2 years into marriage. Tips on arguing/fighting and staying sane.


Hello dear reader.

I’ve been married to my Brazilian lady for over 2 years now. I’m not sick and tired of her. In fact she contributes to our living situation and when I do my part, she can be quite pleasant and kind. She takes care of her appearance (she is nearly always the best looking girl in the room.)

We’ve had some difficulties because she has a penchant for hopping from job to job and not knowing what she really wants in life. This crisis sometimes makes conversation cloying and I end up feeling like an exasperated therapist. At least she does have a job now. She doesn’t love it, but it’s okay for now.

Here’s a Valentines Day pro-tip;

I learned the hard way though, that if you’re in a relationship, and a girl expects flowers and chocolates on valentines day, just get her fucking flowers and chocolate.

It’s too much for her to not get flowers when she was expecting them, and being surrounded by women toting flowers in her workplace… It sucked making her that upset for something as small as a bouquet of flowers. I dropped the ball for the 2nd year in a row. I’ve got to stop doing that.

Flowers would have made her happy. Instead I get to hear about how I “don’t care about the little things” for days on end. Brutal.

But even with that annoying bullshit, being in a relationship with my girl is still overall a plus. Every woman is going to have her defects and you have to decide what you can be cool with, what you can let slide, and what you will stand up against.

Here’s another pro-tip:

Men- you can never win an argument during an argument. It’s always better to say your piece if you need to, hear her, and then eject.

Let cooler heads prevail. As much as you’ll want to freak out that she’s giving you drama for not making the bed or forgetting it’s a special day, you won’t win in a fight. Ever.

Kind of sucks right?

But the reality is that you probably won’t give in in a fight either. Think of the last time you were pissed and started an argument. Did you give in, even if you were mistaken? Probably not until after you cooled down.

Whether you’re married or just dating – drama will rear it’s head. I promise it. Especially if you’re into Latin girls like me. Drama is even more likely in that case.

No matter the case, the sooner you learn to deal with conflict, the better.

I can say that overall, 2 years of marriage has been good. Plenty of drama, but also plenty of very good memories and benefits as well.

7 Months into Marriage – The Good and the Bad


Dear reader(s),

I felt like writing a post today. Recently all my Dreamhost WordPress blogs were hacked, including this one, and now we’re back online, so let’s write something to celebrate. (Ditch Dreamhost, by the way. Choose Hostgator instead. Way better customer service, and service overall.)

So, it’s been over 7 months of marriage. I thought I’d let you know what it’s like. What’s good, and what isn’t so good.

I think that being married is can be perfectly described as being in a long-term relationship, but with added responsibility. You now have to worry more about your partner’s well-being, as it’s directly correlated to your own.

In some ways, this is good. Companionship is important. Studies have shown that it keeps people alive longer. It’s good to feel that someone is there for you, will laugh at your lame jokes, will confide in you, feed you, dance with you, give you compliments, etc. It’s nice.

In some ways, it’s bad. Your added responsibility will face the backlash if anything ever goes wrong. I’ve felt the brunt of a bad day many times. I’ve felt resentment that her expectations sometimes seem too lofty for me. I’ve dealt with childish behavior and bursts of untamed anger.

But at the same time, we’re all flawed. She’s dealt with my bullshit too. Sometimes I’m a bit on the lazy side. She’ll come home and I’ll still be in my underwear, or I’ll completely forget something that she told me. It happens all the time. What results is a merry go round of her being pissed with me, and me being upset at her being pissed. Sounds pretty frustrating and dumb right? It is.

Resentment is a dangerous thing though. It kills relationships. Instead of festering in a place of resentment I’ve learned to say what I need to say and remove myself from the heated situation. I don’t always remember to do so, and we definitely have our share of arguments because of it.

But she’s made some big personal strides lately. As an immigrant, it’s tough to find work, friends, etc. She’s working hard at that, and I admire her for it. I know I wouldn’t be peachy and happy in a country where I was away from friends, family, and didn’t speak the language perfectly. Sure I could deal with it short term, knowing I’d always have the chance to go home, but in her case, she’s locked into the idea of being with me here. That can’t be too easy on her.

