Women are nuts

I can’t tell you how many times guys tell me, “Shit! You are like the coolest girl I have ever met.” Or have even said, “I feel like I am talking to my best (male) friend. You’re one of the guys.” And, when you first meet me, I fucking am. I put men at ease with discussions on Hemingway, Bukowski, football and the merits of a good beer. I poke fun of my nutty fellow women who call too much, who can’t relax when they date guys, who expect too much from one night of sex.

“I don’t understand women, what the fuck is the point? If he’s not returning your phone call, get a fucking life and quit bothering, you know? I would never throw myself out there like that.”

It’s part of my charm. I can make anyone feel comfortable in any situation. Men start to open up to me because I give off such warm vibes, from my smile to my gentle touch, to repeating back the important lines of our conversations as I ask gently probing questions. I am so laid back and chill, that I act like a defy the stereotypes that plague women.

Or so is the façade I put forth.

Truth is, no matter how much I deny it or pretend otherwise, I am a woman. Biology programmed me to be obsessive compulsive about the men who sleep with me in my bed. It’s my instinct to find the most burly man to provide for me and my brood and to make him stick around and rear our children. Make him stop playing Johnny Appleseed, sharing himself with the rest of the species.

Rewind to my Friday night.

Tired from a hectic work week, I didn’t feel like seeing anyone that night. Instead I spent the evening having fun with one of my greatest skills: internet stalking aka “Googling someone’s ass”

I sat in front of my computer inputting the name of every single boyfriend/fling/dick suck beginning with middle school from 6pm until 9:30pm. I only stopped when one of my friends, upon hearing what I had been up to, ordered me out of my apartment to have a drink with her.

I found pictures of their recent marriages (damn did you gain weight tubby!), information about their father’s business, saw that someone’s sister got a nose job and reveled in the fact that some are still living on Long Island with the parents.

This wouldn’t be that weird if I internet stalked friends who I lost contact with, or a recent ex-boyfriend. But it just didn’t stop there. I googled people from my past YEARS (aka from Middle School) ago, their families, their friends, even their fucking cats. There is no reason to involve their families. But in my sick obsessive mind, there is.

Take a step back for a moment and let it sink in… I googled someone’s father because I couldn’t get enough information on him. I mean, let’s face it. That is fucking sick!

The scary thing is, that this level of obsessive compulsiveness is not just me sharing with my readers how I am secretly a nut job. All women, to a certain degree are like this. We talk about men incessantly and constantly over analyze the most mundane detail:

“When he said he would call me later, he didn’t until the next day! What do you think that means?”

“How did he sound? Was it flippant? Frustrated? Preoccupied?”

“His voice dipped an octave at the end of –bye…what do you think?”

Women are psychos. And watching two younger brothers deal with the female species only confirms my self-prejudice. I watch if when my brothers don’t cater to their girlfriend’s every whim that “you don’t love me enough!”

And I know where these women are coming from because I pull the same crap on the guys I date. I’ve ended things because of bad restaurant choices...so I totally relate.

Post continued tomorrow about the socialization of the male vs. female… and how that's fucked us all up.