DABOISASTRGLEDT – by Ivaniel “Ivo” Georgiev
DABOIS are back. New edition—same struggling style, though this time with a twist. Today, I’m feeling more romantic than usual. But don’t worry—this isn’t a sob story, nor my usual witty cynicism. My goal is to entertain you—through insight, of course, some humour, and ½ cup of wisdom.
Now, some of you might be thinking, “What kind of copycat is this Ivaniel guy?” Or—more likely—no one’s thinking anything at all. Sure, I could’ve come up with a flashier title. But sometimes a phrase is just perfect. And when something’s perfect, why not reuse it… in a new light?
I’m not a copycat. I’m just a writer—well, not a professional one—trying to squeeze meaning out of everything I touch. Can I do it? Absolutely. Am I doing it to impress someone? Not a chance. I write to figure out how I feel and why I feel it.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: I’m no Al Pacino. I don’t lead with his confidence—or tango like him either. But like him, I do find tango seductive. And women? Yeah, they’re my weakness too. I’ve chased, flopped, lost, “loved” (okay, that one’s a lie)… and most of all, I’ve tried to fix.
But here’s the thing: this blog isn’t about movie lines or cinematic flair. I chose this topic because it matters. (Still, if you haven’t seen Scent of a Woman, you should. Pacino won an Oscar—and he deserved it.)
It’s funny to say this from my current position, but I do believe it’s important to have a woman by your side. Even more important, though, is the feeling she brings into your life—not the kind of woman, but what it means to share space with one.
The right one—and I know there’s no such thing, but you get what I mean. The one who reminds you why women are essential to life. Why, without them, everything feels… a little less lit.
That’s not
what I mean
Women are the fairer sex. Sadly, some forget that—more and more these days. And when they don’t, they very often weaponise it.
Meanwhile, we—men—are doing backflips, burning ourselves out trying to prove we’re worthy. Which is wrong—and most know it, but the ego blinds like nothing else.
Here’s a truth many know but few accept: Women don’t like men who try.
Let me rephrase that: Women don’t like men who try without something to back it up.
It might sound bitter. I’m sure as hell it does—but sometimes, bitterness is what wakes you up.
Now, here’s the modern twist: You can try everything—be kind, honest, consistent—and a woman still won’t see you as a partner. Why? Because she’s been sold the wrong idea about the TOP 1% Man. A “Prince Charming” who does exist, but will never choose them—or if he does, it will be a “simple transaction.”
Watch Gone Girl if you haven’t. It shows how manipulative a woman can be. I’m not saying every woman is Amy Dunne—but I am saying more women today are playing the game smarter. Not necessarily psychopathic—but strategic. (Which might be the same thing.)
Then there’s Euphoria. I’ve written about it before—mostly about the freedom theme I discovered in there—but it also explores identity, desire, and how adolescents chase what they can’t explain.
As digitalisation spreads, women seem to gain more and more advantages. And men? We feel… less and less needed. I’m not trying to whine—I know we’re all responsible for our lives—but the system, man… the system needs a revolution.
Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a blog to attack women. I never would. But never say never, right?
All jokes aside, I believe that—up to a certain age, maybe even a lifetime—anything goes. Experiment. Discover. Break rules. But eventually… If you want something, you’ve got to offer something in return.
Otherwise, what are you even asking for? And why?
At its core, it all comes back to who you’re becoming. Male or female—we’re more alike than we think. (But don’t forget—we’re still very different.)
Underneath, we’re all chasing connection. Meaning. Belonging. But how that shows up in us is different. And that’s what’s both beautiful and… insane.
A woman is the greatest gift a man can receive. But like any gift, she can bring pain. And some pain… can be fierce.
I’ll try to paint a fuller picture of my perspective in the rest of this post.
But first—let me just say: Welcome to old readers and new. Thanks for giving me your time.
This journey—DABOISASTRGLEDT—is growing. Slowly, but steadily. And I hope it becomes a space for more forgiveness, more understanding, and most of all—more effort.
So, BOIS and GALS—don’t worry. You’re not the only ones struggling. We’re all in this huddle together.