My friend who married a girl from Costa Rica said the first 18 months are the most difficult. We’ll see how that compares to my experience.



Brazilian Girl – Part IV


Seeing as the top search terms that reach this blog are “Jeans Handjob”, “Vegas One Night Stand”, and “Thick Mexican Girls”, I already know that the post I’m about to write is going to fall on the ears of the wrong crowd. But that’s okay, because I never wrote this blog with large ambitions.

A while ago, before I went to Vegas, I wrote about the dramatic story I was living with my Brazilian girlfriend who I had lived with in Brazil, and who had been pressuring me as to where our relationship was going. She came back to New York on a 50/50 shot of getting another tourist Visa, and within a week we were back together. It was around this time that I was about half-done with Roosh’ Day Game book, which was very good, and deserves to be written about here, even if it’s about a year too late.

So anyhow – we were back together, but not officially “boyfriend and girlfriend.” There was too much drama still fresh on my mind to leap into that label. Eventually, after a couple months, I did agree that we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. We were seeing eachother every weekend. I would notice good looking women in the street, but I still preferred my girlfriend. I reminisced the thrill of chasing strange tail, but I also realized that the chase has it’s pros and cons, and I was okay with having a woman who I was sexually attracted to who appeared to love me.

Of course, that’s just writing now, in hindsight. At the time, I can recall, it was right after we had a conversation about it, I went out with my friends, had a couple pulls off a joint, and nearly had a panic attack about the situation.

So, as any relationship involving a foreigner goes, there was a time limit involved. Her 6 month expiry date was soon approaching. The US Department of Immigration would toss her ass out with the garbage and not think twice about it. She was more than a little worried about it. She gave me stories of her friends who got married in situations like this so they could stay in the country. She even offered me money to just marry her.

I told her A. I’m not her friends, and B. There’s no way I’m marrying anyone for money.

Tensions continued to rise as her expiry date inched closer, but I tried my best to push it out of the narrative of our relationship, as every time it came up, it would lead to bad feelings. Of course I didn’t want her to get kicked out of the country, and of course I wanted her around, but was I really ready for *gulp* marriage?
To me, marriage was unnecessary. It felt like a holiday created by Hallmark for gift cards and presents and exorbitant wedding costs. No sir, I didn’t like it. Marriage to me seemed like what people do when they’ve had enough. Almost like a white flag. No more complete individuality, no more complete freedom. Instead, a metric shitload of responsibility. Mortgages. Future offspring. Mother in laws. More responsibility. Someone completely depending on you for their happiness. These were scary thoughts.

So… I had to decide… would I let her go?

I talked to many friends, some family, even anonymous people through chat websites. My mind was spinning around the topic. But in reality, no one can give you the right advice or answer. It has to come from within.

We went on vacation in Florida for a week and stayed with my Uncle at his condo. We had a fight one night before bed, about this very topic, and the next day in the morning I had a chat with my Uncle. I told him I didn’t sleep well. I was about to tell him about how she was breaking my balls the night before, but kept it to myself. He told me “This girl is special, she lights up a room. You only come across these kinds of women a couple times in your life.”

Now – I know the audience of this blog (all 7 of you) probably just gagged a little bit. But to me, coming from my uncle,who gauges people for a living, and who I respect, it meant something.

I made the tough decision on that trip. after days on the beach and in the pool, that I was going to keep her around. I was going to marry this Brazilian girl. She was going to be my wife.

I know people say that marriage shouldn’t be a tough decision, it should just feel right. But most people aren’t as neurotic or analytical as I am.

So – it’s been about 4 months since we got married on an unusually warm day in January in New York. We had a small celebration, and ate at a nice restaurant by Southstreet Seaport, where the ships came to New York ages ago.

These 4 months haven’t been a daydream, due to tensions related to immigration filings and other issues that affect any relationship. However, I don’t feel like I made a mistake. I’m happy to have her. She’s different. I like that. I may have to deal with the ‘latin temper’ more than one of my friends who marries their high school sweet heart, but I’m willing to accept the challenge.

