The Patience Of A Waitress

A little after 2 AM on a Tuesday night I walk into a twenty-four-hour diner. I have just finished a solid writing session where I wrestled with words and harnessed them into decent prose. I find my way to an empty booth and take a seat.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” says the waitress as she delivers meals to their tables. It’s quite busy considering it’s a random weekday night. She’s gracefully hustling throughout the restaurant with the utmost efficiency. I look around and notice that she’s the only server.

“Hello, my name is Elizabeth. May I take your drink order while you look at the menu?” she says with a tender smile as she places the menu on the table.

“Sure, I’ll just take a water, please,” I say.

I flip through the pages of the menu and decide on my order. She returns with my water.

“Here’s your water,” she says. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yeah, I would like the club sandwich, please.” As she writes down my order, I notice her black hair has a few streaks of grey in it.

“Would you like regular or seasoned fries?”

“Seasoned please,” I say as I examine the little crow’s feet near her eyes.

“All righty then, I’ll have your order in a few moments.”

She picks up the menu and scurries off to her other duties.

Despite her cheerful demeanor, she looked tired and overworked. She must have been in her mid to late thirties yet possessed more spunk and enthusiasm than a waitress half her age.

I begin to wonder if she has kids and is working at this late hour to provide for them. Maybe she also works at another restaurant and she’s pulling a double.

“That was my mom,” I think to myself.

Twenty-eight years ago: She made the difficult decision to leave me, her only child, with my grandparents in Mexico so she could make the long trek into the United States with the help of a couple of her siblings that blazed the trail a couple of years earlier. She found a nook for herself in their small apartment and then found an employer who was willing to overlook her lack of documentation.

Twenty-four years ago: A few years of waiting tables, long hours, sweat, tears, frustration, broken hearts, and longing for her son to be with her at last. She finally was able to muster enough cash and resources to be able to send off for her niño quierdo. After a daylong bus ride with my grandfather, I awoke to the kisses of my aunt.

“He’s awake,” she exclaimed. “Go get gorda!

Mi baby, mi niño,” my mom cries as she’s kissing and hugging me.

I later throw a tantrum when I find out I’m not going back to Mexico.

Twenty years ago: Her English is spoken with a heavy accent, yet her natural sweetness always shines through. She would become a favorite of her patrons. Her work ethic ensured she got tipped well. Her beauty would have many men competing for her attention. Her only bad habit would be to take a cigarette break. She would drive a beat-up ’75 Camaro to work. Her big heart would have her taking her mother, father, and little sister into an apartment she shared with a friend and her daughter.

Thirteen years ago: I, her sweet boy, turn into a typical spoiled American teenage shithead, ungrateful of the sacrifices she’s made for me to be able to live without serious wants. The long hours she works for me to have a roof over my head, food in my belly, gas in my car, and clothes on my back. She works doubles so I can grow up in a nice city. She confronts an older woman with the wrath of a mama bear when the woman makes not-so-subtle sexual gestures at me. She buys me books, CDs, video games, and a gym membership. She is proud when I get my first job at a fast-food joint. She cries and wonders how she’s failed as a mother when she sees my terrible grades in school.

Six years ago: She gets fired from the restaurant where she spent fifteen years working. A jealous coworker trumps up a reason to get rid of her. Her feet are tired. She no longer desires the headaches caused by cooks who slack on her orders because she won’t date them. She’s annoyed with the cheap patrons who stiff her on tips. She gets a job as a clerk at Chevron. I am freshly out of the Army and I pick her up on my motorcycle and take her on a ride.

“You have really turned into a man, mi amor,” she says as she gives me a kiss on the cheek after our ride.

The lone cook peeks his head through the window as he rings the bell to indicate an order is ready. The waitress delivers it to me without hesitation. I chow down. I ask for my check. I leave her a good-sized tip. I wonder whose mom she is.

~Raul Felix

Read: Ode To La Doña: The Linchpin Of The Mexican Family
Read: Keep Moving, Young Man
Read: Four Things Only Mexican-Americans Will Understand

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She Dances Like A Flame

Her red dress pops from the colorless crowd,
Hips swaying side to side,
Perfectly in sync with the music.
Arms in the air,
Her crimson hair thrashes about.
She’s a flame lighting those around her.