The month is September—twenty days before my twenty-fifth birthday. Each year, I get a little less excited… and I see nothing wrong with that.
If you missed last week’s edition or feel like digging through the archives, here it is: All I Think About Is C.R.E.A.M. And I Can’t Do Anything About It…
If you like the type of content I’m sharing here, you can definitely check out my daily newsletter for some more interesting twists about different aspects of life (and some free goodies) – Subscribe to My Newsletter.
Europe tour checkpoint: Denmark was beautiful. The ride from Hamburg to Copenhagen was long, but worth it. After that, we took the ferry back to Germany and we visited Berlin, Leipzig and Dresden. Now, we are on the way to Prague. Lots of memories caught on the lens, and a few more countries to visit until we finish with our journey. Will be in touch.
What Keeps a Woman Away from Being a Woman
Ha. You caught me mid-step here. I’m not a woman—so how could I possibly know what keeps one from becoming who she truly is?
Still, I’ve met a few. And many of them seem to want what they don’t have—without fully knowing why they want it in the first place. They’ll offer reasons, sure. But more often than not, those reasons are wrapped in emotion and desire—rarely in clarity or truth.
Forgive the bluntness. I’d rather trust my read on people than hide behind polite illusions. A good liar knows when someone else is lying. (And I was a great one. Not the GOAT, but definitely an Allen Iverson… if we speak basketball.)
Here’s a take that might sting: Women yap—and I mean that in the worst way.
Sorry, gals—but when I hear lines like: “I want a strong, handsome, energetic man who’ll woo me,” or “I’ve been through so much—I deserve…” All I hear is nonsense.
No one deserves anything. That idea doesn’t exist. Not in love. Not in life. Not in the universe.
Now, I know this kind of tone might offend, and I should probably soften my edges, but what’s the point if the message won’t land either way? (Still… I hope I’m wrong.)
Because desires built on delusion always lead to the same ending: Tears. Bruised egos. And very little growth.
So instead of asking what keeps a woman from being a woman, let’s ask: What brings her closer to herself?
It’s a big question—but here’s my take: A woman doesn’t fully step into womanhood until she becomes a mother. Now—hold on. That doesn’t mean just giving birth. It’s not about biology. It’s about becoming someone who truly understands the value of life—after creating it.
Only a mother can truly appreciate the life she’s been given—after giving one. (Damn. That sounded better than I expected.)
So what qualities matter most?
First, she must not be lazy. Second, she needs direction.
Just those two? Hell, no. But that’s already a powerful base.
In a world where women can be anything, do anything, redefine everything—those two traits are something. They shape. Not just socially, but internally. (And yet—we’re flooded with masked dominatrixes and synthetic identities. And no… we really don’t need more of that.)
Let’s rewind a century or two. Historically, what did womanhood mean?
Restricted agency. Relentless housework. Child-rearing. In some corners of the world, women also worked beside men—physically, endlessly—but without recognition. (None.) For generations, women were reduced to reproductive tools. Whether the man who lay with them did so out of love or accident didn’t matter much in the long run.
Then came feminism. A necessary revolution. A fire long overdue. And I’m all for it. Any movement that brings people closer to who they really are—deserves space.
But today? Today, we might be watching that pendulum swing a little too far. I’m not saying don’t challenge the norm. I’m saying: Let your rebellion be real. Let it be yours—not a product of someone else’s agenda… or their cash machine.
Of course, even back then, some women had power—usually through marriage. But even they were kept just close enough to feel included, while still excluded. Enough freedom to manage servants and stir gossip—but never to do lead. (Yes, some examples are stating otherwise… but I’m looking at the big picture.)
So yes. Women have always felt underappreciated. Then, now—surrounded by gifts, praise, opportunity—many felt and still feel unheard. Unseen. Uninvited to the rooms where real decisions are made.
To change that, a woman today must jump through more hoops than a man. But that doesn’t mean she can’t. It just means she’ll have to be better. Smarter. Stronger. Sharper. (Nevertheless, there are no promises… but you can’t be sure until you try, right?)
Above all—honest. With herself. With her skill set. With what she actually brings to the table.
