of course, surprised the hell out of me. (Please excuse any unusual spacing, etc; it’s a problem with Wordpress and their CSS’s, which occur when you cut & paste from Word.)

The Bitter Babe 

            Okay, we’ve discussed the bitter friend, but what about the bitter babe?  The bitter babe is very different from the bitter friend.  She is pretty and fed up with men and dating.  Any woman can be a bitter babe at some point in her life.

            A few years ago I was at a charity fundraiser thrown by an organization called the 20/30 Club.  The club was started years ago by a bunch of young male professionals who wanted to meet more women, as well as help charities.  They formed an organization that uses worthy causes and social events to bring professional singles together.  Two great activities killed with one stone; what a great concept.  The fundraiser was held at a bar called Jack Sullivan’s, which no longer exists, which is too bad because I did pretty well with women at that bar.  (Every guy has a few bars where he has good success meeting women, and a few others where he can’t even get women to acknowledge he exists.)

            One time at Jack’s, Steve and I ended up standing next to a group of pretty coeds who were looking for some action.  They started pulling up each others shirts and flashing one another.  It’s pretty easy to hook up with a woman when all a guy has to do is say, “Nice breasts.”  Clearly, God—angry that I was successful with women at Jack’s—caused the bar to be closed.

            I went to the charity event at Jack’s with a few buddies.  We were all looking to meet someone, not to hook up with, but to date.  We arrived early enough to commandeer a table and chairs.  We were there for only a few minutes when a pretty redhead and blonde walked into the bar.  They walked past us and headed upstairs.  I noticed the redhead glance back at me a few times.  The two women set up shop near the railing of the second floor.  They people-watched patrons on the first floor from their post.  I caught the redhead looking at me a bunch of times within the first twenty minutes.  I sized her up:  very pretty, early thirties, 5’7”, good body, nice tight butt.  Her breasts were a little more than a handful, which I liked.  Her bright blue eyes were the kiss of death.  They lured me in all the way, especially with their contrast to her long red hair.

            She scanned the room relentlessly.  She scrutinized guys.  She seemed a little annoyed and crossed her arms repeatedly.  She didn’t laugh or smile.  I decided to remain at my table for the night and not hit on women.  Bad strategy to meet the redhead, right?  Wrong.  Different types of women need to be approached using different tactics.  A lot of guys use the same tactic to meet women.  They go out, they approach a woman, if she’s not interested or has a boyfriend, they move on to the next one.  The weakness with this tactic is that women notice when guys hop around from one woman to the next.  This offends lots of them and is a huge turnoff.  It only works for trixies, vain women, and girls with low self-esteem.

These three types of women have a strong need to feel like they are the most desirable woman in the room.  If a guy hops around and gets positive attention from the women he approaches, he will pique the competitive interest of trixies and other women with low self-esteem.  When he selects one of these girls, she feels like she has won out over the other girls.  This is important to her.  Confident women don’t need such an ego boost.  They don’t care to talk to a guy who is so obviously on the prowl.  (Incidentally, if a guy hops around and is shunned by most of the women he meets, which is often the case, girls with low self-esteem will hardly say a word to him; they don’t want to be associated with other women’s rejects.)

This explains why confident beautiful women, referred to by some as “tens” (I’m not into the whole numbering system), sometimes date physically less-than-flattering guys.  They know they are stunning and they have nothing to prove, so they don’t have the trixie competitive nature.  They don’t need other women to be jealous of them in order to feel complete.  Instead, they can simply go out with whomever they wish, as in the case of Nikki Cox and Bobcat Goldthwait.

Why don’t I like the numbering system?  It’s inconsistent.  A ten to one guy is often a seven to me and vice-versa.  What’s the criteria?  The system is too subjective to answer that question.  Lots of guys give women with big fake breasts high numbers.  I don’t find anything attractive about fake breasts and give these same women low numbers.  Lots of magazines rate Halle Berry as the prettiest woman in Hollywood; I prefer Claire Forlani.  It’s no secret why.  Compare their eyes and remember my big weakness with women.  Mostly, numbering is insulting to women.  Instead, I just describe the woman and guys can assign her a number based on their own preferences, if they so wish.