Bright red lips,
Jewelry glinting from the lights of the stage,
Beads of sweat on her brow,
Her smooth, muscular calfs rhythmically thumping.
She’s a woman releasing the fire inside her.

She uses the music as a flourishing wind,
Nourishing the kinder within,
Until it flashes into a wildfire.
For those fiery moments,
She is untamable.

The boiling of her blood,
Causing her skin to flush,
As her radiance engulfs those around her.

She’s a woman who’s normally shy and quiet,
Cool, calm, collected.
Yet when that music fans the fire in her soul,
She can’t help but dance like a flame.

~Raul Felix

Read: Watching You Get Dressed Again
Read: She Was Traveling Through My Country
Read: Why Should I Write About Her?

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Why Young Men Should Become Cougar Slayers

(c) Sergey Furtaev

(c) Sergey Furtaev

For all their youthful vigor, beauty, and perfectly angled selfies that show off their best assets, most young chicks are a real pain in the ass to deal with. Most of them think that the average young guy is incapable of fulfilling them and haven’t been humbled by reality enough to know what characteristics to truly look for in a man. Also, they’ll elevate a minor problem into full-blown drama and then yap about how they’ve been through a lot (of dick). Regardless, many boys and men will compete for their attention because nothing screams Alpha Male like having a hot 21-year-old with an hourglass figure hanging off your arm. Instead of directly going toe-to-toe with other dudes who have airtight game or higher social value than you in such a fiercely competitive atmosphere, why not change the field you operate in and become a cougar-slayer?

For those of you slow on the uptake, cougars are older, mature women usually 40+ who still look pretty damn good because they’ve taken care of themselves throughout the years. They are not to be confused with spinsters and fat-acceptance twats whose bitterness and sloth has left them with a body that only devouring hundreds of gallons of ice cream while watching romantic comedies compounded over many years can produce.

I learned about the unique prowess of these wonderful creatures by pure luck. When I was in the Army, my unit was constructing a bunch of new barracks and ran out of the room to house all the single soldiers. So they decided to give a bunch of us single dudes who had been there for a while an extra allowance for housing so we could get our own places off-post. The apartment I got for myself was near a bar that catered to a more mature clientele because they often hosted cover bands that played classic rock.

As I began to frequent that bar, something occurred that rarely happened to me: Good-looking women with amazing fake breasts and wild 80s-style glam-rock hair began to flirt with me. At the time, my MO was to hit up the bars, hit on chicks who were in my age range, and get promptly rejected. This would lead to me drinking alcohol in frustration and making another sloppy attempt at convincing a chick to let met touch her lady parts, which led to more severe rejections. Frustration drinking would morph into rage drinking, which would have me falling toward a downward spiral of angst and loneliness that ended with me jerking off to nude pictures of my ex-girlfriend.

A new world opened for me. Instead of constantly having my ego destroyed by 6s or 7s who wanted nothing to do with my goofy Mexican self, I was exchanging witty banter, dancing, making out, and more with cougars who were 8s and 9s in their prime and still looked like total foxes. They loved that I was an eager, muscular, clean-cut Latin 22-year-old with an outgoing personality and quirky smile. I loved their feminine physique, no-bullshit attitude, and ability to hold real conversations. It was the beginning of an infatuation that has maintained my interest until this day.

Why should young men experiment with dating cougars? Because they have an insane amount of knowledge to bequeath upon you to expedite the process of growing into a real man. A lot of these women have been hardened by the real world. They have been married, divorced, have full-fledged careers, and may have a few kids to boot. They don’t have time for the petty games that late-teen and early-twenty-something chicks love to play on the male psyche. When they decide to spend time with you, they mean business. They’re able to stimulate you physically and mentally.

Through your interactions with them, you’ll learn about the mistakes both men and women tend to make as they grow older—from having children before they were truly ready to allowing the romance in the relationship to wane. You’ll be exposed to their lifestyle and see how life can look like for you if you make the right or wrong moves. You’ll learn to interact more intelligently and have deeper conversations with the opposite sex. You’ll have a ton of hands-on experience on pleasing your woman in the sack because most cougars are more than willing to coach you into being a good lover.

