I was on a site yesterday that I hang out on and the topic turned to religion, and the purity of gene pool to be maintained within that religion after an article that was written by a member of the Clergy was published that basically said that we should stick to our own kind.
I was of the belief that he was right. That ‘designer dogs’ didn’t live as long, weren’t as healthy overall and more prone to genetic abnormalities than the general population.
I was on for hours close to 9 hours having men try to argue points with me. Now, I am very aware that you cannot and should not even try to “out-argue” with a man; you cannot. But what I found most interesting was how quickly it degraded into childish name-calling instead of a discourse of intellect.
I was called a man, a troll, stupid, a liar, and a myth believer, that I didn’t speak a second language that I do speak….and then a woman jumped in. She called me a flea bitten twat, pseudo intellectual and a series of other names when I did nothing—absolutely nothing to insult her…and then it occurred to me…it was power.
She is a broadcaster and was threatened by what she felt was another women “in her house” who might usurp her power base there but virtue of attention. What the guys said to me didn’t bother me as much; she broke the girl code…
Dogs don’t bark at parked cars…period. if I weren’t intriguing, I would not have been able to hold the interest of men for hours and hours and hours. Whether they agreed with me or not…I was captivating. I said to her “name me another woman on this forum who can do what I did”. She continued to insult me. Eventually I placed her on my “ignore her posts” list. She doesn’t hold any value in my life.
I had a private message about her, that she had passed nudes of herself around the site and had made dates with men from that site and stood them up.
I had tapped into a different kind of power. That is a gift that I’ve also always known that I had. People tell me things…and I don’t know why. They are little gifts from them to me. Sometimes—like this, they are little bits of ammunition to be stored up and used when appropriate. Other times there is a power given to me in knowing what’s coming next. I would know who was losing their office, who was being moved, promoted, fired…I even had my closest girlfriend at work ask me to tell her truth, was I really sleeping with the boss or how else could I possibly know that much?
I don’t know why people tell me what they do, but they do. The often give me things as well. One of my first mentors would train a room full of mentees but all day long, he didn’t take his eyes off of mine—it was as if I were the only person in the room he was talking to. The other person running the mentoring would get angry at me and ask me to ask the lecturer “since I seemed to be able to get whatever I wanted out of him”. LOL. I heard that this was Bill Clinton’s magic—that in a room full of people he could make the person he was talking to feel as if they were the only person in the room.
There wasn’t anything romantic with me between me and my mentor. He just felt the connection to teach to me. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. It did when I was in college, too. One of my professors gave me keys to his classroom to use the equipment whenever I wanted to; he gave me a key to the elevator (staff only). And today, if you said my name to him, he knows exactly who I am. How many students pass through a professor’s life? How many can say that?
I’m starting to rethink spending so much time on that site. It isn’t feminine—although I did have one man who was British post to tell me he was swimming the Atlantic with a rose between his teeth to come and get me. I’m not sure that it’s good for me to be there. Although the appearance of White knights are unexpectedly wonderful-- the world is a darker place without them.
Being there fills my alpha masculine side. Left brained, intellect, thought processes, dissection, language, reason. But the pull always is to my feminine side and how much I would prefer to reside in my house of my right brain. Feeling centered…nothing more than the sensual…retraining myself to trace the steps back to my youth. I believe it is the only path that makes sense for me to find love.
I know this intellectually. I’ve studied this long enough, I’ve got it. It’s never one specific thing that a man falls in love with – it’s all of you. Most men couldn’t pick “the moment” that he fell in love with you, they certainly don’t know what it is that they love, they just know how you make them feel, he watches the people around you and that to him, you are irreplaceable … Pat says that a man falls in love with a woman’s essence, and nothing in particular—except that when a man chooses to marry, he marries virtue.
From my feminine side my answers to the questions they asked me would have been different and I know it.
If a man asks you a lot of questions, he’s intrigued… It’s how you answer him that matters – meaning not wowing him with your brilliance or competitive nature – not preaching; not teaching. It’s answering him softly, sweetly; your smile, your eyes, your smell, your taste, your laughter, your looks; he falls in love with the way you feel in his arms…
And so men test… does she tell secrets and too much information? Is she a gold digger, does she turn into a snarling bitch when I’m a half hour late, does she love kids? All of that is who you are at your core; not whether or not you have an advanced degree, not whether or not you think the latest Jim Carrey movie was wonderful. If a woman get’s pissy over what he thinks is little to nothing, he moves on – she’s either considered a crazy psycho bitch, desperate, or moved into the friend category--quickly.
In comparison to a man (unless you are choosing to be competing with him) who you are or should be is, as Dr. Phil calls it, a soft place to fall – a respite from the work-a-day world, a place of peacefulness and playfulness.
Pat says a woman’s only job in relation to her man is to look good, sound good, smell good, taste good and feel good. Sounding good isn’t argumentative, cursing, bitching, complaining, gossiping, telling secrets, training or being more evasive than necessary.
Its unending work for me and I wish it weren’t so. Beta woman have a far easier time—but my girlfriend always reminds me betas are far less interesting. It’s an unending choice to make, to flex more muscle than is necessary, to cast a line too far; and to know when reel it back in.
