Esther Greenwood

Archive for January, 2010|Monthly archive page

Women Suck

In Uncategorized on January 14, 2010 at 7:30 pm

Recently, while taking a break at work I started up a g-chat conversation with my friend Ben.  Other than my beau, Ben is the funniest man I know.  And frankly, I’ve known him longer so he’s made me laugh more than anyone else on the planet.  Seriously.  Ben  makes me laugh every single time I talk to him.  He’s a regular Andy Richter, save I’m the side kick and he’s more a Conan.  (And both apparently lack a Late Show.  Oooooh.  I am not funny.)

Anyway.  Ben was discussing the stereotype that men always think women are flirting with them.  This stereotype pisses me off, because women cite it as a “how dare he fall in love with me I was just being nice by talking to him everyday/buying him gifts/telling him how much I needed him in my life.”  I am here to set the record straight, gentlemen.  Women know exactly what they are doing.   While I like to play the victim as much as any girl, when it comes to this particular stereotype you’ve got it right.  We’re flirting, and if we deny it we just don’t want to admit it because frankly we don’t want the responsibility of your broken heart.

Women are taught that attention = worth.  So, we’ve quickly discovered that if we talk to you and you take a shine to us that makes us feel good about ourselves.  We have worth!  This is why women refrain from mentioning they have boyfriends (see this article from Gawker) when they first meet strange (and likely cute) men, and this is why when we have a boyfriend we’ll string you along for a little bit.  Because we’re immature, and we want attention.  We want love.  And even if our boyfriend is buying us diamonds and all that, if we can make you fall in love with us, it’s another gem for the emotional worth treasure chest.

I’m well aware this makes us sound like assholes.  And I’m sorry to admit, a lot of us are.

I hate these women.  Seriously, I loathe them.  I’d go Terminator on their tight, skinny-jeaned asses if I could.  I hate these women for several reasons.  For one thing, I’ve been dumped for these kinds of women more than once.  And I’ve fallen for it from the male angle, too.  I’ve had the perfectly lovely boyfriend who adored me, only to get strung along by Fuckwad only to end up with no boyfriend and Fuckwad refusing to commit.  So when it’s happening, I know it’s happening, and I’m useless to fight it.

After all, as a male or female in that situation, where you see your best friend or, worse, significant other falling for the bullshit immature wiles of someone else, how do you act?  Do you point out that The Other Person is fucking with them and inheritantly evil?  Do you deny them the chance to run away with The Other Person and hope they don’t begrudge you for the rest of your relationship?  Or do you follow that axim, “if you love them let them go” and hope for the best?

I guess what pisses me off the most is the lack of honesty in these women.  (While men pull this shit too, for clarity in this entry I’m keeping it women.)  If you want my friend or boyfriend then fine, let’s have a fair fight.  Let’s lay our cards on the table.  (Card One: You suck.  I don’t.  Card Two: You’re an untrustworthy bitch.  I’ve been nothing but loving.)  But by sneakily flirting, you don’t give me or my friend/boyfriend a fair chance.  It’s all innuendo and mystique, and that’s a powerful, powerful aphrodisiac.

Now, here’s our saving grace: the man in the middle.  If he’s worth his salt, if he’s worth your attention, he’ll figure out soon enough that The Other Person is Satan’s Mistress and leave her in her soul-clenching dust, screaming like a banshee and on the prowl for another hapless victim.  If he falls for it, if he willingly goes down that dark path we’ve all gone down at least once, wish him godspeed.  It’s not you.  It truly is him.   And who knows.  Maybe you’ll meet him on the other end.  Chances are you won’t.  But either way, there’s someone out there, safe from his/her wiles and willing to not look a gift horse (you, yes, you’re a horse) in the mouth.

[I love that it takes being mad at my sex to get me out of blogging retirement.]

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