You shouldn’t exclusively date cougars, but add them to your repertoire of women you consider dating material. Depending on how successful she is, you’ll be able to catch a taste of the high-class life. You know all those pretty young chicks going to all sorts of fancy, exclusive parties and places on social media? Most of them didn’t pay the bill for that. They got there by dating older men who have already established themselves. It’s tough to compete with that as a young man who is barely starting off in the world.

Don’t think just because you’re with an older woman that you can be a lazy sack of shit. If you’re a broke, sloppy mouth-breather with poor personal hygiene and the inability to hold a conversation, these bitches will shut you down quickly. You’re the young stud—play the part. Have enough money to take her out for drinks, be in good shape, dress nice, and have something of value to say. They are still women, after all. You must spark their interest and gain their trust. If you’re able to do those things, you’ll have more than you fill of cougar love, as opposed to trying to scrounge for a bit of attention from a mediocre chick with an overinflated self-worth because she has 2,000 Instagram followers who bombard her with likes every time she posts a cleavage shot.

~Raul Felix

Read: She Had The Body Of A Greek Goddess
Read: Army Rangers Talk About The Times Their Words Have Shocked Civilians
Read: 4 Things Women Can Do To Be More Attractive (From A Non-Beta Bitch Male Perspective)

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Onward To 2016!

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Sometimes all you need to fix your soul and situation in life is to pop smoke and get the fuck out of Dodge. In the latter part of 2014, I found myself in Upstate New York because of a temporary job that I couldn’t turn down. After working the gig for a few months, cuts occurred and I was out of purgatory. I then traveled around the North East for a month and settled into a lovely little town that caught my heart named Ithaca.

I arrived on a bus from New York City a little after midnight on a blistering cold February night, toting only a backpack and a small duffle bag. With no friends or family in the town, I set off to start a new chapter in my life and put into place some life principles and habits I’ve been pondering around in my head.

“It’s not the daily increase but daily decrease. Hack away at the unessential.”
-Bruce Lee

I asked myself: What professional principles do I need to ingrain into myself in order to take my writing to the next level and move up the ladder of professional success? What kind of habits do I need to develop in order to become the kind of man I want to be? I figured I needed to do at least two out of four of the following every day:

Work, Work out, Read, and Write.

When I wasn’t sure what to do on a day, I just figured out what I can do in order to make two of these things happen. Did I work my bar job today? Mind too fried to write? I’ll just work out. I need to let my body rest, and I don’t work at any of my jobs today. I’ll read and write.

As simple as it seems, I didn’t always hit the mark. Dates with pretty ladies, random nights of debauchery, riding my motorcycle to visit my Ranger buddies, and at times, the laziness dragon caught me. Yet, those days when I did I hit the mark happened more often than not.

My output with pieces this year was pretty low compared to 2014 when I was pissing off people with sand in their vagina on Thought Catalog and making a name for myself. I began to read and write more poetry and gain a deeper understanding of it. The few articles I did write for Thought Catalog this year I was very proud of.

For This One Day, She Made Me Forgot was one of the hardest pieces I’ve ever written. While other pieces have been tough to write, this one was a deep knife cut per word and each sentence caused tears to pour down my face. I was emotionally drained upon completing it and had one of the deepest sleeps in my life.

29 Things I Learned By 29 showed that I have more going on my head than my quest for fame and pussy. It also has generated the most fan mail for me since The Division of Generation Y. Thanks to Ryan Holiday, I got to interview one of my favorite writers, Tucker Max. It was pretty fucking tits to interview a man I looked up to since I was 19.

“To be an artist means: not to reckon and count; to ripen like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of Spring without fear lest no Summer might come after. It does come. But it comes only to the patient ones, who are there as if eternity lay in front of them, so unconcernedly still and far. I am learning it daily, learning it through pains to which I am grateful: patience is all!”
-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet

Those of you who have followed me since my early days have noticed how dramatically my writing style has changed. Those of you who are new, probably have noticed how different a lot of my pieces are from one another. I have never wanted to remain static as a writer. I want to throughly learn, explore, experiment, and develop myself in this art form. Only through constantly pushing myself in new avenues and approaches will I become the versatile, honed, and unique writer I need to be in order to be placed among the greats.

