Laura sent this along to me...
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From:
Re; Men Don't Know What They Want - Here's Why
Reply to: anon-81550467@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-29, 3:06AM PDT
Brilliant best of for the day.
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Reply to: anon-81548932@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-06-29, 2:07AM PDT
It's not the 1950s anymore. You are the new Modern Woman, and that means you're entitled not to marry the first man that shows interest in you. Fair enough, but what does that mean? Think of every guy that's ever shown interest in you. And interpret the word 'interest' loosely - whether he casually asked you out after school, wrote you a 14-page sonnet for Valentine's Day, or grabbed your ass at the bar. it's interest, isn't it? Think about how many of those guys you reciprocated interest in. Well, it couldn't have been that many, otherwise you'd be having sex with every guy that grabbed your ass, which I doubt is the case.
But rewind a bit, think about when you first started dating, not too long after the cooties stage. When Johnny the quarterback asked you out, weren't you thrilled? He had gorgeous eyes and a brilliant smile and he was the perfect boyfriend. until you found out he was dumb as a box of bricks. Well, Johnny didn't seem so perfect after that, and maybe you realized being hot wasn't the only thing you should look for in a guy.
So eventually you looked for your intelligent stud, shooting down other suitors who were otherwise physically attractive but dumb as posts, and finally found him in your college English class. Owen was a nice guy, he wrote incredible poetry and flattered you with his verses, but he was kind of a pussy. In fact, he was completely a pussy. He hated parties and thought binge drinking was "the bane of our generation" and basically seemed like he was already thirty-five years old. Well, you weren't 35 yet, so maybe it was time to find a fun guy. Owen might have made a good boyfriend for a girl someday, but you weren't that girl, and it wasn't someday yet.
You found Mr. Fun Guy at the frat party you went to that night. It took you awhile before you started talking to Mr. Fun Guy, known as 'Mike' to his friends and 'Shithead' to his fraternity brothers. He was actually a lot more intelligent than you thought, drunkenly yet coherently rambling on about George W. Bush and his corrupt foreign policy plans. And obviously he was fun, as he easily socialized with everyone in between his sixth and seventh keg stand. So you were thrilled when Mike gave you his attention, so thrilled that you gave him head that night.
And then you found out why he was called Shithead. You thought maybe it was some gross story involving actually feces, but the truth was much more disgusting:
"Well, most girls end up thinking he's a shithead, actually."
The next party you saw Mike at, his arm was wrapped around some other girl. Mike was a player. Well, fuck that shit. Fuck that shithead. If you just wanted ass, you could've gotten it from the other six or seven guys that hit on you that night. You really liked him, and you promised yourself then that you'd never give another guy head unless it was clear he really liked you too.
And so college ends and you take your degree and you go off to law school, like the other hordes of college students who don't know what to otherwise do with their lives. That's when you meet Trent, a different kind of flavor than the guys you're usually into, with the vintage jeans and piercings and tattoos. But Trent, well, he's hot and he's smart and he's fun, so you give him a chance even as all the other hipster/alternative/grunge/punk guys that have hit on you and fail whine, "that's not fair!"
Trent's smart, easily able to shift his expert opinion from subjects ranging from music to. well, music. But, well, he kind of has this problem with ambition. As the cliché goes, he smokes a lot of weed and he doesn't realty have a job, aside from selling the weed he has that he manages not to smoke. And sure, it's so superficial to care about income and you don't want a sugar daddy, but. well, it's about time you start thinking about the future, right? You don't want a family now, but you know you will someday, and seeing as you're going through grad school to ensure your future, shouldn't your future husband?
So, see ya Trent. And yeah, almost everyone in your law school classes have tried to make a pass at you, and you finally relent and date Curtis. Curtis is intelligent on every level you care about, he's socially capable and a great conversationalist with you and everyone you know, and obviously he has ambition if he's in law school. Great guy, except. he's not hot. He's just not. He's not hideous, but you admit to yourself that a physical connection is important, and maybe you're not as superficial as men tend to be, but you can't ignore the fact that you like a lean body and nice eyes. You know, like Johnny.
Where am I going with this?
This doesn't happen with men. We're not constantly being approached; we're doing the approaching. If you go on five dates, that probably meant you rejected forty other guys. You shouldn't be forced to date every guy you meet, especially when you determined they're just going to be another Johnny/Owen/Mike/Trent/Curtis, and you know it didn't work out with them.
But us? Well, we're usually one of the forty, and even if we're one of the five, we usually still end up dumped anyway. So seeing as we're being rejected 80-90% of the time, how the hell are we in any position to have any standards? How the fuck do we know what we want? When we show interest in girls that meet some very basic criteria, a girl that we find attractive, and maybe on a particularly picky day, a girl we can stand talking to for more than five minutes, and we're still getting rejected eight out of ten times. well, Jesus Christ. It's no wonder we think with our penis. Our brains can't think, because it has nothing to base thinking on.
So this is what happens to guys like me. We meet a girl that we find attractice and cool, and we want to date her. And lo and behold, she's the rare ten percent that want to date us. But then down the line other factors come into play. Maybe this particular girl is also pothead deadbeat, or we find out "cool" and "smart" are sometimes exclusive qualities, or maybe she just likes to stay in all the time and be boring. We don't find this out until weeks, or maybe months down the line, and that's when we realize "hey, maybe this isn't going to work out."
Ah yes, and the famous "fear of commitment" line comes out. Men are constantly backing out of relationships within weeks or months, before it gets serious, because of some innate inability to engage in a serious relationship. Except it has nothing to do with fear of commitment, we simply don't want to commit to someone we're not interested in. And unlike women, we don't get a chance to even figure out what we like, and what we don't like, because we're getting shot down all the goddamn time.
Oh, and we become "assholes" too, because during these weeks or months when we're trying to figure all this out, we're having sex. God forbid.
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