The Truth about Cats and Dogs and non-Practicing lesbians.

Dear Would-Be non-Practicing Lesbians,

Greetings. I understand that some of you are tempted, late at night, while listening to the voices in your head natter on, whilst trying to drown out your husband's snoring, to picture yourself grabbing half of everything and running off with your BFF to some remote island, where Suzanne Whang will narrate you and your realtor finding just the perfect house for you two to live. It would be a house by the beach, with a little garden, or at least a plot to grow some herbs, and where you would stroll each day down to the market to get food and then you'd stop for a quick dip in the ocean and settle in with your book on the beach, as your lap dog snoozes on a towel. Things would be efficient. Things would be serene. Nobody would be asking you where anything is, or what time it is, or where the keys are, or if you can notice the ketchup stain on the shirt, or if you wanted a quickie. It would be just what you think you wanted. FINALLY, you would say, I am free. FREE AT LAST. FREE. AT. LAAAAST.

But would this be really what you want? It's only right that you should play the way you feel it, but listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness. Read on:

This whole post is in response to this:

www.heartinhand.wordpress.com#!/entry/3067

My dearest friend Rocky posted this in a good pre-menstrual, tongue in cheek manner one night, and it made me LOL. However, it also made me think about just how different men and women are. I never thought I would ever say that. You see, I am an "enlightened" student of the 1990s. I always took pride in just how "evolved" I am. Since I was a kid, I always formed my closest friendships with women, and by the time I hit university, I was a 90's era prof's dream. I was one of the first men to take Women's Studies at my university, and pretty much all of my undergraduate, and a lot of my graduate studies at university were solely focused on gender. Let me tell you, every fucking paper I wrote was about feminism or "the other" or the oppressed/colored/gay/disabled.... you name it, I was your sensitive expert. It got to the point that when I finally conceded to the idea of marriage, I came with my own rules. Under no means was Rachel to change her name. And then, at the actual wedding, I put this huge resistance up against cutting the cake, as I had heard that it was symbolic of breaking the hymen. No, I am making none of this up. I was a real pill.

But somewhere in between then and now, real life got in the way. And, I have to say, that the older I get, the more I realize that I can't make any fucking sense of women. Whereas 25 years ago, I took pride in "getting" the core emotional make up of women, now? Fuck if I can understand what the hell makes you people tick. Seriously, I don't. And fuck me Dorothy, all of this sensitive male bullshit? Well, that shit just doesn't fly in real life. I keep freaking myself out when I admit any of this. But anyway. Let me respond to each of the bullets in Rocky's post:

-- First off: Men are dumb. Well, yes, we ARE dumb, in a "women judging men" sort of way. Of course we don't know what the hell is going on outside of our little bubble. All y'all ensure that this is so. I know you have my passport/wallet/room key/car keys/blood type in your big old-lady purse. However, this is because you INSIST that you carry this stuff, because once, 23 years ago, my wallet went missing for 15 minutes. THAT will never be let go. No, I won't mention the time that you lost your pay cheque 20 years ago, but that time my wallet was in the couch cushions? Well, I will pay for that forevermore. And it's not like we DON'T want you to have all of this stuff. it makes you feel good to take care of it, and we trust you, so knock yourself out. But it's 60/40 of necessity and humouring you. You figure out which percentage goes where. OH! And if you didn't have the 400 gallon purse, you'd be mortified to see us with a fucking fanny pack, so what the hell DO you want?

-- Inept "good" husbands. No matter how involved we try to be, we can never trump the mother and the form. To say it ghetto, Bitch, you representing. We may stumble over the birth dates of our kids and such, but it doesn't mean we are hands-off dads. Rather, all y'all take control of all of that stuff. When we do work on those things, we get the funny laugh an the condescending pat on the back: "You gave THOSE three things as clues for the show and tell thing?! Haha, no, that's... fine.. hahaha... no really... Jesus". So automatically, we are told that we are idiots.

-- I can't comment on the dishes thing, as I usually do the cooking and dishes. However, the other stuff that I DON'T do on a regular basis can, I suppose, get the same reaction. Yes, when we do something once in 15 years, fucking well right we want praise. Yes, I know you always do it, but maybe we'd do it more if you would say "hell, thanks baby, for scrubbing that pot." Hells bells.

-- No, the person you marry at 20 isn't the same person you would marry @ 40. HOWEVER. Let me say this for my fellow penis brothers. We love you more at 40 than we ever could have at 20. At 20, we were still really into ourselves. We are always a work in progress. And while I realize that there are many rat-bastard men who trade their wives in for newer, whore models, those of us who get it are crazier in love with you than ever. Relationships ebb and flow, and there are many times when you probably think WTF?!? But we fall crazier in love with you in our 40s (those who don't ditch you for some gross 25 year old bitch with a daddy complex - it happens, yes, but not to us good ones). Yes, while you are sitting there thinking "you washed the dishes and you want praise, asshole?", and you are wondering who this dude is you married 20 years ago, who is now 50 lbs heavier, and now has hair on his back, knuckles, and toes, and who looks a little puffy and balder or greyer, and who has gotten wrinkles around his eyes, and who seems to sweat all night long, well..... we are the same guy you married, but who DOESN'T think the same things about you. No, rather, we think you are the shit. While you may have your insecure moments about yourself, we AREN'T thinking any of that. Those dudes who do think that have left you before they went to hell, and are humping those daddy issue girls - those won't end well, so that's good revenge. Anyway, we aren't even remotely thinking anything about your weight, age, wrinkles, etc. We are thinking "GodDAMN! I've got me a fox, and I wish I wasn't so old looking/fat/wrinkled/hairy, because she could do so much better." You see, we are consumed with "she coulda done better." And it's true. You could have. You think you couldn't, but you could have. We know. We're men. We're piggish. We know what other men are thinking instinctively. This is why we like to parade you around, to show you off like a prized pig at the fair. it's the same old story - "take a good look guys, it's just you and your hand tonight, because I'm taking HER home. Sucks to be you, wanker!" What you see in the mirror isn't what we see. You see non-existent wrinkles and flab and lop-sided boobs and God knows what, but what we see is a fine fox. One that we want to get to know carnally.