I love writing my panty-wetting, heart-wrenching poetry and essays as much I love writing my politically incorrect, misogynistic asshole rant pieces. They’re just different aspects of my personality.

Women have been the light and bane of my existence. That sums up my attitude toward the fairer sex for this year. I’ve been on dates and had some flings with some very lovely women and have had my heart stomped by a couple.

I have made a good, little life for myself in this small town. A lot of people know my name and face. I have a few cool friends that I hang out with regularly, and I’ve been to a few random college parties. Also, I got fired from one bar job because some chick recognized me while I was working behind the bar and told the owner I wrote a bunch of articles online that are offensive to women. She did me a favor because the owner is a worthless sack-of-shit who was jerking me around and not following through on the promises he made me. I found a better establishment to work at afterwards with an awesome manager who actually does what she says she is going to do.

Solitude was the main theme of this year. Most of my time, I spent alone. I started the process ingraining the principles of success into my life: Running the hills of Ithaca in the snow, reading poetry by Charles Bukowski and Edgar Lee Masters, watching every single documentary on war I could find on YouTube, putting my mind at peace by riding my motorcycle, swimming in Cayuga Lake, slinging drinks, and writing.

“You cannot repress anger or love, or avoid feeling them, and you should not try. But you should be careful about how you express them, and most important, they should never influence your plans and strategies in any way.”
-Robert Greene, The 48 Laws Of Power

You can expect more output from me in 2016 than in 2015. I needed to take a step back and reconsolidate my life. I have also been working on a project that I will I announce when I feel appropriate. I have found a serenity within myself that has allowed me to tame some of the demons that have held me back. Thank you for your continued support, and I cherish every single one of you for reading my words. Onward to 2016!

~Raul Felix

Read: Onward To 2014
Read: Onward To 2013
Read: 28 Things I’ve Learned By 28

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To My Future Wife: I Will Make You Proud To Have Me As Your Man

Screen Shot 2015-12-15 at 7.46.01 PM

I write this poem for you because I am lonely.
I write this at this moment because I don’t know who you are,
Or even the prospect of who you may be.
I write this because I need to give myself hope,
To write some words that I desperately need to get out of my system.

Each day I work on myself.
Not just to make myself and my life better,
Also to be better for you.

I work on myself so when the time comes,
I am able to catch your attention and interest,
I am able to impress you with who I am,
I am able to show you I am worthwhile,
I am able to make you proud to have me as your man.

Some days, I struggle and I lie in my bed.
Feeling sorry for myself,
Feeling angry and frustrated,
Feeling defeated, worthless, cheap, dumb, and gullible.

Yet there is this fire inside of me,
I know I can’t just lie there.
I have to continue on my trek to success.
I work hard to make the money to establish myself,
I work out to create a strong body for both your pleasure and protection.
I read in order to increase my wit, intelligence, and knowledge.
I write in order to keep myself sane and develop my true talent.

I want to be a good man.
I want to be good at being a man.
I want to be a good enough man for you.
All of this takes time.

You’re out there; I believe that.
I make you this promise:
No matter how many fake numbers and false starts,
No matter how many flakes, ditzes, sluts, and users I deal with,
No matter how emotionally beaten I become,
No matter how many disappointments or heartbreaks in the process;
I will find you.

When I do,
You’ll be glad to find out about me,
I am a man with the mental fortitude to endure all games,
I am a man with the drive to shrug off rejections with a smirk,
I am a man who is willing to put in the hard work to win you,
I am a man who doesn’t quit.

One day you’ll find this poem among my collections.
I wrote it not knowing who you are,
Yet knowing you exist.
In order to defeat cynicism and hopelessness,
To reignite that flame inside myself,
To move forward another day,
Take another step,
To becoming the man you’ll fall in love with.

~Raul Felix

Read: She May Have Given Up On You
Read: She Wouldn’t Make Me So Angry If She Didn’t Own My Heart
Read: 6 Ways Women Have Rejected Me

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I Miss Those Saturday Nights

I miss those Saturday nights,
Where we would lie in bed,
Laziness consuming us.
Yet, we had planned an exciting night out.

“We’ll start getting ready in five minutes,” I say.
“OK,” you respond as you press your nose into my chest.

