So, today on the "L" or as I have started calling it privately, the "I would destroy you if I could," I encountered a woman whom I knew from a previous life, and not in any sort of hippy/rifle-dropping/metaphysical sense, but rather from college.
She was about a year younger than me, or somewhere-abouts that (I didn't really pay attention to these things) and (I know what you're thinking internet! Get your mind out of the gutter) NO I didn't hook up with her. Because if I had, it wouldn't have been awkward. It would have been a joyful, beautiful, spiritual reunion. Cuz that's how those things work for me. Honest.
The reason why it's so awkward every time is not because there was any bad history between us, but rather because she had desperately wanted there have been some bad history between us. And I didn't.
I happened into her on the "L" with her "boyfriend," who didn't say anything to contradict her when she called him that, and didn't really look crazy or homeless and being paid with food or anything, and actually turned out, after we chatted for a spell, to be a pretty cool guy.
Hell, in my opinion he'd have to be Mother Teresa with dick to date this girl, but, I digress.
I think that my abject disapproval of this woman is best expressed in story, however, and this story shall allow me to elaborate on many topics very interesting to both of us, including oral sex (if you're in doubt of your interest in it, internet, google anything and see if it happens to come up) and so internet I shall tell you a tale of "One Night in College."
Okay, so I've usually had a decent dating life, and generally dated girls I've seen across the room and been interested in, etc. although my romantic strategy tends to be A)Approach woman B)pee self C) wait (sheepishly) for sympathy. But somehow, maybe because I have one hell of a guardian angel (wingman? sorry.) I've done alright.
However, my theoretical holy brother in arms has not prevented me from being attractive to a number of fairly crazy people.
And I understand how this works. As you may or may not have guessed by now, internet, I like attention. Which is why I'm displaying my journal to strangers, instead of writing it in the dignified self-reflective privacy of actual dead tree pulp.
So quite often when someone pays me extra attention, I tend to just sort of enjoy it, as if it was a rainbow, or warm summer rain, and not really question what dark storms may be brewing on the intentional horizon, until I'm flung halfway to Oz.
So, this aforementioned girl, and another crazy un-aforementioned girl, were both into me at the same time, because God likes taunting me like a mean kid with some ants and something to taunt ants with (sentience?). Partially my stupid, stupid fault, but what's a poor girl to do? Boy! Boy! Dammit. Weeps. Mastu...okay, okay enough.
I am throwing a fundraiser party at my apartment to raise funds for a play I was performing in at the time (attention much?) and I decided that, because getting texts/calls/standing-on-my-front-lawn-at-night-crying-with-Every-Rose-Has-It's-Thorn-blaring-from-a-boombox-held-high-above-her-head was really getting on my nerves, and keeping me from pursuing other more interesting interests, like playing video games and masturbating, I decided that I'd invite them both to the same party.
I don't really know what I was thinking at the time. Maybe I was hoping they'd shake hands and combust in some sort of weird-girl space-time anomaly. More probably I was thinking that if both were on the prowl, neither would really let the other one corner me, since my friends had decided to sit back and watch, as apposed to actually helping me stay away from both or either, because that was much funnier for them. Maybe I could play them against one another, just in case one or the other was going to show up anyway. I don't know internet, I just did it thinking it would somehow help.
So to the party they both show up, one a half an hour after the other. They come in the door, say high to a few friends, and immediately bee-line toward me, who am trying desperately to secure a "bar-tending" position at this point to the point of throwing a very nice girl who was acting as our stage manager and official "bar-tender" clean out my third-story window, but was caught and literally dragged into a milieu of drunken, sweat, clothed crotch rubbing "dancing". Which is not terribly fun if you're not "into it."
Now granted the second one found me just as the first went to the bathroom, so my dream of a catfight/duel/anomaly over me resulting in the death of both of them never came to fruition, mainly because God had taken the lead off my friends and copied the non-invasive "funnier-for-me" approach, I think.
And here's where it gets good.
Both girls/women/anomalies, during sweaty clothed crotch bumping, within five minutes of one another, uttered variations of the phrase "and what's more, I really love to perform oral sex."
Anyone who thinks "women are just more subtle than men" is a stupid. That's right. A Stupid. Some. SOME is the key word. Some would say "most," but definitely not ALL.