It’s silly but one of the most important things to me is that she takes care of herself, and that she laughs at my shitty jokes.

Do I miss nailing strange? Of course. I’m a man. That will never go away. And I have gotten into some arguments of looking a little too long at other asses and titties.

But do I look forward to chilling on Brazilian beaches with an attractive tan skinned woman that loves me and makes me breakfast? (Not to mention other things.) Yes, indeed.

So … what is to become of this blog? Well… I’m not going to be writing about inserting any of my human parts into other women. I don’t think I’ll be writing about married life either. So just wait and see. If you have an idea, write it in the comments.

Thick Mexican Girl – Sin Bandera


So I meet this kind of large girl the other night but she’s got a really pretty face… She was kind of drunk right when I met her in a loud bar with a dance floor. We dance, kiss, then kiss was too much (I keep making that mistake)… And she wont leave her 6 friends to come back to my apartment. I meet her the next night at a different spot, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to, but I was drunk again. She continually tells me she can’t come back to my apartment, because her friends will think poorly of her. I should have just left her, but instead stuck around, “pulled” a bit, of course. The sun starts coming out, I’m flicking her baked bean as she sits on a stool outside. She still won’t come home with me after nearly orgasming right there. I leave to go home, smelling her on my fingers. I’m not going to meet her tonight unless I’m drunk. If I can’t get her home on a third consecutive night, after what we did last night, then I need some serious help on extracting and LMR in general.

(After thinking about it some more I really have to stop making out in the bar/club. Instead use tension of near-kisses or have one passionate kiss that you stop first. Build tension with caresses instead. Also, I can’t reason with the girl if she’s giving resistance to leave her friends. Instead, just smile, dont respond, and try again later. I think these 2 things alone should make a positive difference.)

Brazilian Girl – Part III


I’m typing from my small, New York apartment once again. Brazil had it’s ups and downs this time around. Last year I was there as a man with a mission for bedding as many brown skinned portuguese-speaking women as I could. This year I was there to visit a girl that I had fallen in lust for who I’d met in Central Park just 3 short months earlier.

( Read Part IIRead Part I )

My trip to visit Cyndy was preempted by agoniziing Skype calls nearly every night, for an hour or more, painfully enduring through the drama of a woman who isn’t getting what she wants and a man (myself) not communicating effectively. It was tough to take, and the only reason I did so was because I had my plane tickets booked. We were bickering over me not telling her ahead of time that we wouldn’t talk, and such. I couldn’t stand the “big brother is watching” feeling that was creeping into what was supposed to be an enjoyable relationsihp.

So I left New York, left my family and friends behind, and took to the skies. I had a slightly sinking feeling that if this didn’t go well it might be a big mistake, seeing as I planned to be gone for ten weeks total. I didn’t have the same solo-traveler spirit that I had the year before. I wanted to hang out with Cyndy, see the beaches, travel with her, and just have an awesome time, period.

The results were mixed. We had a great first few weeks; everything was new and beautiful and exciting. I was speaking portuguese with her neighbors, her mother, her cousins, and I was eating acai and coconut water again. I was pretty jazzed about being back in Brazil. But drama was slowly creeping. I wasn’t being ‘romantic’ enough. I was spending too much time on my laptop. I was being selfish. Now granted, some of this was deserved, but I felt she should have been a bit more welcoming and glad I hauled ass over a thousand miles to be with her.

The real near-crumbling point came when we were discussing New York and she mentioned a fiancee visa. I told her that would be an easy solution if I was ready to be married, which I’m not. This became a stressful issue of – ‘Why don’t you love me enough to consider marrying me? You just want to pump and dump.’ (She didn’t actually use pump and dump, I just like the term.)

