This entry was posted on Monday, December 31st, 2007 at 11:19 pm and is filed under General Word Vomit. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
I wonder what it says when two different people give me vibrators for Christmas.
To be fair, they weren’t obvious vibrators. I didn’t open any boxes to find a faux penis or a large wand disguised as a “massager” staring back at me. Still, there was no denying the purpose of either gift, despite one having the multi function of also being a keychain flashlight and the other featuring a rather creepy plastic Hello Kitty figure on the top. Somehow, those “speed” knobs are always a dead giveaway.
Not that either person would know this, but I actually already have a fair collection of vibrators, all given to me by an ex boyfriend who had an affinity for sex toys. Even after five years, the vibrators are all still going strong, which is more than I can say for the two relationships they’ve accompanied me through.
With that kind of durability, it’s tempting to launch a “vibrators are better than men” attack. Though part of me realizes doing so would be utter nonsense, considering my recent interactions, I’m more convinced there’s some validity to the argument.
Admittedly, I am something of a challenge to know, which can put one at a disadvantage. It’s not often that I have much to say to people in general, and strangers especially. Whether that’s because I’m a bitch or just an overly cautious woman who hasn’t shaken the stranger-danger mantra of her childhood depends on whom you ask.
What I can say for certain is that unless a person enjoys a seething shoot down, they had better offer up at least a modicum of character and intelligence upon approaching me. Barring that I’ll take courtesy, though that too seems to have been squashed by brute stupidity.
Really, how is it socially acceptable to approach a woman sitting by herself, set up camp, and insist, “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be alone”? I suppose I should have known better than to head out to a rock club unaccompanied, but at the time a night out sounded like a good idea.
It would have been nice to have the armor of a friend waiting for me in the wings as I attempted to shoo the cheap beer-drenched jackass from my table. “C’mon,” he slurred. “Let me buy you a drink.”
I had already declined his first two offers, why he thought asking a third time would generate a different reply was beyond me. So I sighed and said, “If I take the cash will you leave me alone?”
He looked a bit shaken at that, and stammered something about just wanting to be my friend, but he did beat retreat to another corner of the club where perhaps the women would appreciate his “friendly” sentiments more than I.
The counterpoint could be raised that I should expect no less from the crowd at a rock show. This would be a valid point, except that uncouth behavior and general stupidity seem to run rampant these days.
“You know, that guy was a total misanthrope.”
For a minute, I was actually intrigued. If you’re going to approach me, particularly in a bookstore as I flip though a Bukowski novel, this is certainly not a bad way to get my attention.
“Really?” I asked. “What makes you say that?”
My would-be suitor leered. “Well, hell!” he said. “He must have fucked a hundred women. How cool is that?”
How cool, indeed. I pointed to the opposite end of the store. “The dictionaries are that way, asshole.”
It would be nice if I could say these interactions were limited to complete strangers and my unfortunate knack for attracting whack jobs. I suppose the whack job part is true enough, seeing as how even guys I’ve known for years are crawling out of the woodwork with untoward requests.
I suppose they smell blood in the water now that word of my relationship being over has spread. A friend recently revealed he’d had feelings for me for years but was scared to act on them. Apparently, my having a boyfriend was an obstacle for him, but his having a girlfriend is not.
“Yeah, I’m going home to her,” he sputtered. “But she means nothing to me. I’ve always wanted you.”
How poetic.
There’s a great deal of debate over what it is that women want: nice guys, bad boys, assholes. Maybe that’s why there are so many guys running around with the notion that it’s okay to be presumptuous, or excessively flirty, or overwhelmingly insistent.
Truth be told, no woman in her right mind wants any of that. What she wants is a good man.
Considering the apparent shortage of such in my part of the world, suddenly, my Christmas gifts seem a lot more appealing.
January 2nd, 2008 at 4:27 pm
You are not a challenge. I’ll lay down a challenge. The John Henry challenge against your “machines”. I, like John Henry the human pile driver, will show you that man will prevail over machines. Who cares if John Henry’s heart exploded? That’s a risk I’m willing to take in order to vanquish your energizer bunny (or did they get you the rabbit?) and bring you back to the realm of beer fueled pleasure devices.
January 9th, 2008 at 5:49 pm
Now Jules, I see no point in bashing overly flirty men.
xoxox
We’re not all tools! Well not all the time…