Because no one—man or woman—should demand more than they can offer. (That’s just human.)
• So, what do you think, gang?
• Would you—and how would you—push back on this take?
• Or do you see the truth in it, too?
How Does One Become a Woman
Another misleading question: How the hell would I know what makes a woman… a woman?
I may not be one—nor have I been with many—but I’ve spent enough time watching women try to become something they run from. And that’s not a female-specific thing, by the way. I’ve seen both men and women chase illusions, adopt roles, discard others, and shape-shift endlessly in pursuit of some idea.
But I’ve also witnessed—though rarely in person—women who embody something essential. Not just to womanhood. To life.
Truth be told, I’ve met a few men and thought: “Damn, whoever’s with this guy is lucky.”
But when it comes to women, I rarely hear the same sentiment—unless we’re talking about someone who looks like Carmen Electra. (Which, of course, misses the point.)
“Ivo, don’t talk nonsense. You know nothing about life.” Heard it more than enough.
And yet, I’ve watched both genders suffer under the weight of their own choices, ignoring advice that wouldn’t have fixed everything… but would’ve hurt less.
How do I know? I ignored that same advice.
So here I am again. Trying to offer an interpretation. Take it. Leave it. Laugh at it. Think about it. Your call.
In the last section, I asked what keeps a woman from being a woman.
This time, I want to flip the camera: What moves her toward it?
Let’s step out of this current world for a second—strip it bare. What remains?
What makes a woman… a woman?
She doesn’t have to be a top model—though hey, who’d complain? (Okay, I’ll stop with the jokes… for now.)
Women are life’s pulse—tender, fierce, untamed. But none of that matters if she doesn’t know herself.
Where she stands. What she brings. And how to channel it.
That alone makes her powerful. In that self-knowledge lies her ability to guide the man beside her.
I said “guide.” Not “control.” There’s a difference. And the difference is everything.
At some point after discovering poetry, I started carrying this image in my head: The woman as the rider. The man as the horse.
The horse—raw power, speed, freedom, chaos. Untamed strength. The wild stallion that folklore, luxury cars, and testosterone dreams are built on.
But left undirected? That power gets lost. Worse—devoured by the wilderness it thought it ruled.
That’s where the rider comes in.
Not a master. Not a jailer. But someone who understands. Who feels the tension underneath and adjusts?
In this case, a woman—in tune with herself—who reads situations like wind reads water.
She doesn’t lead by force. She leads by presence.
She becomes the visionary. The man becomes the vehicle. Together—everything is possible.
This isn’t dominance. It isn’t a submission. It’s design.
And it isn’t to say a man needs a woman to live fully—or likewise. (But in a very subtle way IT IS.)
But without a meaningful counterpart—he risks becoming a directionless force.
Fast. Wild. Powerful. And aimless. (Ever notice how many serial killers lacked a woman’s love—motherly or otherwise? Yeah.)
Like a mustang that breaks from the herd, only to die alone on a mountain no one will name.
And when women state they don’t need a man—they actually do, but not now, not then… but when they are desperate and have no other choice.
We live—whether we like it or not—between chaos and order. The horse and rider reflect that. So do men and women. So does every relationship that dares to be more than a fling in the dark.
What matters most? Two things: Trust and Understanding.
The rider must know the horse. The horse must trust the rider.
No faking. No posturing. No illusions—otherwise, it’s all dust and broken reins.
This isn’t about taming. It’s about symphony.
And when that symphony plays—when a woman knows herself, and her man lets himself be guided without losing his freedom—something rare happens.
Not a hierarchy. A symbiosis.
Because the masculine might be the stronger sex—but the feminine? The stronger force.
And yes, it is often through tenderness that strength gets tamed. Don’t believe me? Try it. See.
A woman isn’t the prize. She’s the rider.
A woman is the rhythm. The man beside her? The beat.
There is no ideal—there should only be real.
We may think we’re the best at everything—but only a fool holds on to that thought.
So yeah. These thoughts may be raw. May be flawed. It may be too poetic.
Nevertheless, maybe they’ll spark something in you. Maybe they’ll offend. Maybe they’ll inspire.
