Abortion Stairs

Theres a reason you haven’t heard much from me lately. I can pretend all I want that this blog is about high minded philosophy, but in reality its more like an examination tool for my dating life. That aspect of my life has been going well. Hence the dearth of posts recently.

Im seeing someone long term. I picked her up, and kept her interested, using game. I know a lot of dudes are gonna get royally pissed off at my definition of game, but here it goes.

75% of game = Acting like a self obsessed, self righteous, dick bag. 25% of game = Conversational skills, and setting yourself apart from other men, fictionally or realistically. 

Its chick crack. They eat that shit up. Especially this one. Ill save you the rom-com stuff and suffice it to say that… Ive never been this deep in mutual love in my entire life. I’ll be the first one to admit, I’m new to this self improvement and pickup stuff. The PUAs and self improvement gurus say that you shouldn’t get a girlfriend until you’ve played the field for years and fucked scores of women. But, I have a feeling they are coming from a place of already having had that kind of intimate girlfriend relationship. Maybe it went sour for them. Maybe thats how they came to the red pill. Maybe they are assuming thats how it happened for you too. Well, I never had that. I was screwed out of that standard experience. Im enjoying it now, thank you very much. Besides, I’m not going to throw away a deep love because of some shit that youtube ViGTOWs are spewing. I’m not going to be so committed to the the player lifestyle that I fuck around and dump the woman of my dreams to never be heard from again. Every thirsty dude within a 50 mile radius has made a pass at my woman. Alphas, Betas, Thetas… You name it. She’s turned them all down. She’s mine. I won’t admit it to her… But I’m hers.

Ive been having bone-raking sex nearly every day for months now. She’s on birth control. (Yes, I really believe she is. Yes, I know women trap men that way. Please save it for an Elam post.) I always pull out. If I don’t pull out I use a condom. The amount of sperm I’ve spent in this girl is probably less than the inkwell in a ballpoint pen.

A few days ago she told me that she was a week late. I thought nothing of it and attributed it to stress of her moving and working full time. Around the ten day mark I could see the writing on the wall. She needed help moving but wouldn’t ask me. I would have helped her if she had asked. She said she had it under control. The real reason I didn’t show up is because I needed to run. I needed to get out of town and stop thinking of the child I heavily suspected was on its way. During the drive my chest closed in around my heart. What was I going to do? Abortion was out of the question. It took me a lot of searching to figure out that God was real. It took a lot of convincing on his part to drive that point home to me. God is real, and he fucking despises abortion. My girlfriend hates it too. So that little shortcut was cut short. We had talked a little about adoption. I don’t know very much about it, but everyone I’ve talked to says there are plenty of old rich couples waiting to buy a kid.

By this point I had to remember some friendly self help advice. Just fucking breathe. 

I came into town and immediately hooked up with some friends at the bar. We shot the breeze as well as some pool. I talked to a friend of mine, Chuck, and he said he had been in the exact same boat once. I really appreciated his words of wisdom. They helped me immensely.

“I’m sure you would make an excellent father. But, if you are having any doubts, then now is NOT the time. There are plenty of old rich couples looking to adopt. Give them the gift of a child and your child the gift of a privileged life. You know when people make great parents? When they know they are ready.”

After that I relaxed. I even managed to make two approaches and have extended conversations. One with a corn-fed country girl who had just turned 21, another with a skinny bookworm hipster who was obsessed with WWII. I felt better. All of this was out of my hands anyways. I crashed on Chucks couch.

The next day I ran errands and went the see the Avengers movie. During the flick I got a call from my woman. I sent her a text. No reply… I called her after the movie. No reply. It got me to worrying, so I cut my day off short and drove back to my little cow town. I found her sitting of a plastic pallet outside the grocery store where she works. She was smoking a cig and playing a variation of tetris on her phone. She wouldn’t give me any attention so I did my shopping and bounced. I got a message that night, so I called her and convinced her to come over.

She had taken a pregnancy test and it had read positive. But, while moving heavy shit up her stairs she had tripped and fallen backwards. She tucked her head to her chest and rode straight down on her back. 2 hours later her period started.

Thank God. My shitty selfish attitude saved me again. If I would have been there the accidental abortion probably would have never happened. What? You expect me to change diapers?

And clean up vomit?

Dress the little guy?

Take him to the baby sitters house?

Hang his macaroni art on the fridge?

Go to shitty parent-teacher conferences?

Teach him the value of a dollar?

Wach his soccer games?

Read him “The Hobbit” like my father did for me?

Tell him all about how scandalous women are?

Have to take him Elk hunting on land thats been in the family for 150 years?

Have to attend his shitty, boring high school graduation? Then college?

Have to take a phone call in the afternoon explaining that I’m going to be a grandfather?

… Who needs all that…

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2 thoughts on “Abortion Stairs

  1. Maybe god doesn’t hate abortions afterall. I mean he probably gave her a little nudge down those stairs. Was probably all “don’t tell me what I do or do not like, fuck you guys!”. Anyway, nuts how things seem to work themselves out sometimes.

    Like

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