27 April 2009

Airing the Id

I'd like to begin by saying how much I love my new bra: I really love my new bra.  It's so cute! And it makes me so happy!  So I love it.

Now, on to less pleasant emotings.  Last night I brought M.S. to tango class. I did this specifically to please someone in the class who has been very kind to me.  When I was dancing around the room with my friend B., he said to me, "I see you brought M.S."  (He knows her vaguely, I believe.)  I said, "Yes; it was requested."  And he said, "I wish I'd made that request."

You know what, dude?  Fuck you.  You're dancing with me.  Why don't I just get out my t-shirt that says, "I am the woman over whose shoulder men look at other women," and wear it around Cambridge?  At least that way it'll be clear to everyone, not just me.  I know you don't find me attractive - I'm not an idiot - but do you have to make it quite so obvious?  I don't find you attractive, either, as it happens, but I don't spend my goddamn time telling you about other men in the room that I find hot.

This is my whole fucking life, you know that?  My whole fucking life since I was maybe 18 men have been telling me about other women they find attractive, and why they find them attractive, and what it is that it takes for a woman to be attractive, and after maybe the first five times I think to myself, I am sitting across the table from you, and you must see that I'm a woman.  Clearly, I am for you so empty of attractiveness that you just think of me as another man.  Or when they say things like, "In order for a woman to be really attractive she has to be pretty, but she has to have a great personality, too," I think, Well, the fact that you're telling me this makes it plain that you don't think I'm attractive, so either I don't have a good personality or I'm not pretty, or both.  Good to know.

I get it:  I'm easy to talk to.  I'm not gonna judge you, and I'm sympathetic (and, in this case, you're all too young for me, anyway).  Yes, I'm flattered by that.  But frankly I'd be a fuck of a lot more flattered if someone leaned over and kissed me (not you guys, but someone - hell, I'd be pretty flattered if it were one of you guys), and barring that I'd be more flattered if you could put in my beggar's bowl the small change of not treating me completely like one of the guys.  I get it:  you find a girl hot, and you want to tell someone; and you want to tell a woman, because a woman can give you better advice about how to deal with women.  Reasonable enough.  But all the time? And any girl?  It's boring.  And it's insulting.

Let me give you a partial list of men whom I find sexy:  Johnny Depp; Will Smith; David Tennant; Hugh Jackman; James McAvoy; Roman Abramovich; Ronan Keating; Fernando Torres; Miroslav Klose; Owen Wilson; that guy who showed up at tango last week; that guy who showed up on Saturday; that other guy who showed up; that guy who dances so beautifully; Martin Kemp; Jose Mourinho; Daniel Radcliffe; Shia LeBouef; that guy over your shoulder, yeah, that one right there; that guy over your other shoulder; that guy we just passed on the street, that guy who sits in  the clubroom all the time.  Your best friend.  That guy who sometimes sits next to you at lunch.  Let me give you a partial list of the men I've imagined having sex with:  every man I've ever met.  But have I ever burdened you with this information, unbidden?  I have not.  What the fuck makes you think I want to hear your desultory ramblings about the various women you desire?  Heads up:  you and your sexual flotsam and jetsam are not that interesting.  Here's a news flash: I've speculated on the size of your penis. And some of you did not come out well. Did you really want to know that? I didn't think so.  So maybe we shouldn't share everything.

And I'll tell you something else:  if I did want to fuck you, that desire is dying with every tactless hotness comment you utter. And since apparently getting your leg over is very important to you, you might want to consider that the next time you open your mouth extraneously, or for the fiftieth fucking time, to detail to me how fantastic some other girl is.  

Does M.S. bake cakes for no reason?  Does she listen carefully when you talk about stuff she finds tedious?  Can she explain other people to you? Does she make her own clothes?  Can she make some for you?  If you're scared, or insecure, will she tell you she understands and make you feel better?  If you're sad, will she pet you?  In a situation where she could potentially be hysterically unhappy, will she instead back out with grace and dignity?  Will she iron your shirts because it gives her pleasure?  Will she tell you you're handsome just because you are, and you deserve to hear it?  Can she whip together a dinner party for 18, with tango to follow? Can she explicate the poems of Percy Shelley and explain what the hell Waiting for Godot is about?  Will she give you a back massage after football?  Will she commiserate with you when you try to puzzle out the universe?  Does she know how to make a flower out of a gum wrapper?  Can she hook her leg over her shoulder?  Will she let you jerk her (or drag her, or bully her) around a tango floor and never say a word about it, because she knows you're still learning, and you need to have your tender ego boosted?  Is she witty enough to make you laugh at dinner every night?  Once she decides to be your friend, does she stick with you through everything, forgiving the stuff she doesn't like?

I'm guessing the answer to those questions is no.  So maybe before you go yammering to one woman about another woman who's fabulous, you want to check the relative fabulousness of the women involved.

I am tired of being the woman every man likes but no man loves, and I am tired of having my face rubbed in the fact that I am that.  I can't change the first, but maybe I can get something done about the second.  Shut the fuck up.  It's enough.  Use some goddamn tact, and if you haven't got any look it up amidst the boring fucking youtube videos you love so much and learn it.

And don't you dare tell me that I should cheer up, or value myself more highly, or that if I acted less approachable, or less kind, maybe men would think of me more as a sexual being.  The purpose of this post is not to be made to feel better, or to learn how to attract men, or even really to change the behaviour of the men I know.  The purpose of this post is to vent, and to finally have my say.  And my say, right now, is, Shut your mouth, you tactless, thoughtless, self-centred cunts.

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