Or maybe—just maybe—they’ll make you look at the next woman, or man, and ask:
- Are they the horse? Or the rider?
- Do they know which one they are?
- And how aware are they of each other’s roles?
Let me know, BOIS and GALS.
Am I making sense? Or am I just yelling at a herd of lying ne’er-do-wells?
Your opinion matters—more than you think.
Is There Such a Thing As The Ideal One
Ah, the perfect one. The ideal.
There’s no such thing—until one day, you find it.
And suddenly, everything else you once chased, everything you once labelled as ideal, reveals itself for what it was: a placeholder. (A beautifully convincing lie.)
I say this from experience. And yet, I’m still searching. Not for the ideal—but for something deeper. I hope that doesn’t sound like an excuse.
Personally, I believe expectations should be lowered—maybe even eliminated. But saying that can be misleading. Some hear, “Settle for whoever’s willing to accept you.”
Which sounds practical. And for a while, it might even feel like love. But most of the time—whether we admit it or not—we’re just running from the alternative. From being alone.
The real cost of a relationship isn’t measured in looks, style, charm, or speech. Those things matter—but they’re not the metric.
The real metric? Whether the imperfections you spot in someone pull you closer to them—or quietly make you want to leave.
I have a deep reverence for people who carry their flaws proudly.
Not defensively. Not performatively. But with awareness.
I hate to hear a phrase like, “It won’t happen again.” If you want something, then you should focus on why it happened in the first place—and choosing differently next time.
Maturity isn’t about promises—it’s about taking action and redeeming yourself.
Second chances? Necessary. Third? Maybe. Fourth? Depends.
But often, the sharpest lessons don’t come from what we’re given—they come from what we lose. And how we learn to live in the silence that follows.
My mother believes the ideal person always compromises. My father believes the ideal person never makes mistakes.
One thinks love is built on sacrifice. The other thinks love should be effortless. Two philosophies were born from loneliness.
One shuts the world out. The other swallowed it whole.
They’ve both spent a lifetime chasing ideals that never existed. And in the process, became enslaved to patterns they never wanted—but accepted anyway.
I mention this not to drift off-topic—but because these two people shaped me. And while I love them, I refuse to inherit the same illusions.
So let me be clear: The ideal partner is not flawless. It’s not a checklist. It’s not a fantasy. It’s not even real—until it becomes real with someone.
And when that happens… the myth dies quietly. Because you’re no longer chasing it. You’re living something else entirely.
I won’t give examples. Not because I don’t have them—but because I don’t trust myself to show you the way.
That’s not my job. My job—if anything—is to plant a thought. To impregnate your mind with a question only you can answer. (Yes, I know how that sounded. And no, I’m not sorry.)
Still, here’s some cultural context to sharpen the lens:
Historical & Cultural Glimpses of “The Ideal”
- Greek Mythology – Eros & Psyche: Love isn’t ideal from the beginning. It is tested, forged, and ultimately earned.
- Medieval Courtly Love: The knight serves the lady not for beauty, but for virtue. Morality—not appearance—is the ideal.
- Traditional Chinese Thought: The ideal person is one who sustains harmony in the home and community. Individual desire bows to collective well-being.
And Some Opposing Viewpoints
- Love Without Compromise vs. Love That Requires It:
One says, “Take me as I am.”
The other says, “Let’s grow together.”
Maybe the truth lives between them. - Freedom vs. Roles:
Modern love says, “Be yourself.”
Old-school love says, “Play your part.”
Both shape what “ideal” looks like—and both leave people unfulfilled when misunderstood. - Instant Fire vs. Slow Burn:
Some claim it clicks in seconds.
Others say it takes years.
And both are right. Just different genres of the same story.
So, is there such a thing as the ideal one? No.
But if you’re lucky—very lucky—there is such a thing as your person. The one who makes you stop looking.
Not because they check every box, but because you finally understand: The boxes never mattered anyway.
Scent of a Woman
It’s hard for me to end today’s blog.
I feel like there’s still so much left unsaid. But I recognise that what is here is already plenty—enough to reflect on, enough to critique, but more than anything… It’s sincere. It comes straight from the heart.
