Sometimes, when I can't get to sleep just yet and it's late enough that I recognize I have to be up to go to work the next day, the quickest way to make my eyelids a little heavier is to open my laptop and spend a few minutes navigating the treacherous safari that is the internet after hours. I've had a Twitter account for almost a year now and it didn't take me very long to discover that being on the site after 11:30 at night is the equivalent of being on the wrong side of town after dark. Don't believe me? Look up @Super_Soaker69 and get back to me. I apologize in advance. So, I was wandering the dystopian frontier of bathroom glamour shots and Justin Bieber jokes when I heard from a lady friend of mine who just came back from spending some family time abroad. She's a fun, curvy young woman who can be a bit of an airhead when she wants to although sometimes, I think it's an act. We've never slept together or even been on a date, but I'd be lying if I didn't want to (sleep with her, I mean). She seems to think of me (despite me protests) the same way women thought of Sean Connery when he was James Bond. For the record, I am nowhere near the realm of Sean Connery. Nobody is. I know this. She doesn't. I sent a nice welcome back message and she sent back the following reply, this week's quote of the week. "You must get into panties in record time, huh?!!!"
First of all, no matter how strong the desire to understand the opposite gender or boil them down to a science is, no guy should really want to be the guy who ALWAYS get tons of assorted ass. I mean, sure, you're the guy who gets tons of assorted ass, but I've never seen things end well when that guy tries to have a serious interaction with someone. I don't prefer being that guy. Also, not to brag or even jinx the matter, but 90 percent of the time (in my own experiences, of course), when a woman has made the assumption that I got laid often....we usually ended up having sex somewhere not too far down the line. I've never quite understood this phenomenon. Some days, I hear women screaming furious platitudes about men being objectifying, sex-crazed vultures. Other days, being a sex-crazed vulture is some kind of endearing quality that sparks some dormant curiosity in women. I can't help but think that this could be problematic in some young lady's dating/sex life.
Having said that, it's not the segue I was hoping for, but I'll take it.
So, there's this new kid at my job. That's not a term of endearment, either. He's literally a high school senior. There is just nothing that will make you feel old faster than a kid five inches taller than you wearing a varsity jacket from the high school you graduated from ten years earlier. I am convinced that the athletics program there has resorted to just sticking the students in tubes and feeding them hormones intraveneously. He's a nice enough kid, smart, funny and girl crazy in the way that grade school jocks tend to be. I came in work slightly perturbed about my cranky, bedless friend from my last entry and I mentioned to him that there are some women in this world who are, for lack of a better word, insane. The following conversation ensued:
Kid: That sounds like a love thing.
Me: Believe me, kid. It's not.
Kid: Love isn't your thing?
Me: No, I don't do that.
Kid: Everybody does that, don't they?
Me: **sigh** Okay. I've done it before. I've loved two women in my life. In the adult sense, anyway.
Kid: How'd that work out?
Me: One was a rollercoaster that ended halfway amicably. She's a lovely, ambitious, intelligent woman and I wish her the best.
Kid: And the other one?
Coworker: (walks by) We don't talk about her. Ever.
Me: What he said.
Kid: Wow. That sounds serious. I tell girls that I love them, but I don't really mean it. I just say it to...
Now, this is the moment in which my mind was blown. I could see the legitimate lacksidasical innocence in his eyes as he shrugged at his own statement, hear the naivete in his voice. He really didn't see the built in trapdoor of his folly. He had no clue.
Me: Kid, I'm going to tell you something. If you don't remember anything else in this life, I want you to remember this. Listen closely. Write it down and put it in your pocket because later you're going to think I'm a genius.
Kid: Okay.
Me: Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever tell a woman you love her when you don't. No excuses, under no circumstances.....
Kid: Really?
Me: If the fate of the world depends on you telling a woman that you love her when you don't....let the fucker burn.
Kid: What'll happen?
Me: Well, a scorned woman is nothing to fuck with, so it's a little unpredictable depending on the woman. It's Thunderdome. Two enter...she leaves.
Kid: Okay, for example....
Me: Have you ever been waterboarded?
Kid: What?
Me: Try to imagine being bound to a chair with a towel thrown over your face. Your feet are raised and your head is lowered. Someone then begins to pour water on your face. You're flailing with waves and waves of water coming down on you. Your brain knows where you are at first, but as you start to choke, your mouth and nose flooded with water, your brain begins to forget. Your feet can't feel the ground. Your eyes are covered. It's like vertigo. Who's to say where you are anymore? As far as your neurological impulses are concerned, you're drowning.
