If I wanted you, YOU WOULD KNOW IT III (Stop being a narcissistic douchebag)

Based on the comments received on the last two blog posts, I’m still not getting my message across. So let me try to be clearer. When I had this conversation with the guy from Why do I have to say let’s just be friends when we already are?, he gave me the perfect analogy. He told me that hitting on me was like being in the desert and seeing an oasis. He was thirsty; he had to drink. You know what the major difference is between me and a body of water? I’m not a fucking inanimate object. But these guys don’t see it that way. 

That guy, and the guy leaving all the comments, seems to believe that a) women have no agency in their romantic lives and b) any agency we might have is of no material importance to what they want. That’s all they hear in their minds. ME WANT. ME WANT. And what happens when you tell a guy he’s acting like a narcissistic douchebag? He patiently explains why it’s all your fault. 

For all those guys, let me spell it out. You don’t get to tell me I don’t have a right to my feelings. Your inability to predict them does not invalidate my natural anger at you treating me like an inanimate object. And if for one moment you’re mustering your feminist/humanist credentials in your head to argue against what I’ve written here, stop and think about why you’re doing that. Because I told you you didn’t have the right to go after what you wanted. And you’re incapable of recognizing that what I want might have equal importance to what you want. After all, I don’t have the right to want what I want. Not when it conflicts with what you want. 

Let me be even clearer. THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU. It’s about me. But all you heard was me telling you not do something you wanted to do.

If I wanted you, you would know it-- the song!

Where's Beyonce when you need her? Someone write the music to this.

If I Were Interested, You Would Know It

I’m not afraid to hit on a guy
I’m not gonna let too much time go by
Pout my lips, shake my hips, or go in for a kiss
It’s not a signal he’s gonna miss

CHORUS: I'm not playing games, I'm not being coy 

I'm just not into you, feel me boy?
So take your feelings and keep a tight lid on it 
Cuz I don't give a shit if you want to hit it 
If I were interested, you would know it

I’m not saying I don’t enjoy your company
You’ve been cool and a pretty good friend to me
Ain’t no spark, made no mark, just can’t fake chemistry
We can just stay friends while I stay free

CHORUS

No means no, I ain't just playin' 
Stop a minute and listen to what I'm sayin' 
Don't matter if I'm drunk, in a funk, or feeling lonely
You ain't never gonna be my one and only 

CHORUS

If I wanted you, YOU WOULD KNOW IT

Good lord. How many posts do I have to make about my problems with friends who want more? I know, I know. It’s me. Obviously, it’s me. I get that it’s me; I just don’t get why it’s me. If you read this blog, or even the last post, you can see that I don’t do subtle. At best, I’m typically accused of being blunt. At worst, rude. I flat out admitted to a guy in high school that I had a huge crush on him. Knowing full well he didn’t feel the same.* 

Ok, I’ll liven up this blog post with some more proof of my incredible bluntness with guys. In high school, I got high and told a guy I fell in love with him at first sight. In college, while drunk, I got the sense that a new guy in my circle of friends was interested in me. He’s giving me a back rub, and I’m thinking, no way do I come back to college and on my first night make out with someone. There’s an awkward silence. Then I realized I just said that out loud. After college, I was out with a guy who was giving me a ton of mixed signals. So I told him that my mother was already picking out china patterns for us. Another awkward silence when he didn’t laugh at my joke. Hanging out at a friend’s apartment with his hot out of town guest—“Is it too soon to ask you to sit on my feet?” Yeah. It wasn’t. Most recently, I guy I liked at a friend’s birthday drove me home and when we got there I panicked about asking for contact information. So I kissed him. Then asked. 

So recently, when a guy read me a laundry list of things I had done that he took as signals I was interested, I was astounded that he had missed the obvious. Namely, I had never flirted with him. I had never inadvertently touched him. I had never sat next to him when there was room to sit farther away. I told another friend to stop trying to kiss me. He didn’t and accused me of playing games. Playing games? Mixed signals? How could I strike anyone who knows me as someone who doesn’t go after what she wants? I don’t get it. But let me make it clear. If I wanted you, you would know it. And likely at some cost to my personal dignity if history is anything to go by. 

* In case you’re interested, ten years later when I show up to my high school reunion looking smoking hot, said guy is full of astonishment that we didn’t date in high school. History rewritten.

There's nowhere to go from high expectations but down

I had more or less committed to let this blog sit idle but this was too good a story to pass up. And by good, I of course mean a train wreck. Let's call it the #2 Worst Sexual Experience of My Life. 