I'd also like to point out the lack of credit that this gives me as a man. And I understand that most women think that all men want is sex, but their behavior implies that there's some sort of transitive property at work here. It's like they were implying that because I like BLOWJOBS, and THEY like BLOWJOBS, therefor I like THEM.
Which is really not necessarily the case.
But, alright ladies, if you'd really rather have some sort mathematical model to pattern your understanding of the male sexual psyche after, why don't we look toward supply-side economics.
I want all of you, internet, to imagine that instead of blowjobs, women gave men they liked small, finely crafted golden statues. Now in this model, because each statue is made by hand, each woman can only make and distribute her own special brand of statue.
Say you just like making statues alot, and you make alot, and give them to everyone. All of a sudden, people aren't really going to want your statues (or herpes). In fact, if everyone has your statues, then they aren't really valued by anyone, because according to simple laws of economics, value of your statues comes from scarcity.
So say you're really good at making statues. That's great, however anyone who receives a statue of yours is going to wonder just how you got so good at making statues, and just how many people out there have your "practice" statues, since they DO still count, being your brand. And most people won't want to have your statues anymore than they want to wear Ambercrombie (unless they're 14, literally or emotionally).
Similarly if you're just really really bad at statues, no one is going to want your golden play-dough poop sculture on their "mantle".
That's because statues (read:blowjobs) are works of art. That was an awesome sentence. They are individually crafted, and it's the care, time and commitment that goes into each one that makes it truly valuable.
So for most men, the most intelligent economic strategy is either to want one brand of statue, and only one, an investment, if you will, the quality steadily increasing over time through practiced craftswomanship, that no one else has, making it very valuable so that he is rich in the ways of statues; or rather as vast an assortment of RARE statues of all different sizes and shapes that he could display in a sort of mental "trophy case".
And it's as simple as that. So lo and behold: If you want attract a man with your oral sex, STOP ACTING LIKE SUCH A WHORE ABOUT IT, FOR GOD'S SAKE. Because getting my dick sucked is only really fun if I like you, or you are REALLY REALLY hot. Also- side note: you don't need to say it either: I guarantee I'm thinking it already.
So while neither of the aforementioned women at the party seemed to have reservations about giving me an unwanted statue each, it seemed doubtful they would combine their efforts and work together to create an unparalleled work artistic brilliance (wasn't that a nice way of saying it?) so I opted to leave with the party which I was hosting, and find a girl at a different one who happened to, while presenting me with a statue later that night, accidentally punch me in the balls. So wah-hoo. Best 4 years of my life.
Now wait a minute! You, the internet, are probably saying to yourself/your roommate/your roomate/parent combo, this guy just wants to brag about all the women who want to BLOW him! That probably never even happened!
Well, it did. And I'd like to stress a couple things.
First- two of these women didn't want to BLOW me, they wanted to snare/guilt/trick me into DATING them, which is a different thing, and I don't think the third one was an old fling who had previously made me fairly rich in the ways of statues.
And in case you're thinking I'm in someway stuck up/ stupid/ gay for turning down BJ's from the willing, I'd like to drive my point home by saying that it wasn't necessarily that either of these women wasn't attractive, or at least kind of pretty, because they were. Nothing you'd frame a picture of, really, but that's primarily because if you did, one of them would die of starvation whilst staring at it's beautiful flaws and ugly perfections, and the other might have it blown up and made into a sun dress so she could show it off by wearing it.
In essence it was because they were PSYCHOTICALLY ANNOYING, and anyone who met them would agree. They also insulted me by thinking they could lure me into something I didn't want with sex, and I ask only for a little more credit before we hop into bed together. Yeesh.
Long story short, when I saw one of them on the "L", and she spent the whole time talking about herself without pausing for breath somehow, and her "boyfriend" asked me (silently, with his eyes) if I'd help him construct a suicide machine so that he might finally be free, before they both got off a couple of stops north of mine and we said an awkward goodnight, and I sighed in relief and tried to cool the part of my brain that was behaving as if I'd spent the last 20 minutes conversing with a ravenous tiger.
So there you have it Ladies: a rational argument why you should act like a lady, even and especially around and with boys you like: Supply side economics.
Also, they should have stalls to hide in on the trains, or something, because I'm tired of running into people I find very unpleasant.
Alright, bed time.
Fung on Film
10 hours ago