-- Which brings us to the "let's squeeze one in before your aunt visits/you fall off the roof/whatever menstruation metaphor you use." This is where we really differ: sex. I will say that yes, I understand that I have no idea what it's like to be a woman and to go on a hormonal roller coaster each month, and thus suggestions of sex while pre-menstrual or during ovulation are obviously bad ideas on our part that we just don't grasp. And yes, I know that the huge shit I took that time that I couldn't quit talking about by no means has NO relation to what it feels like to give birth, and that time I had cramps from too many bran muffins doesn't really cover menstrual cramps either. But you see, the big difference between us is that since sex feels great, we always want to do it. who doesn't want to feel great? Who needs cocaine? So for us, we can have a cold, be very overtired and moody, be borderline pukey, have an absessed tooth, and an ingrown toe-nail that the cat just dragged her claw over, and if you flashed us certain body parts, we'd be all "YES, at least THIS will make me feel better for a bit." Really, it's only severe food poisoning that will stop us from performing. Otherwise, why WOULDN'T you want to do something that makes you feel good when you aren't feeling well at the moment? So when all y'all aren't in the mood because you are ovulating or getting your period, or you are tired/stressed/hungry/thirsty/want to watch Oprah/need to re-grout the sink, well, we DON'T GET IT! Hell, even IF, for some odd reason we weren't in the mood, we'd throw you a bang just because. And we are ready and willing for anything. You want us do dress in a captain's outfit and go down on you while speaking like Herve Villecheze as Tattoo? Fine. We'll show you da plane. Just ask, and we are up for it. Well, no, I say that now, but really, if you ask for that, we'll be all "oh yeah, that's great, I'm cool you get your freak on my thinking of midgets. who wouldn't?" And then we'd lie awake at night thinking "she fucking loves little people!" and would then talk about them forever and drive you crazy and throw that up in a fight at some point and then drink a bunch of wine and cry about how jealous we feel of little people because we just can't measure up. But the fact is, we'd try to pretend we were a midget just to rock your fucking world. Basically, we'd do you in a boat, we'd do you on a float... we'd do you with peas porridge in your pot nine days old, if you like nursery rhyme analogies. And yes, even if you literally had 9 day old peas porridge in your pot, we'd probably think it was really dirty and hot. Because we have no fucking sense when sex is involved.

And you know, it's not like it's so much fucking fun to be always consumed with sex. The older you get, the more you actually NEED to do it, or at least that's the case for me. I remember back during my teen years, I once gave up carnal pleasures for Lent. Yes, for Lent. I know, 25 years later, it sounds almost sacrilegious, but when you are a teenager who wants to sacrifice something you love for Jesus, it's actually quite touching. Anyway, I remember those 40 days as really, really, frustrating, but physically? Not the end of the word.

Fast forward a bunch of years. The older I become, the older I realize that my prostate is touchy. If a week goes by without youngblood getting to the freaky party (It's a Teena Marie song title, God rest her soul), my fucking back is sore and my pelvis is achey and I just want to get the damn thing over so I can feel better. So really, it's just something that has to happen. I always get the "oh fuck off with the sore back" look when I mention it, but at this point of my life, I just want to keep the pipes flowing. So, to summarize - we don't objectify you - if we ever did, it was back in the early days. Now? We still want to feel good, but we want you to, too. So tell us what you want, and we'll give it to you. And forgive us for thinking with our penises. But you'll never understand why we are so obsessed with ours, and we'll never get why you don't want to do it 24/7. Hells bells, if I could theoretically go at it over and over, Lord knows I'd be calling in sick once a week. Why you aren't, I don't rightly know...

And finally, we are caught in between expectations of who we should be. As men, we are in a world of mixed messages. Those of us of a certain age have tried to fight back against the stereotypical male behaviour and thus we may send mixed messages or come across as doormats. We don't want to be Fred Flintstone or James Dobson or whoever - you know, the domineering man who rules the roost. We all had friends who had fathers like this. Bring me my drink and paper and cook me my supper and look sexy and take care of the kids because it's women's work. So since we don't know boundaries, we overcompensate for this behaviour that we don't condone but nevertheless feel guilty by association and thus try to please. This seems to piss women off. We perhaps come across as weak or afraid of conflict. But really, we want to keep the peace to keep you happy. Because when you are happy, we are happy. So if you make pork chops every week, and we hate pork chops, we won't tell you. It's not to be condescending, but rather a sign of respect and love. If you want to get your freak on only one certain way, well, hell, we'll act out that play just for you, because a happy you is a happy hubby. If you want to name the baby Eunice? Hell, we'll pretend she's a perfect Eunice. You know what I mean? We aren't being pussies. We are showing respect. Yes, you probably say it's easier to say, gee, I am Jewish, so the pork chop isn't really a good idea, but really... we aren't SCARED of you - we are just so damn in love with you that really, eating a pig isn't so horrible. So why over analyze and make a big deal of this stuff? You think too much.

Anyway, to summarize - we are so different in how we look at things and how we process things. But we still need each other, more than we can say. Rocky ended a subsequent post with "One" by U2, a song I love. However, I think this song defines what the hell I am saying - you say this... and this...and this.... and for us guys? All we want is you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqEUnvR1mWo

Sorry, you'll have to copy and paste - this friggin MAC doesn't seem to post links.

Enjoy. Truer words have never been spoken.

Seacrest out.