I’ve rarely chased women. To be honest, they’ve chased me more often—but I was a fool. (Still am.)
There were moments when I tried to sneak myself inside a heart or two. None of them worked.
Why? Because I was chasing the scent—or what I thought was the scent—while lacking one of my own.
Now, I might be far from the top 1%, but I know I carry some damn good qualities. The bad ones? You already know them—if you’ve read this blog long enough (If you haven’t, feel free to do it.)
But this entry isn’t about me or my history with women. It’s about them. It’s about her. It’s about the scent.
And that takes me back to “Scent of a Woman.” What a title. What a film.
Why circle back to it? Because even though Frank Slade—Al Pacino’s character—is blind, he sees women more clearly than most of us with perfect vision.
He feels them. The scent. The sound. The presence.
And one of the most striking scenes—the dance, the tango—is everything.
Even without sight, Frank feels the energy of the woman beside him. In that moment, he isn’t performing—he’s being. He’s alive again.
That dance isn’t just choreography—it shows spiritual revival. A glimpse of the life he once had—or maybe never did, but always yearned for.
Frank, a man broken by time and disappointment, finds pleasure again. Real, honest-to-God pleasure. It’s not about sex. It’s about connection. It’s not about winning. It’s about feeling.
That scene taught me something. And I’m here to tell you: Don’t make Frank’s mistake.
Don’t wait. Don’t put off loving. Don’t fear the real thing when it’s in front of you —it may hurt, but that’s better than swimming against the rip tide of “the unknown.”
Because while there may not be many like her, there are a few. And they’re worth it. All of it.
So, for the second time today, I borrow that title—this time twice.
Scent of a Woman (poem)
Woman is as gentle as a snowflake,
like the moon, she enchants the eyes.
From head to toe, a mosaic in flesh—
pure elegance, a flame in disguise.
Every man clings to an ideal of perfection,
but what is a woman without her silky wings?
She is not some bird—she is the very essence:
a phoenix, both mother and child of ashes.
She holds the power of judge and executioner,
a might often beyond her own control.
Woman is unique—half wise, half delusional;
loving men, yet men she fiercely opposes.
She craves a spot under the shiny limelight,
but such brilliance is meant to confound and tempt.
For a moment of glory she turns a blind eye,
and for attention — ill-given, her “soul” she bends.
But she is everything—the very sense of life.
Without her, there is no passion, only a bitter winter.
The perfect partner in both tango and crime;
she is both hell and paradise. A masterpiece. A riddle.
P.S. A woman completes a man, the way Vesuvius completes Naples.
Scent of a Woman (haiku)
She gives and she takes—
strength, tenderness, beauty—all;
the kickoff, the end.
As always, perhaps this blog spoke more to me than to you. Because if I’m being honest—I am Frank.
With one difference: I still have my vision. And I better start acting like it.
I had planned to end with personal reflections. But when I think of women, I think of poetry.
And I can’t help myself—I always return to that same rhythm.
A woman is more than anything, but a woman without a man—and he without her—nothing.
She drains, yes, but she also draws out the pain. She heals where no one else can.
All of them are unique. And their symbol? Legs like a gazelle—made of satin, wrapped in soul.
You see a woman in her truest light the moment you bond with her private mind.
A rare moment when you see her real face—every blink, every move, every breath she takes.
No masks are needed for intimacy. Only room for love—zero nuance… a feeling like a stroke of ecstasy.
A woman must be understood, especially when fragile. She must be held, adored—until death, not just for a while.
A woman is everything and nothing. In the chaos of life, she’s the drop of freshness that makes the struggle worth it.
With a scent so warm, so strong, sometimes so wrong. A scent that stays long after she’s gone…
I just said I’m Frank, or at least see myself in him, but the truth is, I’m Ivo;
A self-proclaimed poet. A romantic fool. And a little bit more conscious dreamer nowadays.
Trying to love. Trying to live. Flopping through both—the way I only can.
Find your scent. Drop the mask. That’s all, folks!
And thank you, truly, for reading.
Sincerely,
Ivaniel “With COVID Symptoms, But Not Sick” Georgiev
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