I was of the belief that he was right. That ‘designer dogs’ didn’t live as long, weren’t as healthy overall and more prone to genetic abnormalities than the general population.
I was on for hours close to 9 hours having men try to argue points with me. Now, I am very aware that you cannot and should not even try to “out-argue” with a man; you cannot. But what I found most interesting was how quickly it degraded into childish name-calling instead of a discourse of intellect.
I was called a man, a troll, stupid, a liar, and a myth believer, that I didn’t speak a second language that I do speak….and then a woman jumped in. She called me a flea bitten twat, pseudo intellectual and a series of other names when I did nothing—absolutely nothing to insult her…and then it occurred to me…it was power.
She is a broadcaster and was threatened by what she felt was another women “in her house” who might usurp her power base there but virtue of attention. What the guys said to me didn’t bother me as much; she broke the girl code…
Dogs don’t bark at parked cars…period. if I weren’t intriguing, I would not have been able to hold the interest of men for hours and hours and hours. Whether they agreed with me or not…I was captivating. I said to her “name me another woman on this forum who can do what I did”. She continued to insult me. Eventually I placed her on my “ignore her posts” list. She doesn’t hold any value in my life.
I had a private message about her, that she had passed nudes of herself around the site and had made dates with men from that site and stood them up.
I had tapped into a different kind of power. That is a gift that I’ve also always known that I had. People tell me things…and I don’t know why. They are little gifts from them to me. Sometimes—like this, they are little bits of ammunition to be stored up and used when appropriate. Other times there is a power given to me in knowing what’s coming next. I would know who was losing their office, who was being moved, promoted, fired…I even had my closest girlfriend at work ask me to tell her truth, was I really sleeping with the boss or how else could I possibly know that much?
I don’t know why people tell me what they do, but they do. The often give me things as well. One of my first mentors would train a room full of mentees but all day long, he didn’t take his eyes off of mine—it was as if I were the only person in the room he was talking to. The other person running the mentoring would get angry at me and ask me to ask the lecturer “since I seemed to be able to get whatever I wanted out of him”. LOL. I heard that this was Bill Clinton’s magic—that in a room full of people he could make the person he was talking to feel as if they were the only person in the room.
There wasn’t anything romantic with me between me and my mentor. He just felt the connection to teach to me. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. It did when I was in college, too. One of my professors gave me keys to his classroom to use the equipment whenever I wanted to; he gave me a key to the elevator (staff only). And today, if you said my name to him, he knows exactly who I am. How many students pass through a professor’s life? How many can say that?
I’m starting to rethink spending so much time on that site. It isn’t feminine—although I did have one man who was British post to tell me he was swimming the Atlantic with a rose between his teeth to come and get me. I’m not sure that it’s good for me to be there. Although the appearance of White knights are unexpectedly wonderful-- the world is a darker place without them.
Being there fills my alpha masculine side. Left brained, intellect, thought processes, dissection, language, reason. But the pull always is to my feminine side and how much I would prefer to reside in my house of my right brain. Feeling centered…nothing more than the sensual…retraining myself to trace the steps back to my youth. I believe it is the only path that makes sense for me to find love.
I know this intellectually. I’ve studied this long enough, I’ve got it. It’s never one specific thing that a man falls in love with – it’s all of you. Most men couldn’t pick “the moment” that he fell in love with you, they certainly don’t know what it is that they love, they just know how you make them feel, he watches the people around you and that to him, you are irreplaceable … Pat says that a man falls in love with a woman’s essence, and nothing in particular—except that when a man chooses to marry, he marries virtue.
From my feminine side my answers to the questions they asked me would have been different and I know it.
If a man asks you a lot of questions, he’s intrigued… It’s how you answer him that matters – meaning not wowing him with your brilliance or competitive nature – not preaching; not teaching. It’s answering him softly, sweetly; your smile, your eyes, your smell, your taste, your laughter, your looks; he falls in love with the way you feel in his arms…
And so men test… does she tell secrets and too much information? Is she a gold digger, does she turn into a snarling bitch when I’m a half hour late, does she love kids? All of that is who you are at your core; not whether or not you have an advanced degree, not whether or not you think the latest Jim Carrey movie was wonderful. If a woman get’s pissy over what he thinks is little to nothing, he moves on – she’s either considered a crazy psycho bitch, desperate, or moved into the friend category--quickly.
In comparison to a man (unless you are choosing to be competing with him) who you are or should be is, as Dr. Phil calls it, a soft place to fall – a respite from the work-a-day world, a place of peacefulness and playfulness.
Pat says a woman’s only job in relation to her man is to look good, sound good, smell good, taste good and feel good. Sounding good isn’t argumentative, cursing, bitching, complaining, gossiping, telling secrets, training or being more evasive than necessary.
Its unending work for me and I wish it weren’t so. Beta woman have a far easier time—but my girlfriend always reminds me betas are far less interesting. It’s an unending choice to make, to flex more muscle than is necessary, to cast a line too far; and to know when reel it back in.
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