The redhead wasn’t a trixie.  She didn’t show signs of low of self-esteem.  She watched various guys operate and seemed to criticize them to her friend.  Every now and then, she glanced in my direction.  What did she see when she checked on me?  A guy just hanging out with his friends.  I talked only to the women who were near us or who approached me.  I was not on the prowl.

A lot of guys checked out the redhead but she was not approachable.  She did not look like she was out to meet anyone.  One guy did manage to talk to her at length.  He was big, probably 6’4” with a solid build, about my age, twenty-eight.  He’d talk to her for a while then go hit on younger women.  When that didn’t pan out, he returned to her until other young trixies caught his eye.  He’d go talk to them and then return.  Eventually, he reduced his hopping around to just the redhead and one young trixie.  Who would be the one lucky enough to nab him?  Through it all, the redhead kept checking on me.  I waited patiently.  The big guy’s tactic wasn’t going to work on her, so I didn’t concern myself with him.  My friend Steve showed up and I pointed out the big guy while making fun of his tactics, which is exactly what the redhead was doing with her friend.  I knew she’d see me doing it, too.

It was really funny.  The big guy was treating the redhead and the trixie the same.  This is one big flaw with a lot of the books that give advice to guys on dating—they treat all women the same.  The advice they give is geared primarily toward meeting, and typically nailing, shallow, pretty women.  But, they insist that the advice is good for all women.  They basically lump all women together into one mold.  Unfair.  That’s like suggesting all baseball players are the same just because they play baseball.  Certainly not true; some are better hitters, some pitch, some field better, and so forth.  It is the same for women, which is why the key to success starts with observation and has little to do with following a set procedure.

The bar thinned out as closing time neared.  The redhead stood alone, still watching people over the rail.  Her friend was busy talking to some guy; the big guy was talking to the trixie.  It was time to make my move.  I headed up the stairs and walked over to her.  I didn’t say anything but instead leaned over the rail, looking where she was looking.  I waited a few moments before speaking, “You’ve been up here all night watching people.  So tell me, what are we looking at?”

She pointed to different patrons, “Well, that guy wants to go home with her, and she likes him, and that big guy there looks like a boring fuck anyway, and that guy there is gay and doesn’t  know it.”

The “big guy” she referred to was the one who had been hitting on her earlier.  She went on about him, “He just wants to pick up some young woman.  The whole thing is pathetic, all these people trying to lie their way into bed.  I’m so sick of the dating scene.  If you wanna fuck me, just say you wanna fuck me, you know?”

Direct and honest.  I like that in a woman.  It’s a sign of maturity and confidence.  I caught a glimpse of Steve approaching out of my eye.  He arrived just in time to hear “If you wanna fuck me, just say you wanna fuck me.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  I could have said I wanted to fuck her.  A lot of guys would have, but that was the wrong way to go.  She’d know I was just saying what I thought she wanted to hear, and that would annoy her.

She was hurt that the big guy was going after a younger edition and she wasn’t going to put up with that shit.  What did she want?  To be fucked?  To leave with the big guy?  She wanted a victory; not a victory as in a guy, but rather a victory in the form of being one up on men.  I was happy to give it to her; she deserved it.  In response to her fuck-me line, without missing a beat, I gave my reply, “Wow.  You’ve stumped me.  No one’s ever stumped me, but you just did.” 

She smiled, “Really?” 

We spoke for about ten minutes.  She was very bitter.  Along with being upset at the big guy and with dating in general, she was overworked at a job she hated, angry with a guy she was “kind of dating,” and upset with her family.  I needed to change her focus to find success.

“Would you like to dance?”

“There’s no dance floor.”

I stepped into her, “There is now.”

She smiled again and I put my arms around her.  Steve and I took a few turns dancing with her before he left.  After he was gone, she and I began to kiss.  Her name was Lisa.  Soon the bar began to close.  I walked Lisa outside.  She did not say goodbye to the big guy, who had since been ditched by the trixie.

I wanted Lisa.  She stirred me up and I found her to be a breath of fresh air from the trixies saturating the bars I had been to recently.  When we got outside, she immediately hailed a cab.  I figured she’d jump in with a quick blurb that it was nice to meet me and drive away.  Instead, she opened the cab door and looked at me, “So, are we going back to your place or mine?”