Kid: .........
Me: Now, think about telling a girl you love when you don't. Let's say she says it first. You say "I love you, too." No harm, right? I mean, you know what you signed up for: pussy. But you didn't think about the things you DIDN'T sign up for. Then, there's that towel over your face as you're hit with waves and waves hand holding, phone calls instead of text messages, public displays of affection, talks you don't really want to have about the "Facebook relationship status situation." Pictures of the two of you together will pop up online and you didn't even know pictures were being taken. You get bombarded. You don't know how it got to this point. You don't know which way is up. It's like vertigo. You're drowning.
Kid: I didn't think about that.
Me: I know. In fact, I'll tell you what. One of the girls is going to come through here and grab her cigarettes before she takes her smoke break. I want you to ask her what she thinks. When you do, note the way her face changes. You ever seen Lord of the Rings?
Kid: Sure.
Me: It's a lot like the way Uncle Bilbo's face changed when he saw the One Ring again.
Kid: It seems like you're being a bit dramatic.
Me: Then, ask her. Prove me wrong.
A minute or so later, like clockwork, she came by with her smokes like I predicted. It's important to point out that the kid happens to have a big crush on this coworker (who has a small crush on me, unbeknownst to him) in particular. It would be cute if he didn't have the slight arrogance and entitlement that comes with being a high school senior and a jock. She, being my age and particularly bitter about men, doesn't find that attractive, so I knew how this would go. Yes, it was a bit dirty and a bit unfair, but with children, you have to make sure you're being heard clearly.
Coworker: Hey, Len.
Me: Hello, darlin.
Kid: May I ask you something? I'm trying to settle a bet between me and a classmate.
Coworker: Sure. What's up?
Kid: So, if this girl tells a guy she loves him, should he say it back?
Coworker: Does the guy love her?
Kid: No, but she's willing to give him the...."goods."
Coworker: (Uncle Bilbo face) NO!!!! NEVER DO THAT!!!! DID YOU DO THAT A GIRL?!
Kid: What? No! Just a wager with a friend. Totally hypothetical.
Coworker: (normal face) Oh. Okay. (walks out)
Kid: How the hell could you know that was going to happen?
I think one thing many writers have in common when blogging is that they use venues like this to express themselves in ways they can't (or aren't allowed to) anywhere else. I recognize this now from personal experience. Despite the lifestyle I live and the outgoing exploits I engage in, where my circle of friends are concerned, I am a bit of an outlier. Most of my opinions and viewpoints are often unwelcome They're in committed relationships and that doesn't really cause a rift between us as much as the fact that I'm single (and happy that way). They make no secret of the fact that they don't find me to be much of a "real man." I respect women, I don't lie to them (no matter how convenient it might be), I take people at their word when they earn such privileges, I express my feelings when appropriate and I don't apologize for it. If something wounds me, I say it.
There seems to be a lingering misconception about me that because I like sex and don't care for relationships, that obviously means I don't believe in the dignity of virtue. This, in my opinion, is a misnomer. Sex and virtue don't have to be mutually exclusive. In fact, I believe them to have almost nothing to do with each other. If I have sex with a woman I have no interest in committing and then see her the next day stranded on the side of the road, am I obligated to pass her by because I don't want to hold hands in the park afterwards?
After a nigh-Trojan end of my Transformers movie of a romance (Get it...because it was all pretty explosions even in the face of making no fucking sense), I was left in pretty bad shape. To make a long story short, not only was the wench running off with the other guy, she was marrying him. I did a lot of drinking, I hardly left the house (other than walking to the liquor store) and I was fairly unpleasant to be around if any did have the misfortune of running into me. One day, a friend reached out to me, getting me out of the house, texting each day with an encouraging request for me not to drink. We'd stay up late at her apartment, watching movies and having pillow fights. You know a heterosexual man's having a good time with you if he's actively engaged in a completely non sexual pillow fight. I think the only place I'd ever heard of an actual pillow fight taking place was an episode of Grey's Anatomy and maybe a commercial about underwear.
From time to time, she'd ask if I wanted to talk about my recent heartbreak. It was nice to have an outlet from someone that wasn't necessarily trying to fix the problem so much as understand the nature of the person. Well, that was the way it seemed at the time. Eventually, somewhere along the way, she confessed to having some feelings for me and wondered if I'd ever be able to feel for her what I felt for The Walking Tumor (the ex). In truth, I was attracted to her and greatly enjoyed her company. I mean, come on....pillow fights. She was a lovely woman and sincere to a certain degree. But I wasn't past the hurt of what I'd endured. Violations like that ran deep with me. I told her to give me time and we could see where we ended up. In short, this ended badly. She just ended up not being terribly compatible with me. In fact, as sweet as she is in some ways, in most other facets of courtship, she's only compatible in the way that tag team partners are compatible in professional wrestling. Bossy, argumentative, moody....she was a trifecta of intellectual castration. I may as have been having dinner with a bulldozer.
