My Top 5 Rejections. Number 5.

Guys have to put themselves “out there” more often than women when dating, I think. I mean, more often than not, it is incumbent upon a guy to ask a woman out on a date and, in so doing, put themselves at risk for rejection. That’s all well and good for the balance of burdens among the genders. I’d much rather be rejected every now and again than be forced to endure monthly periods, but I digress.

Like George McFly, we’re afraid of rejection, and invariably every guy has some stories to tell from the inevitable “No, Thanks” we all get. It’s only possible to tell the stories after enough time has gone by and we’ve reached an emotional stability where we can laugh at them and ourselves.

So, for me now, enough time has passed on these: my top 5 rejections.

Number 5

10th grade Geometry. My buddy Scott and I were in the class together, and on the first day, the teacher asked us to describe, as a get-to-you-know-you exercise, our ideal vacations. A brunette with big cans, pretty eyes, and a bigger back-yard, described how she wanted to go to the Bahamas. Forever after, to me and Scott, she was called Bahama Mama. Hey, shut up. We were in 10th grade walking around with boners all the time trying to come up with a way to get our first shot at being naked with a girl.

By this time in the story, I was pretty hard up for a date (as you’ll see in the rejections recounted later). I didn’t swoon over Bahama, but I was looking for a date. Anything. What I would have done made it to second base to experience those big cans. Those eyes, too. We didn’t sit near one another in class, and even if we had, I didn’t have any game. I was maybe five foot eight or nine and a buck oh five. I couldn’t fabricate a reason to strike up a conversation.

So, mid-year on the bus home from swim practice, I asked my buddy Heath for her number. They went to the same junior high, and he was well connected. He had the number! But…he couldn’t give it to me. What!? Dude. I was relentless. He wasn’t sure. He hemmed. He hawed. Finally… “All right, I’ll give it to you, but you CAN NOT let her know I gave it to you.” Fine. I promised.

Ring ring….

“Is Bahama there?”

“Hang on”

“Hi Bahama, This is Max”

“Who?”

“Max, from geometry.”

“Oh,” she said in a wilting way, the way a flower dies, if a flower died in 2 seconds.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out, maybe to a movie.”

“How’d you get my number?”

“Heath gave it to me.” At his point, I could tell this ship was sinking. Fuck him and my promise.

“Uh, I don’t think so”

“Uhhhhh”

“I have a boyfriend who is in college”

I was thinking to myself, I can’t believe she’s giving me this bullshit. This is such a crock. I know it, she knows it.

She continued, “He lives in [the next town over]“

“”You said he was in college?”

“Yes”

“But, there’s no college in [the next town over].”

“Yeah, well, he lives with his parents, and he drives to college”

“Right. I see. Well, if things go south with your non-existent college boy who lives at home, here’s my phone number.” I said, trying to save what little pride I had left.

For the rest of the year we never spoke again. Never made eye contact. The stinging emotional welt prevented me from looking at her, and I presume, the embarrassment from having to come up with such an obvious fib prevented her for looking at me.

Today, I harbor no ill-will toward Bahama Mama. It must not have been easy for her, either. I hope she is doing well and living in a trailer park in some rural area with her 7 children, and her busted-down pickup truck and her no-good deadbeat of a husband. And her big cans.

The Curious Case of the Bitter Bachelorette

I feel sorry for a woman at work. She’s the type of woman who would get angry at me if she found out I felt sorry for her. Let’s call her BB.

Some background: I don’t know BB very well, but in the limited interactions I’ve had with her, both one-on-one and in group settings, she’s made it abundantly known that she’s never been married and is very interested in changing that status, but has had a hard time finding a suitable mate. To her, suitability means a wealthy guy.

BB is currently dating a guy. I’ve met him on occasion and he seems cool. I have no idea about the size of his bank account, but he seems as well-off as anyone. So far, no real reason to feel sorry for BB. I mean, everyone has his or her motives and who am I to question?

Some additional background: a colleague of ours in the office, Leigh, is almost universally considered beautiful. People who find out where I work have asked about her. Her attractiveness is almost legendary, it seems. (She’s not exactly my type, however). Leigh got married a little while back to a guy. Apparently the guy has been switching jobs a lot recently and Leigh has been paying the household bills.

Leigh and BB apparently had a conversation, wherein BB asked Leigh why she married the guy. A quote from the conversation, Leigh told me, was “You’re young and beautiful, you could have married the richest guy and led any life you want. Why would you choose him?” With the last part said in a way in which implied disappointment. Leigh told me she replied, “Because I fell in love with him,” to which BB dismissed it as a non-legitmate reason.

This is why I feel sorry for BB. She is a really gregarious and otherwise fun person, but this aspect of her is really sad. To her, love is not a legitimate reason to marry.

I wonder what happened to make her this way. I have to believe that, at some point early in her life, she must have been really screwed-over by a guy. That’s the only explanation I can think of to answer why she’s be so jaded on love and relationships. Up to the point I found all this out, I didn’t think she was serious about the money-as-a-prerequisite. It’s no act. It is a prerequisite. And it is sad.

News: Masturbation may prevent prostate cancer

Like I needed any more justification…

From a Yahoo news story (link below):

“Frequent masturbation may help men cut their risk of contracting prostate cancer, Australian researchers have found. It is believed that carcinogens may build up in the prostate if men do not ejaculate regularly, BBC News reported on Wednesday.”

Story Here

Snap Judgements. Does She Pass?