Wow, what a wonderful surprise!  I lived closer, so we headed to my place.

Cab drivers probably make their most money picking up a couple headed for a one-night stand.  I gave him twenty dollars for an eight-dollar ride and we got out of the cab.  A guy on the verge of getting lucky doesn’t want to wait for change.  That’s just more time for the woman to change her mind.  He wants the cab gone as soon as possible, before the girl has a change of heart and decides to take the cab home.  Guys about to have one-night stands make for big tips.

Inside my place things got busy pretty fast.  We sat on the futon, where I removed Lisa’s shirt and pants as we made out.  She was wearing a sexy black thong and black bra.  After a while I went for the bra.  She pushed me away and instead tore off my clothes.  She was really into biting.  She took hard bites at little pieces of skin on my chest, followed by great big bites of chunks of skin.  I literally thought she was going bite my nipples off.  It was quite painful.  She went down on me.  My immediate fear was that she would bite me down there, too.  (She didn’t, thank goodness.)  Something told me this was as far as it was going to go—a blowjob.  I wanted more, so I had to make a move.

I stopped her from sucking on me (there’s something a guy doesn’t do often), and went back to trying to remove her lingerie. The bra came off easily but when I tried to remove the panties, she held them on by the waistband.  I licked her crotch.  I had found this to be a good way to get panties off when women hesitated to remove them.  It worked like a charm.  She gasped and let go of the waistband.  I slid the panties off her.  I was very glad I did.  She had the best shave job I’ve ever seen.  Her bush was this perfect, little narrow triangle, not too big, not too small.  She was a natural redhead.  I rolled her over and bit her sweet ass for a while, then rolled her onto her back.  Her butt was pretty mushy upon touch, which was a little disappointing but I managed to cope.  I slipped a condom on and prepared to enter.  She suddenly went limp.  Her eyes closed and she lay absolutely still.

“Lisa?  Lisa?  Are you okay?” I whispered.

She nodded and muttered.

“Do you want me inside you?”

She nodded again and muttered.  She was clearly out of it, or faking, angry that I had removed her panties under false pretense.  It could also have been the alcohol and work stress that suddenly gave her fatigue.  She lay there, practically asleep.  I thought about it.  She was right there, lying naked before me.  She wanted me inside her and I seriously thought about it.  It would have been so very easy.  My faculties weren’t one hundred percent either, as I’d had lots to drink myself.  I rubbed against her to see if that would bring some life into her.  She murmured as though she were in a dream, “Mmm.  That feels good.”

I pushed in just the top of the tip.  Nothing.  I backed away.  She wasn’t kissing back, she wasn’t moving; she wasn’t doing anything.  Is this date rape?  I loomed over her for a good ten minutes, trying to make up my mind if I wanted to do her or not.  She was so beautiful, lying there naked.  Also, I had to pee badly, which is impossible while sporting wood, so I needed to finish to take care of that.

I decided that it would be inappropriate and for the first time I could see how a guy could do such a thing under certain conditions.  The idea of banging a girl lying dormant held little interest to me.  The idea of doing Lisa lying there completely naked in front of me—with a little more than a handful of perky tits and the best shave job I’ve seen—held lots of interest to me.  I debated another ten minutes.  A battle of will and hormones was raging and will was on the verge of defeat.  Finally, though, I acknowledged that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  I pulled the futon away from the wall and opened it.  I took off my condom, to help keep the hormones from resurging a more effective assault, and lay down beside her.

I watched her sleep most of the night.  When it got cold, I threw a blanket over us and cuddled up against her.  She was responsive and cuddled back.  Every now and then I removed the blanket to look at her some more, then replaced it.  I didn’t take care of my pee problem.  I was afraid that if I solved the dilemma on my own, she would wake up and want to fuck.  I’d have wasted a great boner, which would have been a huge disappointment to me and my hormones.