One notable point of conflict came from the fact that she didn't have any furniture. I'm not talking about an absence of lamps and bookshelves. The woman didn't have a bed or a couch. She was in Houston for school and, by her admission, just never got around to it because she didn't intend to be there very long. It's worth mentioning that this was a conclusion she came to almost four years ago. She'd accumulated dvds, board games, cds, a flat screen television, a car and a dog. A bed never crossed her mind. Then again, I can go months without ever changing the batteries in my smoke alarm (as evident by the constant beep in my home), so maybe I'm being judgmental. Spending the night at her place (which she wanted me to do constantly) was problematic because her floor was not comfortable or designed for sleep. It was cold and itchy. Also, it was not practical for cuddling which she insisted upon. You think your arm goes numb with a woman laying on it in bed. Try this on a carpet that feels like those scratchy metal things you scrub dishes with. This led to me being strategic about how many times a week I slept over.
Eventually, she moved back to Austin and found herself a nice boyfriend, so we let things end that way with amicable goodbyes and well wishes. We don't keep in touch as often as either of us would like, but we check in from time to time. If two close friends subscribed to each other's social networking accounts don't communicate at some point, it's because they like it that way. A couple of nights ago, I was up late writing and noticed that, according to a post on her Facebook account, she was upset about something. Even now, I don't know exactly what the source of the problem was. I reached out to her via inbox message to see if everything was okay. The following conversation ensued:
Me: What's the matter?
Her: Life sucks sometimes.
Me: Well, that's true, but I meant a bit more specific. Is it about the interview you had coming up? Did that fall through?
Her: No, that went fine. Just lonely.
Me: I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure it's not any sort of consolation, but Im having a similar moment.
Her: Oh. Sorry.
Me: Eh. These things happen. I'd come stay up with you if I were there and watch Blade Runner.
Her: Then I would have to get up and take you home. You would be doing me no favors.
Me: I meant I'd stay the night.
Her: Yeah. Right.
I know it's common advice not to read emotion into digital communication without clarification, but I know this woman. That was meant to sound exactly like it seemed. Sarcastic, dismissive and slightly condescending. I presented the situation to one of my cohorts and she replied "Well, she's probably still salty because you two didn't end up together." Really? For the purposes of this entry, I'm going to glaze over the fact that she HAS A BOYFRIEND and hope that the fact I put it in caps conveys my confusion appropriately. Besides, there's a larger point to make here.
Let's say she'd been stabbed. Don't worry about the reason. It doesn't matter why. In the era of long range rifles and drone bombings, there's no good reason to stab someone. She's stabbed and bleeding in the street. Onlookers start to panic, dialing 911, calling for help. It just so happens that I see her, my old dear friend, as I pass by and I have some medical training in this area that could save her life (I really don't). I rush over and ensure everyone I can help. Does "If you don't intend to be with me, don't bother saving me" really amount to any incarnation of rational sense?
I have friends (although this is an frequently circulated ideology) who submit that people you're not in a relationship with "don't owe you anything." The few men I associate with would have you believe that unless you seek to make a woman your mate, she doesn't deserve to know you. "Deserve?" Is spending the rest of your life fucking and going to the movies with the same person really the highest premium we can possibly put on our treatment of our fellow man (or woman)? We can't teach our children to be the best they can be...."unless it's someone you're just fucking. Then, you just leave the money at the door and bounce." At what juncture did life come to revolve around an "all or nothing" death race to the altar?
How did we get to a point where we glorify monogamy so effortlessly that we vilify those who don't adhere to its principles? Put simply, if I want to have sex, it's not because I view women as objects. It's because I like sex. If I choose not to commit (which I am open and honest about), it's not because I hate women. It's because monogamous relationships carry certain burdens I choose not to have in my private life at this time. I can only speak for myself, but if I go to the store after a rendezvous, I'm going to ask if she'd like anything. If we sleep together and I'm hungry, I'm going to ask if she's hungry. I submit that we cannot spend so much time trying to adequate mates that we reject ourselves. It's totally okay to be a significant other AND a real human being.
.jpg)