I continued feeling the pressure from her mother, from her cousins, from her neighbors, from her friends, basically from everyone. It’s a cultural difference. I started feeling like a black sheep. Like I’d made a mistake, and now everyone thought that I was the gringo prince charming coming to Brazil to sweep her away and marry her, and live happily forever in my white castle in the USA. Of course this wasn’t anywhere near the truth of the matter, and I started feeling trapped and uncomfortable about the situation I’d gotten myself into. But did these panicky feelings signify that the relationship should end? I was at odds with myself, and on-and-off for the last 6 weeks, I battled these feelings and deflected constant questions about our future together with answers like ‘We’ll see what happens.’

Well, fast forward to present time. We still keep in touch over Skype, though it’s more manageable this time around, largely due to my smart phone that I have now. I can just e-mail her or text her on the fly now. Now what we discuss is the possibility of her moving to New York and living together. At first, I did not feel comfortable with this idea. I can just imagine her living with me in my tiny apartment without a social circle, without a job, without anything really, but me, and that is a horrifying nightmare of a situation. I know we wouldn’t work out. The other possibility is that she somehow gets into school here or can manage to find herself a job like she had before, which would leave us evenings and weekends. That would be fine with me, as long as I could still ditch her when I needed to hang out with my friends.

The other issue is that if she moves here, she has either a 6 month, 1 year, or 2 year window of time in the USA. Meaning, if I am not ready to get married before those points in time, we’re cooked. And that’s my biggest issue right now. I don’t feel ready to be married. I’m not sure I feel ready to have one-vagina-itis. I’m still reasonably young and living in New York f’n City. I don’t have my life in order yet, and I don’t know if I’m ready to take on such a responsibility of taking a girl away from her mother and her social circle in Brazil.

It’s no fun feeling so in-limbo like I am right now. There’s a chance that her visa gets denied when she applies in a couple of months. There’s a chance she takes a job on a ship and I never see her for another year or so. There’s a chance she moves in with me and we break up.

Bottom line though is at this point I’m trying not to get myself too crazy over the whole thing, and I’m still going out enjoying the company of my friends. We’ll see what happens.

Brazilian Girl – Part II – Headed back to Brazil


Things heat up between Cyndy and I. Over the course of the next three months we hang out nearly every weekend, I introduce her to my friends, and we have a lot of intimate evenings (and mornings) in my small new york apartment. She nearly breaks up with me about 2 weeks into it when she tells me I appear to only want her for sex, and that she’s not some whore. I happen to like this girl, her femininity, her sense of humor, and her beautiful coffee-colored body, and I plead my case, ending in some success on the living room couch.

From then on it was smooth sailing for the most part. I’d visit her an hour north of the city, she’d stay with me and leave at 5am to drive back to her job. Compromises and commitments were being made. I liked this girl way more than either of my exes.

As of this writing, I am planning on visiting her in her hometown in Northern Brazil. Apparently it’s a tropical paradise. It’s also so I can escape the dry, cold New York winter. I stand by my plan of ditching the winter every year, whenever possible.

I am going to Brazil for over 2 months. I wanted to stop the daily Skype chats and see her in person. We won’t be hanging out that entire time, but we will be seeing a lot of each other. I have another girl that I hooked up with who lives very near to Cyndy’s hometown, but I won’t be that big of a scumbag and go hook up with her behind Cyndy’s back. It’s not worth the drama, and as much as a scumbag as I sometimes see myself, I actually care about this chick and don’t want to unnecessarily hurt her.

The problem is that deep down I know I want to be single again. Having said that, for now I will enjoy the fruits of Brazil, the sunshine, the warmth, and the company of a girl who loves me.

As much as I enjoy having sex with strange women, or ‘The Hunt’, I also can find value in building somewhat of a relationship. It will be nice to be traveling with a companion who likes getting naked for me.

Brazilian Girl – Part I


I had laid out my Brazilian blanket next to my friend J in the hot summer heat, ripped off my shoes, and went for a walk in the grass. I dialed the number of a girl I had met nearly a week ago on a barge that had been turned into a bar/restaurant. I still felt woozy from the rocking of the boat. She didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail, and walked back to my friend, who was talking to some dude who was standing over him. Hmm…

Well, the dude turns out to be from Brazil. My ‘bait’ had attracted the wrong kind of fish, it seemed. After some chatting with the guy, it turns out he’s from Brazil, and he’s pretty funny, and we get along nicely. We tell him to chat up a couple of girls behind us who he was looking at. He does so awkwardly and gets ‘blown out’. It feels nice to have someone making your approaches. As much as I’d like to be on point all the time, the reality is that I’m not.

