Let me just preface this that for the majority of my life, by society's standards I am a beta male. Never overtly "seduced" women, assumed they had the capacity or desire to invest in getting to know that I was a halfway decent person worthy of affection. Haha, what a thought. After years in an abusive marriage and ultimately divorcing, restarting my life in my mid-thirties, reading and observing women, it's too much to hope for.

So now I can "play the field." I go out to bars, mostly to numb out all the bullshit and trauma I'm currently processing when sober, have a laugh with folks. I don't take it very seriously.

When you're drunk, you experiment. Tonight, I started overtly flirting with a drunk woman. She was sitting with her orbiter male friend of 30 years. She started to rub up on me, I decided to reciprocate. Normally, prior to my shitty marriage and reading the countless testimony about how horrible women can be, I would have cherished the attention, now it was as if I knew what she wanted: attention. It became a game.

I looked away as I touched her thighs, closing in on her hoo-ha. For some reason, gangster rap was playing on the Jukebox at the bar. Public Enemy. In the nature of drunken conversation, I start talking about different rappers with her orbiter friend as I groped her. He says he likes snoop dogg. I go "he's a real smooth operator," he says, "you seem to be one too." Never in my life would I have considered myself one. Amazing what booze and reading the countless bullshit my friends here have gone through, can do to your mindset.

Now women seem like retarded, desperate children. I'm ashamed of my lack of empathy, but when I witness the hamstering, the emotional reasoning and allowing tingles to dictate action, I can't fault myself. Maybe I'm deluding myself and justifying shitty behavior, but who gives a fuck? Chad certainly doesn't.

She asks for my number. I give it to her. She writes on her bar receipt, her phone number, the things she wants to do to me. She leaves.

The male bartender there, he sees the receipt, says: "BurntFoot," she wanted you to have this. I said you can have it. He goes, well yeah, I'll probably give her a call then, don't judge. I just think: what the fuck does it all mean? I think: it's not worth the hassle, that bartender is fucked if he chooses to pursue.

Now that I'm older, jaded, gone through the fire of abuse, it's all a fucking game with these women. I understand they don't give a shit about me, that I'm there to assuage their desperation and loneliness, that I'm the clean up guy for all these Alpha-Widows. It's disgusting and I want to completely check out.

Anyway, I send her a text, "hey, woulda been nice if I touched more than just your leg." I deleted her number.

It's better to tease women. Turn the tables. I couldn't stop laughing when I got home. It's all so fucking absurd.

Time to sober up and sleep. G'night brothers.