I may be frisky and flirtatious, BUT I’M TAKEN!
I was reading tonight in the blog of, that’s right, a 30-year-old woman about how she met this other woman who let it be known that she was of the lesbian persuasion. No problem, except that the new girl repeatedly brought up the fact that she was not available, as in “I already have a girlfriend.” One of the comments on this blog (Blogger and Commenter — you know who you are) touched a nerve that I have had exposed for most of my life and that can be summed up as “Waaah! Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to hurt me or ‘get’ me in some way? Are you trying to one-up me or something? Am I such a rotten companion that you don’t even want me to make a try for you?”
To put it another way, it’s all about me.
Yes, I’m that sensitive about my own feelings, and that insensitive to yours. Hey, once you break down and admit you love me (you know you want to), that’s different. Then I am totally in touch with my gentle, poetic side. But in normal social situations, keep your boyfriends or girlfriends to yourself.
Examining this syndrome to a depth that I have never bothered to do before, I see that it is another example of my insecurity and lack of confidence. I mean, maybe I am talking to someone who is exuberant about her loving, committed relationship, and she is merely trying to share her joy with the world, including me. Why would I immediately have to get defensive about it?
The fact that I usually think the “I’m not available” remark, however it’s expressed, is a jab AT me also suggests that I view a LOT of women as potential — say it with me — sexual partners. Maybe I do. Maybe it’s more obvious than I thought it was. I no longer look directly at the breasts when addressing a woman, and I feel like I’m being a gentleman, and I quit that pubic-hair-on-the-coke-can routine right after the Clarence Thomas hearings. But, hey — boys will be boys, and they will be IN YOUR PANTS, girls, if they can. So that’s it: I feel busted, and guilty. As polite as I tried to be, I had filthy intentions, you saw through them and DERAILED MY TRAIN. Caught red-handed trying to follow God’s Plan. Oh, the shame. But I’m feeling better already, having confessed.
You know who I admire? The guys who see all women as potential sexual partners, win some and lose some, and don’t get too fucking mental about it, like I just did. I don’t understand women (You’ve never heard that before, eh?). They have a million ways of shooting you down. I should know by now that I don’t have to make up new ones of my own.
Note to the blogger who got me started on this track: Yowzah! You must be some hot mama! You even make the girls nervous.
I would greatly prefer someone to just walk up to me and say, “Hey, I’m available.” That way you’re not just wondering. And, about that girl that said that….I’m thinking that she was probably just trying to feel me out to see if I swung her way….know what I mean? It was an indirect, passive-aggressive way to feel me out. Oh, and Larry. I’M AVAILABLE.
Melissa,
Wouldn’t THAT be an exciting world! But in this world, the one we actually live in, it doesn’t seem to work that way. Men who act like that would be considered needy boors, and the women sluts (Sluts! Just the word thrills me!). So there is an overlay, and a game is played, and goals are sublimated, leaving most of us frustrated and wondering.
Oh, and M: The fact of your availability haunts my dreams.
Men are pigs. I am a man, ergo a pig. My wife, only after the first two years of marriage had come to accept the fact that her loving husband is a pig, also. After all, would I have pursued the wife if I had not found her bottom fascinating and her rack equally as nice? And all single men think of all women they meet for the first time as potential sexual partners, right Larry?
And as for getting mental about it; we all do, I think. Some of us are just better at covering it up than others.
Straight men look at bums, boobs, and faces and ususally in that order depending on what direction said woman is approaching from. It’s the way we are and it’s the way women are built.
It would have been nice to have women, in the past when I was single, tell me their intentions. I use to let all of my potential datees know my intentions in a very matter of fact way usually after a couple times of meeting them in crowded, smoke-filled rooms or after certain “events.” This either confused them or scared them. Obviously, my wife is the only one who was neither confused or scared by my intentions, the poor girl.
And Larry: I think filthy intentions are the best. They usually lead to a good time.
Hey, thanks, Kung Pow! I’m feeling better about my piggy self and my filthy intentions every minute! And coincidentally, I was reading this when I first saw your comment.
i don’t know, guys. should we really be calling it piggy? is desire that awful? even if it starts at the surface?
anyway, pigs are cool. smart as hell, with distinct personalities, capable of forming bonds with other pigs, even with other species. can you believe that in some parts of the world, people eat them?
Pig racing is pretty interesting. I need to get a hobby.
Good point on desire.
And I say pig only based on how a woman may view our desires, at first. I’m all about the love, guys.
Also, bacon is goooood. I guess that makes me a cannibal.
Look Larry, I just come here for the naked pictures, and not for the entertaining prose. And, so far, you have failed to come through. So, you better start putting up some naked piXXX, or no more visitation for you. Got it? Good.
Meilissa,
I love it when you’re strict! I’ll try to dig up some eye candy for you, but it won’t be out of MY photo album. And the prose here is more than entertaining — it’s enlightening, don’t you think?
Eric — I hope you check back to see this, and I hope you’re OK that I always answer Melissa first. You know, She Who Must Be Obeyed. The way I see it, it’s piggy if the women say it’s piggy. It’s their treasure we want to take, after all. Which segues nicely into…
Kung Pow Pig — Yes, it really IS about the love. If only they knew how earnestly we seek it.
Oh Larry, of course your prose is enlightening. But, we all secretly desire some skin. Right? I show you mine; you show me yours. And, since you’ve been privy to some of my candid shots on my blog…well.
Hmmm. I think even girls look at girls, Larry. You’re not to blame.
Melissa, you snot.
I don’t have naked pictures of myself (except the dungeon ones, in bondage, and you’re NOT getting those). I think if you check around you will find that MOST men don’t have naked pctures of themselves. They have naked pictures of you.
Besides, haven’t I told enough Truth here that I don’t have to accept one of your Dares? I do believe you are trying to take advantage of the fact that I can deny you nothing, you brazen hussy.
OK, this will be one of the daily humiliations that make up The Life of Jones. I’ll give you some skin. Not today, not much of it, and it won’t be pretty. Keep visiting.
Now go hound Eric, or Brother 9, or The Barber, or one of your admirers at work for naked pictures. I assure you, they will be more exciting.
girl_
Thanks for stopping by. I always suspected that, Thank you for the confirmation.
and the conversation rolls…
Calm down, Larry. I’m not a snot, nor am I a brazen hussy as you claim. Having trouble handling a little joking and teasing? Like I really expected you to post a naked picture. Geesh…
Oh, you were teasing. Thanks for letting me know. I almost posted one.
And “snot” and “brazen hussy” are terms of endearment.
And I like joking and teasing, soon as I know about it. OK — tease me now. I ready for it…
Good to know that “Snot” and “Brazen Hussy” are terms of endearment. I’ll keep that in mind the next time some poor bloke calls me that in a bar or something. That will keep me from going all kung fu crazy on their ass. Oh yes, I was teasing. But, I would imagine that you would know that about me already.
Wow, it’s like a regular episode of Three’s Company around here–T&A, misunderstandings… All we need is an ascot! Larry?
Very funny. Three’s Company is a sore spot with me. Not only could I not take my eyes off the screen from the moment Priscilla Barnes appeared in the opening montage, standing on one leg like a flamingo, but the show provided yet another example of an evil Hollywood stereotype: the smarmy doofus named Larry. I hate these guys, and I devote my life to hunting them down and pulling their (often greasy) hair mercilessly.
And Anonymous: Uncloak and reveal your true identity!
you must love Raymond, and the Kind of Queens, and this long line of tv men kept innocuously dumb, men who are always, thanks god, wrong, but in cute ways that are forgiveable, the kind of men will all be after the Great Operation…