Prologue: A guide to dating Jewish girls 

Maybe it's unfair of me to expect the goyim to be culturally sensitive about issues that don't affect them. So in this public forum, let me just let you know, you need to warn a girl if you've still got all your original parts. We're a bit squeamish about it. 

Chapter 1. Anticipation 

There was quite a build up to my first time with the guy I'm going to call the Cap'n. Not only had we been dating several weeks, my body decided to go on strike when I was finally ready to sleep with him, which added an additional several days to the waiting period. There were the two things that got my expectations sky high. I talked to a friend about my new guy who mentioned that certain things might be in proportion to his 6'3" frame. I was also repeatedly guaranteed a great time by the Cap'n when I did finally sleep with him. Also, it was nice to have a lead up period to get the mood killing discussion of sexual health out of the way. 

Chapter 2. The main event 

I'm immediately hit with the little surprise from the prologue. No problem! I can roll with it. Would have been nice to be warned, but hey, it's business time. 

The next blow comes pretty soon after. After a relatively perfunctory foreplay period, it really is time to get down to business. What do you mean, you thought we could "do some stuff first?" Are these magical condoms that work as long as you're in the same room with them? Because the ones I'm familiar with only work when you put them on. 

And the hits keep coming! Because guess what happens when the condom gets on? Performance issues! Now my sample size is only two, but both uncircumcised guys I've been with complained about not being able to keep an erection with a condom on. There's a pun in there somewhere about giving me a hard time for insisting on condoms. 

But there's more? Why what else could there be? Ah, not just performance issues, but performance anxiety! The Cap'n's delicate sensibilities are too frayed for him to come the first time he sleeps with anyone. Yay, that just means I'm going to have work extra hard! But it will be worth it right? Because I was guaranteed a great time… 

Yes, amazingly I'm still thinking that somehow this guy is going to make good on that promise. But he in no way has the skills to back up that guarantee. But wait, by now you should know there's more! Not only does he not have the skills, he's not even that clear on the basics of female anatomy. I mean it. He wasn't even close. 

Chapter 3. After. Glow. 

Finally things wrap up, and it's time to get some sleep since we both have work the next day. Typical guy that I am, I'm lying there wondering what time it is and how many hours I have to go until I can get out of there. During my protracted musings on the nature of how much better it is in my bed, the Cap'n gets out of bed to start reading some stuff on the computer. The computer, which is in the bedroom. Not like in another room where I can't see the glow of the monitor. I'm lying there for what feels like four hours but is probably about a half hour, when I realize I actually can just go home. 

So I start getting dressed. He scrambles to save the situation by saying he was just about to come to bed. Because it's less rude if you're prepared to stop once the person is already pissed off. I am having none of this. I just want to get the hell out of there. So I leave, insisting that a 1am walk on a weeknight through the city is fine. Because I'm an idiot and don't have any cab money. I'm a block away from my place when he rides up on his bike. I should be glad that he did the gentlemanly thing and got his ass out of bed to come after me, but at this point I'm already safe. All I can think is, great, another awkward good night.

Chapter 4. That was easy 

Ok, so it's quite clear that I've got to get rid of this guy. My strategy is going to be keep the nighttime plans I already have with friends then dump him the first time I can get him to come out somewhere. Amazingly, shockingly, precedent-settlingly, I'm able to rid myself of him with very little fuss. 

Two days after the event, I get a long email that ends in the request for a do-over. Note to the Cap'n: when a girl literally risks her life and iPhone to get away from you, she don't want no do-over. Apparently the Cap'n is expecting me to make good on my promise to sleep with him regularly since I've asked him to forswear all other pussy in favor of mine (or forswear mine in favor of all others). This is also my sole purpose in his life, since he doesn't ask me to do anything, just requests that I let him know the minute I'm able to jump his bones again. I use the term bones loosely here. I stick with my strategy until I get a late night email saying he feels bad for trying to guilt me into a date, but the exclusivity thing has been doing a mental number on him. 

An out? It can't really be this easy? Ah but it is. I agree to dispense with the exclusivity rather than risk his discomfort. He hedges and says it's fine unless I want to dispense with it for my own reasons. So I reply that I do and wish him the best. The Queen of the Email Dumps reigns.

The X factor

Everyone has an X factor. You meet someone, you like their personality, the way they dress, their taste in music, something else, and it piques your interest. And you find out that one thing that hits you right in the hormones. Do not pass go, do not collect a handful of awkward dates, proceed immediately to infatuation. The X factor will make you explain away or ignore any other attribute about the person. It will make you ascribe all sorts of positive personality traits that might not exist. In short, it will reduce you to the yearning, bumbling fool of your teenage years.

