Last night I was sitting at Martin’s having a burrito with Dave. We were chatting about projects we’ll never do and why women are crazy and so damn wonderful at the same time.
While he was on a long jag about some chick who made him insane and ecstactic, a guy I know in a most peripheral way (he was working at the Roadrunner Hostel about the time I stopped in Tucson) walked towards us. His girlfriend was wearing a slinky revealing dress and I am perfectly willing to admit that I took a good long look at her, I hadn’t actually seen him until they were next to us.
When I glanced away I noticed him. He had noticed me looking at her and he was smiling because he knew she was hot, I knew she was hot, and she was walking past me with him.
Do women understand how much power they have and how much they create the man amongst other men? I wonder…
Anyway, I gave him the guy-congratulatory/hello-I-know-you-but-I-can’t-remember-your-name head nod (it has a lot of meanings like a Chinese word or a metaphor for meta knowledge). He nodded back to me. They passed by. I looked at her ass.
And then I was brought back to my moment with my vegetarian burrito and the wonderful salsa and that amazing sauce Martin grills the vegetables in and I heard Dave talking about some arts festival in Oregon that happens at…some…time…he didn’t know when.
It was a good night.
It is an amazing thing. I’ve recently been inching toward the conclusion, based on my lifetime dating sample, that all human females are clinically insane. (Reasonably enough, I imagine, I’ve also started to wonder if it might something I’m doing that’s making them insane - “Fuchs-Induced Pyschosis” or some such similar contender for the DSM-V.) So I’d decided I’m swearing off for awhile. No dating. No women. No hair-rending. And but here’s the thing: a stunning, slinky, youthful, smooth-skinned, sashaying, silken-haired girl will walk by - and I’m instantly hooked again. Hopelessly captivated. And it occurred to me two nights ago that, If only there were some way to *divorce* that endlessly compelling femininity from that horrific, singular power to make things difficult. (”Ah, women - they make the highs higher and the lows more frequent” - Nietschze) And I mentioned this to my mates, as were sitting on the South Bank of the Thames drinking Young’s ales, and one of them responded, without missing a beat: “Stepford Wives”. I suddenly saw the appeal.
Don’t know if anyone checks the comments however I’m going to post something about Michael’s comment in a moment as it perfectly matches what I was thinking not too long ago.
[…] He said in a comment to an earlier post: It is an amazing thing. I’ve recently been inching toward the conclusion, based on my lifetime dating sample, that all human females are clinically insane. (Reasonably enough, I imagine, I’ve also started to wonder if it might something I’m doing that’s making them insane - “Fuchs-Induced Pyschosis” or some such similar contender for the DSM-V.) So I’d decided I’m swearing off for awhile. No dating. No women. No hair-rending. And but here’s the thing: a stunning, slinky, youthful, smooth-skinned, sashaying, silken-haired girl will walk by - and I’m instantly hooked again. Hopelessly captivated. And it occurred to me two nights ago that, If only there were some way to *divorce* that endlessly compelling femininity from that horrific, singular power to make things difficult. (”Ah, women - they make the highs higher and the lows more frequent” - Nietschze) … […]