If I ever get to meet God or whichever chief kahuna who runs the earth operations, I'd request for a do-over and ask to be sent back down as a man. Not just any man. I don't want to be sent back as a wee babe of a boy and have to go through the horrors of puberty and learning why there is a rush of blood to a certain appendage on really cold days. I'd like to come back as a grown male between the ages of 32 to 39, preferably single, preferably with a decent job and not living with my mother and preferably pumped full of idiotic testosterone.
The male psyche has always held immense fascination for me. Not because I grew up in a house full of boys. On the contrary, I grew up in a household dominated by females with my dad and brother being the only exceptions and trust me, too much estrogen in a confined space for extended periods of time can be a diabolical thing. If you think one pms-ing female is hard to deal with, try living with 4 pms-ing females aged between 12 and 40 and you'd get a slight inkling of what it was like in my house. Given the extreme female conditions that I grew up in, boys or members of the opposite gender have always been a bit of an enigma. Thankfully I grew up and realized that there wasn't much that was enigmatic about men in general. Most of them, for lack of a better word, are twats. In any case, prior to the time where cynicism became part of life, I used to scratch my head and wonder what made males and females so different. Being the elder of two children, when my brother came along, I used to spend hours staring at him whilst he slept the sleep of the innocent or watch him play or do whatever it was that little baby boys do. Essentially this meant observing him poop, pee, puke, and wail like a banshee whenever he wanted something. I learnt very early on that this creature, my brother (whom I love very dearly even today), was a different species from me. It didn't help that my parents hammered home the point that he was a) not a toy, b) not a girl and c) not to be flung about like my little BMX training bicycle. So at the tender age of 4 I learnt a life-altering lesson. Boys are different.
Before I carry on, I think I need to clarify that I will be using the terms, 'boy', 'bloke', 'men', 'man', 'feller', 'guy', 'cockwit' and quite possibly 'fuckwit' interchangeably throughout this post to refer to the males species. So when I make reference to a 'boy', it does not meant that I specifically refer to a wee lad. What I am actually referring to is basically, that of the male gender.
And so it was that at that young, pure and impressionable age I was exposed and privy to the appalling truth that there existed in this world a species different from myself. What I did not understand or was not told is that there would be no instructions given on how to co-exist in a world with this weird species. Even worse was the fact that though I knew that the male species was appalling different, nobody could explain to me WHY this was so. And so I went out into the world and learnt many a horrific but probably necessary lesson.
I make no excuses for my relationship histories with men. To be fair, I have gone out with what I think is more than my fair share of men. I don't know what the national average is (in any case, all the women will lie in that survey for sure), but I can quite frankly tell you that I have dated and bedded enough guys to have a pretty decent understanding of how most of them work. How many exactly? I can't answer that question not because of any inhibitions but if you want the truth, I can't bloody remember. (Yes, great impressions they made, as you can tell.) If I had to give an estimate, I would say that the number is somewhere in the 20s. Now, I'm not bragging about this but I went through a slew of guys in my early 20s and honestly, a lot of it is a big blur now. Part of me wishes I could remember but there's another part that says that maybe it's better that I don't.
Having done my field research, I tend to categorize men into three groups.
1. Hopeless
2. Semi-hopeless but with potential
3. Hopeful but may drive you to the edge of the cliff as a result of sheer boredom
You know how all those newly-wed women always coo and gush about how fantastic their new husbands are? Well let me tell you that they didn't marry the perfect man. They settled for the one in category no. 3. So don't bloody believe it when they squeal, "Oooh he's just so perfect!" Sorry girls and boys, there ain't no such thing as perfect. You have a higher chance of finding a bra that fits you perfectly than a man. Show me a perfect man and I'll show you that all you really got is a fuck-nosed wanker.
Me, cynical? You've got to be kidding.
Needless to say most of the guys I've dated were hopeless from start to finish. I don't know about other women but you kinda know very early on whether a guy is worth the effort or not. The problem is that women tend to be too nice at times and always want to give the cockwit the benefit of the doubt and a few more chances than really necessary. Ironically, it is because of this very mentality that many women stop dating a guy or get dumped by a guy and then come away and tell their girlfriends in a self-righteous huff that 'He was SUCH a waste of my time.' But surely sweetheart, you must have realized this earlier when he sent you a series of texts after your first date saying you were his soulmate because you both share a great love for penne pasta?
So yes, the hopeless exist. And they exist for good reason. They provide one with the experience required to deal effectively with those that fall under category 2 and particularly category 3.
Yes, men who fall into category 3 exist. They are closest thing you're gonna get to Mr. Perfect by about 3 football pitches off. Why? Again this is not me being cynical for the sake of being a cynic. Throughout my dating history, I can safely say that I have come across a grand total of 2 guys who fall under category 3. One of them I knew at a young age and we had a weird online relationship that spanned several years. He was in no way, mine or a boyfriend per se. What we did have though was a surreal chemistry that kept us very close even though we were miles apart. There was no need to think too hard or compete or impress. The conversations were natural, his personality clicked with mine and we both knew that it was a strange connection to have but we never denied it either. We're still friends today even though he's married to someone else but funnily enough, I don't have a problem with that. :)
The second no. 3-esque feller is my ex-boyfriend. After 6 years of mucking around I finally met someone who, at that point in time, felt worth the effort. To be honest, I was completely skeptical about him in the initial stages but he disarmed me by simply being himself. He was honest, he made an effort and he didn't leave me paranoid and waiting for him to run off with another girl. It took all of 3 months to realize that I had fallen in love with him (and miraculously, he felt the same way too) and we spent 3.5 years together until I came to the point where I discovered that though I very much loved him, I could not be with him because I was no longer as happy and fulfilled as I should have been. Leaving him was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made in all my years. I do ponder that decision from time to time and prod around my emotional landscape to see if there's any regret. Though I am sad at the fact that the relationship ended, I cannot claim to regret my decision because deep down in my heart I think I made the right move.