Fifteen minutes pass.
We’re still wrapped up in each other’s arms.
“Alright, we’re getting up now,” I declare.
A few seconds pass… then I sit up.
You follow.

You get up from the bed and slowly put on a skirt.
Then I reach for your arm and pull you on top of me.
“I thought we were getting ready,” you say.
“We are…,” I say as I feel up your body.

We would be back where we were before,
In each other’s embrace.
Maybe next Saturday night.

~Raul Felix

Read: Empty Chair
Read: For This One Day, She Made Me Forget
Read: Becoming A Beast May Help You Win The Beauty

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What Basic Bitches And Bros Think About Dating Profile Pics

Online dating—whether it be Tinder, Plenty of Fish, or OKCupid—appears to be stacked in favor of women because all they have to do is not be ugly, and hordes of men will send them a message consisting of either:

A. An uninspiring “Hey” that showcases his laziness and inability to begin a stimulating conversation.

B. A longwinded first message that has been perfectly crafted to show sincerity, wit, and/or humor to pique her interest. (He has also been carpet-bombing every chick who’s crossed his path with the same message.)

C. Unwarranted, unoriginal, highly sexualized messages referring to BDSM and hyper-aggressive male dominance, because chicks totally dig that Fifty Shades of Grey shit from random guys who have a shirtless bathroom #selfie that shows the toilet in the bottom-right-hand corner.

D. Dick pic ambush!

There are certain types of pictures that highlight a woman’s fine qualities and make a man hope that she’ll take a risk on true lust by swiping right. Others will make him reconsider her a bit, but then he will decide she has a nice rack and swipe right anyway. Here are five types of such pictures:

1. Sticking Her Tongue Out

Basic Bitch Thinks: “This will show that I am a silly person and I don’t take myself too seriously. Look at how much of a goofball and dork I am. LOL!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “That bitch’s mouth looks like it sure know its way around a dick, and I know she’s eager to get sloppy all over mine. She is presenting that sweet tongue as an approved target for ejaculation. I’m going to send her a dick pic.”

2. A Group Picture With Her Besties

Basic Bitch Thinks: “We all looked so hot at Becky’s bachelorette party. A guy will totally notice how sexy and classy I looked in that black dress. I just love how my bangs looked. My boobs look a bit bigger, too. Oh no! I’m holding a lollipop that’s shaped like a penis. I’ll just crop that out. Sorry I have to cut you out, Lindsay #notsorry. Caption: BFFFFFFFFFFFFs<3.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “What the fuck is up with bitches making a group picture their default picture? Now I have to check the rest of her pics to figure out who she is. Oh, fucking great! The next pic is of her and thirteen of closest BFFs. Oh please fucking God, don’t let it be the fat chick I’ve seen in both pictures.”

3. Picture Of Her In A Bathing Suit

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I so love the beach, biaaaatch. All that working out has paid off. Even so, I hope boys will like me for my brains and not just how good I look.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “I want to skull-fuck her until her brains spill out of her ears.”

4. Picture With Her Holding An N64 Controller

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I’m such a nerddddddd!”

Basic Bro Thinks: “Who the fuck still plays N64?”

5. Picture From An Extremely High Angle While Pressing Her Boobs Together To Make Them Look Bigger While Concealing Her Protruding Gut

Basic Bitch Thinks: “I really have let myself go. Goddamn lack of exercise since college and Netflix marathons where I eat all the ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s solves all wounds—even broken hearts. I’ll just show off my huge breasts and no guy will ever notice.”

Basic Bro Thinks: “While I want to use those boobs as pillows, I know she is hiding a gut underneath them because chicks are shady like that. More than likely, I’m going to take her out and be horribly disappointed, but since I’m already committed to the date I’ll let it go on. Then I’ll drink until I don’t really care about the gut anymore and fuck her without a condom because condoms fucking suck. Then the next day I realize I made a mistake and buy her a Plan B because there is no way I’m going to fucking let this fat fuck produce dream-crushing offspring with my DNA. Goddamn it, that shit costs $50! Fuck. I’m going to send her a dick pic to make sure she’s DTF. Bitches love unsolicited dick pics.”

~Raul Felix

Read: The Pick-Up Follies: Taqueria Hottie
Read: Guy Talk: Animal Love

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