I spent about eight hours with a full erection, much longer than the suggested length Viagra warns about in its commercials.  I didn’t know such a thing was possible.  I couldn’t sleep, what with the naked woman beside me and my current state of excitement.  I suppose I could have left her and gotten into my own bed but that didn’t even occur to me at the time.  When lying next to a beautiful naked woman, not much occurs to a guy.  Even if it had, getting into my own bed would have seemed like wasting a perfectly promising nude woman and no guy is going to do that.

So I lay there, for eight hours, in erotic discomfort.  It was torture.  God was doing some of Her best work on me.  She knew I wouldn’t take care of business myself and She had made me drink all those beers to fill up my bladder.  Then She knocked out the naked woman, leaving me in a frenzied state.  That Bitch!  Lisa woke up in the late morning with a raging migraine.  I assured her we had not had sex.

“You know, you could have.  I wanted to, but I think I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I don’t think it would have been any good for me with you just lying there.  Sex to me is kind of an everybody-participates sport.”

I walked her out and waited for her to get into a cab.  I hurried back home and took care of unfinished business.  After that, I took the most satisfying pee of my life.  Aaah!

I learned three things from Lisa:

·        Any guy can end up in a position to date-rape someone.

·        Be gentler with women’s nipples.

·        There is a right way to pick up the bitter babe.

I never imagined that I would ever be in a position to date-rape someone.  I was that night, though, and it took every bit of discipline I had to restrain myself.  Hormones are extremely powerful, especially when they travel in groups numbering over three times the normal amount.  There are different types of date rape.  One type is exactly what it’s called, the rape of a woman by her date.  Another type is the one I faced.  It’s the type of rape where a woman no longer has the faculties to consent, usually because she’s drunk.

I think this type of date rape is quite a double standard.  If a guy and girl are both drunk off their asses and they have sex, she may not be held accountable for her actions, while he could be charged with rape.  If a woman isn’t responsible for consenting to sex because she is drunk, how can a guy be responsible for engaging in sex if he is drunk, too?  Realistically, I don’t know how many of these cases are tried.  Fortunately for both men and women, there is a naturally built-in safety switch:  A guy too drunk to think clearly is almost always too drunk to get aroused.

Prior to my night with Lisa, my idea of date rape was a scenario in which the woman is drunk and the man is sober.  In such a scenario, clearly the man is abusing the woman.  I quickly dismissed this misconception when I found myself sprawled over a nearly passed-out woman, thinking Oh my God, this is date rape.  It’s far more likely that both the guy and girl are drunk.  Date rape is another good reason to stay away from drunken women.  If a guy is inebriated and takes a drunken woman home, he is likely to engage in sex with her.  He could be charged with date rape.  Just like drunken women who go home with strangers, this guy has put himself in the unwise position of being unsafe.  The best play for him is not to take her home in the first place.

I’ve been tough on some women’s nipples.  After nearly having mine ripped off in a set of gnashing teeth, I learned to be gentler with nipples—not too gentle, because that’s no good either—but definitely gentler.

The bitter babe is tricky to pick up and can be a lot of work if approached incorrectly.  She is worth the time, though, as usually she is not in the mood to play games, so a guy can refreshingly be straightforward.  I actually learned how to hook up with bitter babes prior to meeting Lisa, but since I was successful in those stories, they have no business in this book.  The quandary with the bitter babe is two-fold.  First, she can be any type of woman, which needs to be determined to have a chance with her.  Second, she is skeptical and critical of men.  She needs to be approached carefully.

I like showing the bitter babe a good time.  I feel like I am giving her some things she really needs, namely some good treatment, sex, and respect.  Bitter women are mostly bitter because they have been dissed a lot, they feel disrespected.  There are often times, though, when I pass bitter women over because I just don’t have the desire to sit still for a long time or have the patience to deal with their bitterness.  They can be a lot of work and take much energy.

The best way to approach a bitter babe is not to approach her.  Let her observe.  Watch how she responds.  If she keeps looking over, she is intrigued and interested.  She can’t figure out the behavior and that piques her interest.  Go over and talk to her.  If a guy doesn’t behave the way a bitter woman expects him to behave (in short, if he doesn’t behave like a guy), he may have a chance with her.  Bitter babes aren’t looking for a male; they’re looking for an anti-male.  I have the bite marks to prove it.