Think you don’t have an X factor? Make note of the next time you say “God, that is so hot.” It can be anything: his big brain, she reads science fiction, her sexy accent, he makes his bed. Ok, that last one is probably just me. Maybe you’re a guy susceptible to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Maybe you’re a girl who fails to notice that he’s not self-confident, he’s just an arrogant ass. Or maybe, like me, you’re reduced to a puddle when you find out someone has talent. Give me a guy who can sing or act or paint, and I turn all tongue-tied and shy.

If you’re really, really lucky, it all turns out for the best and as you get to know the person, you find out they are actually as cool as they seem. If you’re unlucky, you get strung along for months deluding yourself they’re better than they are. If you’re totally messed up, your X factor is something like instability or unavailability and you find yourself accidentally driving the getaway car after an armed robbery or telling all your friends that she’s going to leaver her husband as soon as the kids are in college. But you couldn’t help it—he’s just so hot.

The numbers mean everything

So the early results seem to say that changing the pictures was a good move. Traffic has increased. I actually went on my first date last night. It went well. I may see him again, and he definitely seems open to the possibility of friendship, which is a refreshing change.

Having changed my pictures, I’m left with another disturbing issue. I’m becoming too old to date. Apparently I failed to look at this before, but shockingly, guys prefer younger women. Not just young women—younger women. There's some 35 year old guy out there who won't even consider women his own age, but thinks as long as she can drink they can reasonably get along. This person was born in the 90s. THE 90s!!! This person has never owned or probably seen a Fischer Price plastic record player. This person has no idea what life was like before the internet or cell phones. This person's parents probably pay her cell phone bill. But whatever.

I find this strange. The majority of my paired up friends are either the same age or the woman is older than the man so there are plenty of men not bothered by that idea. And this is online dating-- by all means, only hit on the hot 34 year olds. There are still plenty of them out there. Or maybe they do and they're just trying to prevent the un-hot 34 year olds from hitting on them. I don't know though, my age limits don't stop 45 year olds from hitting on me. It's a mystery.

I actually tried to solve this mystery. A 37 year old messaged me and his profile said he was interested in women from 26 to 36. So I emailed back asking why he was interested in women his own age. He thanked me for pointing out his profile was out of date and went ahead and fixed it. So now he’s interested in women from 28 to 37. Argh.

A picture's worth a thousand words (from creepy old dudes)

I'm just not as popular as I used to be. Traffic on my profile has been way down compared to previous attempts. I should be delighted that I'm not getting tons of messages from guys who've never read a book, but I just feel rejected. Or old. There is just no pleasing some people. The decline could be because I outed myself as someone looking for the real deal, the new set of pictures, or the addition of a year to my birthday. Being scientific about this, I decided to change one of these variables. But not back to how it originally was. I mean, that would really be scientific. But I'm only a social scientist, so it's ok.

So I changed the pictures. When I set up my profile this time, I used three pictures.

1. Sultry stare: Following advice from OkCupid, I went with the sultry stare into the camera. Or as best as I can pull something like that off. The picture is brand spanking new too.

2. Quirky fun: Don't let that intense look fool you! I also drink beer, just like girls you'd want to hang out with.

3. Look! I go places!: The full body shot of me standing next to a Medieval wall. Just who you'd want to travel with-- the girl in a baggy t-shirt and weird shoes.

Unfortunately, the best picture anyone's ever taken of me did not make the cut. It's really out of date at this point. But it makes my boobs look really big (not a lie), so I wondered if its absence explained my sudden lack of popularity. Also, the large rack cuts both ways. In a baggy t-shirt it just makes me look chubby or pregnant as evidenced by picture 3.

Since I don't spend my time on vacation standing in front of things, I was limited for a substitute. I also apparently spend my time at parties making emphatic points to people. The evidence doesn't lie—there are loads of pictures of me talking, hands caught mid-wild gesticulation. Do I want to date this girl, or just engage in hand-to-hand combat?

In the end, I put in a picture from my birthday last year wearing a sexy top. It's waist up so should be enough to convince people I didn't lie about my weight class. The disadvantage is that I have a drink in my hand. Chubby girl who travels or hot girl who drinks too much? I guess we'll find out which is better. Since the re-post, I got a few more your-picture-is-amazing messages so that's not actually an improvement. (Seriously. No pleasing me.) But we'll see if the change convinces guys I contact to email me back.