We then see 2 girls sitting about 10 yards ahead of us. One of them is looking around. And guess what — she’s got a Brazilian blanket too… So I tell our new friend to go meet his fellow countrywomen. I joke that we’ll creep in later and steal the fruits of his labor.

My friend and I play some frisbee for about 3 minutes, then sit down next to our new friend who is chatting up these girls in Portuguese. I wave hello to them, make some joke about our new friend to the girls, and it’s on. We play some frisbee and soccer with the girls. One of them has amazing clear eyes and a beautiful body with curves in all the right places. The other one is cuter, and reminds me of an ex-girlfriend that I still think about.

Eventually, our Brazilian friend leaves, because he wanted to catch The XX, a hipster band that was playing a free show that day in Central Park. So lo and behold, we actually did steal the fruits of his labor. We walk with the girls, and sit under the trees in the dusk, listening to applause and the sexy bass of The XX playing about 80 yards away.

We build comfort with the girls by playing 2 truths and a lie. My friend makes the game sexual quickly, and it seems like we are getting along pretty well with these girls. No kino was initiated, it didn’t feel right.

Later on it’s dark and the girls need to take a train to get back home. We leave Central Park, and J and I take turns talking to the 2 girls. I still am not sure which one I like more, but conversation seems easier with the cute one that reminds me of my ex. J ends up getting both their numbers, I just get the one that reminds me of my ex, we’ll call her Cyndy.

I text Cyndy the next day with some callback humor. She thought I looked 32 and Irish, so I say “This number is from a very important Irish man. Please store it with great care!” She sends the obligatory “hahaha, how are u?” and we set up to meet a week later at a CouchSurfing rooftop party in the Upper East Side. I kind of feel like maybe J and I are “bringing sand to the beach,” but whatever. These girls are warm-ish leads, and I haven’t hooked up in 3 months.

They arrive at the party with one fat friend. I’m getting liquored up off of Whiskey/Cokes and marveling at the amazing apartment. There are couchsurfers from all over the world, many of them pretty cool people, but I spent most of my time with the girls. Since they’re Brazilian girls, they are all dressed up amazingly, and start to get antsy. They want to go to a club.

Luckily my friend J is a much better planner than I am, and googled a club to extract them to. We head over there. Somehow we avoid paying a cover and yet they do. (Suckers!) We start dancing with the girls. Fatty gets left out. Cyndy is acting weird when I dance with girl #2, as if she doesn’t want to dance with J, or something of that nature. I decide to just go for her instead of clowning around. We start dancing close, I hover my face near hers for a while without pushing too hard for a kiss, I brush my face against hers, let her feel my warm breath…I inhale and exhale, hover again, and then we’re making out.

She kisses like a Brazilian girl should. I am so happy to be making out with a hot Brazilian girl again. I missed the way these girls kiss. Later on we leave, the girls get in their SUV, offer to drop us off near a train. We decline, and as they pull away, my friend and I slap each other five and walk like pimps. (He hooked up with #2, but it was a one-night thing.)

(To be continued)

Birthday Boy


I’m 27 today. I think the older I get the less I care how old I am. I still look like I’m barely 21, and still feel that way too, other than a slightly more achey body.

I’ve been seeing this Brazilian girl lately, and I had to teach her how to give better dome. She told me she had never slept with someone as quickly as she had with me. (+1 – Ego points)

We almost split-up when she accused me of being lazy and only in it for the sex. I quickly rejected the idea and made her recall the times we spend just pillow talking or dancing at the club. She ended up going down on me, so I’d say that worked.

At this time last year I was in a relationship with a blonde girl who is now texting me again. She probably wants the kosher meat, but I’m not sure when I’m going to be giving it to her. I might keep her waiting until the Brazilian girl goes back in about 6 weeks. We’ll see.