Damn this is a long post. Had to stop for a pee and a fag. Bugger me for being a prolific writer. Hur. Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes, the semi-hopeless but with potential candidates. Personally, I think a lot of women will encounter this lot quite a fair bit. They're usually charming and seem quite harmless, though the latter part is something that can only be determined with time. The current bloke I am dating falls into this category. Yes, it's the same one that I have mentioned before. I haven't quite made up my mind about him yet and I think that sentiment is mutual.
I must say that there's nothing fundamentally wrong with this one. Or at least I can't seem to find any major flaws as yet apart from the endless procrastinating and rudimentary insensitivity which seems to be rearing its ugly head more often than not. He's a man's man. You know the deal. Bros before hos and all that shit. I can deal with this although sometimes it strains the dating experience. For example, just this afternoon after convincing himself that going out to get lunch to feed his raging hangover would be a good idea, he got a phone call from a friend based overseas whilst walking up the hill back to his place. Now, I think I need to give you a bit of background here. He has/had a nightmare hangover because he was out at an Xmas party for his football club yesterday and stumbled in at 4am. I was not invited to attend this party even though I was informed about it more than a month ago. In fact, I was disallowed from attending this party. Why this is so, I have no idea. I did not bother to ask. When you get to my age, you learn to pick your fucking battles. So he enjoyed the party, came home in the wee hours of the morning, crashed in the bed next to me and stank up the whole room with alcoholic fumes emanating from his drunk body. I did the coffee run in the morning, convinced him to take a shower and we went out for lunch. Friend calls and he has a conversation that lasts about 15 minutes. Post phone call and he tells me that said friend who rang was planning to arrange a group trip with a number of other lads to watch the rugby 7s next year in Las Vegas. I know he got all excited about this over the call because he mentioned to the friend that he would have to go to the states next year and that he would love to take some time off and join in the fun. Well, that's all well and good right? Totally cool? Ha! I fucking wish.
"So my mate is planning this thing to watch the rugby 7s in Vegas next year. I have to go to the States for work anyway and I thought I might make a weekend out of it. Problem is it's in February. And your birthday is in February. Wait, what date is your birthday?"
At that very moment, I wished I was Zeus so that I could call down a mega lightning bolt that would have fried his ass on the sofa.
"I've told you when my birthday is. Several times. The last was yesterday morning." (At this point I stormed out to the balcony to have a cigarette because I didn't trust myself to not grab his head and smash it against the nearest wall.)
One would have thought he would have used the 10 minutes to good use to come up with an apology but when I returned from my fag break, he was sitting on the sofa, Blackberry poised in his hand, "What date is it? You told me February, you never mentioned the date."
For fuck's sake.
You would think if you've been dating someone for 4 months, the least you could do is remember their birthday right? I'm not asking you to marry me. Just remember my bloody birthday! I remembered yours! ARRRRRRRRRGH. And I promise you, I have mentioned my date of birth several times.
I conceded this one. I gave him the date, watched him tap it into his Blackberry (cue more internal growling) and proceeded to ignore him by reading my book. I pointedly chose to ignore him for the next 20 minutes whilst he surfed the football highlights on his laptop. He did not even try to make oblique amends. He just squeezed my knee, stroked my leg absent-mindedly with one hand and then went, "What's wrong?" whenever he asked me something and I gave a curt retort.
Hopeless? Oh yes sir.
Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, the typical category no.2 male. Nothing wrong with him. Seems normal. Stable job, okay personality, slightly weird, got loads of friends, insane interest in testosterone-filled sporting activity, a great kisser and a decent shag. The problem with this sub-species is that though they have many hopeless moments, they tend to counteract their hopelessness with actions that leave you stumped. For example, they send you really sweet text messages out of the blue, or they give you the spare key to the apartment and they are quite happy to spend their weekends with you, doing whatever the hell you want. On the contrary, they do not tell you about their holiday plans (I am IRATE about this because I cannot understand WHY he's still not telling me that he's going to be gone for Xmas and New Year's - what IS he waiting for really?), they do not remember your birthday, they do not refer to you as the 'girlfriend'. Yes, I am still just
All this weird behaviour leaves me bewildered and quite frankly, exhausted. On one side, I desperately want to trust him and allow myself to open myself up to him. On the other hand, all this peek-a-boo situations leave me insecure and half-hearted and to be honest, I feel like I am just waiting for him to say, "Was nice knowing you, goodbye and good luck." Please don't tell me that I need to stop looking at the glass as half empty. I'm not. What I'm saying is that I don't enjoy, don't want to be and really don't need to be mind-fucked.
So you see, I really want to get a do-over as man because I want to understand what the hell is going on in a male brain. I suppose I am prepared to be disappointed because the likelihood of anything noteworthy to be found floating in a man's brain might prove to be near impossible. However, it would still serve me well to get to know the inner mechanics of this weird species.
Plus I'd have the joy of scratching my balls every morning.
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