You’ve heard comedians talk about it, but it is true. Within seconds of seeing a woman, a guy has answered the question, “Would I have sex with this woman?” I mean, all is takes is a mere second. Any longer than that and, if the answer is yes, we’re thinking about how she grooms “down there” (for example, “I bet it’s a landing strip”).

Maybe without knowing it, or maybe fully consciously, we place the woman into one of two categories: “Yes, I would do her”, or “Nah, I’ll pass”. For certain guys (the ones who drink) there are three categories and the third falls between the other two; “I’d do her with enough alcohol.”

So, all women fall into one of those three categories. Is it “fair”? No, probably not. Is it “nice”? No way, it is a snap decision based purely on physical appearance. Is it why some women get treated better than others? Yes indeed. I can hear it now, “That’s just rude.” Yes it is. Do we even think about it? No? Why? It is a Floor 2 function. (What’s Floor 2? See this.)

Truth be told, its a spectrum with a dividing line. Some women just fall to the bad side of the line. We can’t find everyone attractive.

In a way, it is like the caste system. It is really hard to move between categories, but it is possible. Jumpers don’t happen often, so how can she move from “I’ll pass” to “I’d do her”? Well, she has to be within reasonable proximity to the dividing line (within jumping distance) and again, it is difficult to jump over, but here’s a couple of ways:

• Personality #1 – she has to have an attractive personality. Just a sweet, fun personality. Someone who is great to just hang around. Not the fastest way to jump the fence, but she’s got the time, it may work.
• Personality #2 – If she seems like she’d be a hell-cat in the sack, she’s likely to get re-categorized if she’s within jumping distance. I’ve heard dudes say that they weren’t that into a chick, but the thing that changed was that she exuded sexuality. Come hither looks. Some revealing clothes. It may sound trampy, but hey, sexy is good.
• Physical changes – No, not a boob job. Well, OK, maybe it is a boob job. Could also be just getting into shape.

So, this is the ugly truth behind the snap judgements. We just make em on Floor 2.

No Eligible Bachelors?

An article on Slate.com appeared the other day about the cause of the lack of desirable, eligible bachelors.

Using Game Theory, the article suggests that the most desirable women tend to be choosy, and wait for the perfect man. Meanwhile, other, less choosy women make a more determined play for the eligible bachelor, and take the man off the market sooner. Over time, the good ones go off market early, leaving the socially awkward, the unattractive, or the otherwise undesireable.

It’s an interesting theory, available here:

http://www.slate.com/id/2188684/

Primal Attraction

For dudes, sexual drive leads to social retardation. Seriously.

If cognitive ability were a fifty floor building, complex thinking would take place on the highest levels. Things that happen on floor 50 are concepts like understanding quantum mechanics, theoretical physics, philosophical conversations about morality, and other topics where nuance and complexity are important.

On the other hand, breathing, for instance, is a floor one activity. The elevator needn’t go any higher. Flight or flight is also floor one. The elevator can’t go higher for that. Immediate action is required.

You see where I am going with this?

Sexual attraction only goes to the second floor, tops. A girl walks by in a low cut stop showing ample cleavage? I stare (mmm, Boobs). Exposed legs (how high do those go?), I stare. I sit there for about two or three seconds and just stare before snapping out of it. If I am around a bunch of hot women, I am a social retard at least 50% of the time because my brain gets short circuited.

It’s why guys get busted by their wives for checking out some hottie that walks by. Sure, we know it’s a bad idea to look, but you know what? That part that knows is on floor 25. This thought only went to floor 2, and floor 2 is much more efficient at sending action signals. So by the time floor 25 sends the signal “Hey, dipshit, quick staring at hottie’s ta-ta’s before your girlfriend sees you drool,” it’s too late. She’s already giving the stink-eye. It’s primal, like the Fight or Flight Response. We don’t have any control over our bodies, for a few seconds anyway.

Women must – have to – be more evolved. They have more control over some of the more basic drives, it seems. I’ve heard the old saw, “We do it, we’re just more sly about it.” Bull shit. It doesn’t shut down your brain function like it does ours.

What else does this Floor 2 Strength mean to women? I am hoping some enlightened woman will tell me, but I’ve seen two issues:

• I don’t think the average woman understands why her boyfriend will oogle some other broad’s cans. Well, believe me, he’s not thinking clearly. It’s not a lack of respect, it’s that the elevator is stuck on floor 2.
• I think a lot of women are freaked out by these blank stares they get from guys. And rightfully so. I’ve been stared at by some gay dudes. I know what’s going on, but still, it’s creepy.

I don’t expect you women to be gracious when you catch you guy reacting to a Floor 2 , um err, stimulus, but please understand. It’s the way we’re built. It’s embarrassing, frankly.

So the next time you catch him, the best thing you could do is ask him something to draw his attention to you. A really cool woman would shove his hand down her pants or flash him whisper something like, “I am not wearing underwear.”

Why Does This Blog Exist?

Women confuse me, and endlessly intrigue me. Probably a causal relationship.

I have questions. Lots of them. I have some answers, but mostly questions. Lately, most of my questions have been about the relationships between men and women in a lot of different facets of life.

I created this blog as an avenue to say some things I typically can’t say in polite conversation. There is so much that goes through the mind of a man that needs to be censored for public consumption, or repressed all together. I am going to free myself of those social constraints to say what I think, even if it may be salacious, unsavory, overtly sexy, shocking, hard to admit, or especially, politically incorrect. Essentially, this blog represents my inner id-type thoughts. For any (straight) female reader, I will probably say what your boyfriend/husband/significant other is thinking, but often won’t admit.

The Internet allows for some degree of anonymity, and I plan to take full advantage of it.