I think I’ll be getting pretty F-ed up tomorrow night. I hope some smatterings of friends come out. New York City is great.

Peace and prosperity.

Edit: I just wanted to add something here, it’s kind of sappy, but I am so fucking grateful for being alive. I don’t care how much bullshit you go through, the money issues, the women troubles, etc. It’s so good to be healthy, to be able to look back at travels and experiences with women with nostalgia, and imagine what the future holds. I hope the future brings success to those who pursue it, and that we find a way to help each other achieve the tangible goals that were once dreams.

Meeting Girls at Raves/Electronic Music Shows


I went to a big electronic music show last night with a friend and his date. The locale was picturesque, on an island with a view of the city from across the water. My group arrived pretty early, at 4pm in the blazing heat. Everyone in the crowd was tired from a July 4th hangover (including myself), and it took plenty of beer and some energy drink shots to get in a dancing mood.

Once the sun went down and the main acts took over, the crowd was bubbling in a drug-induced frenzy. I puffed a cigarette and bumped to the bass, but nothing too crazy.

The 2 most important factors in meeting women in a venue like an electronic music show is looking for proximity flirting and eye contact. A few times a girl would kind of back up or stumble into my general vicinity. I would be looking up at the stage or zoning out to the music. A couple times I took advantage of this and met a FOB Japanese girl who gave me her number. She was dressed elegantly in the midst of all of these brightly colored pill poppers, so I found that intriguing.

It boils down to getting near the person of interest, vibing to the music so not to appear a PUA creep who left his top hat at home, and then asking basically anything while you show traits of soft, but steady eye contact (with a smile). Awkward pauses are less likely because the music is so loud. You can disappear right after a number close among the frenzy if you so choose.

Electronic shows aren’t really my scene, but I recommend everyone attend one at least once to experience something unique and out-there.

“We go through too much bullshit just to mess with these drunken hot girls”


That’s a line from Kanye and Mos Def’s record, a letdown, actually – which is also how I’d describe my encounter with a drunken hot girl the other night.

The enemy: Extraction from the bar/friends.

I’m at this bar in the city just being goofy with my friends, and at one point I’m bored enough that I give my buddy a quick slap in the balls. Not a very bromantic thing to do, I know.

Anyway – he’s about to get me back, and I am cupping my nuts as a shield with one hand, and using my other hand to create distance between us.

While this is going on, these 2 girls enter the bar. (We were right near the door.) Out of nowhere the cuter one starts talking to us, introduces herself to me, asks us where we are from. Her ugly friend tells me that “I like your friend!” He has a girlfriend, and she’s busted, so no-go.

My girl says “let’s go get a drink at the bar.” Alrighty. As we walk to the bar, she’s stroking and scratching my back and hand. I can’t believe it’s already on like this.

We get to the bar, and I don’t have enough money for 2 drinks. I tell her “how about I order you a drink, and you order me a drink.” Somehow this message gets lost, she gets a water (to help sober up) and I get a frosty Heineken. Win.

I’m buzzed, she’s drunk. I babble something to her at the bar, our faces meet, and we’re making out. Then her hand is down my pants.

I see if we can get to the outdoor area for a little bit of privacy. It’s closed.

We sit on these benches that are right near the bathroom area. I’m not into just making out all night, I try to sell the idea of going back to my apartment for a drink, but she’s with her 2 friends who “won’t let her leave.” I find her sweet spots on her neck and ear, she’s enjoying herself a lot and doing lord-knows-what with her hand wedged into my kind of skinny jeans.

Eventually one of the mother-hens tells her it’s time to go. I ask her (stupidly, in hindsight) if she wanted to exchange info, or if she’d rather keep things a mystery. She opted for the mystery, and told me she’d meet me here again.

I didn’t care too much in the moment, as it came so freaking easy, and I’m sure there are plenty more just like her waiting to chafe my manparts in a drunken frenzy the next time I’m at that bar.

In hindsight I should have plowed, gotten the number, so at least next weekend at 3 am there are possible vampire activities.