I have three sisters and the baby, late of MindOverMary, isn’t just my sister, she’s also one of my best friends. Parallel to the blog conversations about relationships, we’ve been emailing. Here’s an excerpt from one email from baby sis:
I thought I knew what I wanted in a man but I think what I really know is what I DON’T want in a man. But maybe I don’t know either way. There are a couple of things I know. I know I want someone one who makes me feel secure (emotionally), I want someone with a great sense of humor because I know being able to laugh at life is the key to getting through. I want a man who is strong when I’m weak and weak when I’m strong. Someone who isn’t afraid to lean on me but who I can lean on as well. I want a friend I can talk to and confide in who feels the same about me. And of course, I want the chemistry. I want someone who knocks my socks off when he walks in a room.
I think baby sis is typical of women I meet in this resume for the man in her life. Trouble is, I don’t think he exists.
One reason I don’t think he exists is that baby sis has some unarticulated assumptions in the above. Baby sis lives in an upscale neighborhood in an upscale resort community on the beach in South Carolina. She drives a sleek black car. She has two boys in college and her X totes the freight for them. She gets more in alimony than the average income for an Oklahoma family of four. So, her sensitive soulmate had best not be a poet because there ain’t no poet in the world selling enough poetry to afford her car payments. Not just that, but the guy who can afford her lifestyle comes in only two flavors: trustafarian asshole and exhausted executive jerk. That’s it. There are only those two. NONE of the men who can afford baby sis also have the qualities of human emotion on a spigot she’s seeking.
I know damn sure I can’t meet her qualifications. Every time baby sis tells me this is the type of man she’s looking for, I hear Bob Dylan sing: “it ain’t me, babe … no, no, no, it ain’t me. … You say you’re looking for someone who’s never weak and always strong … someone who’ll open every door for you … it ain’t me”.
Westika wonders on her blog why men pick bitches. I can tell you why, honey, but you won’t like the answer. You, too, Nina.
Women want a man who will patiently wait for her to decide that everything is in order, all is done that must be done and the time is exactly right for her man to seduce her and then be patient enough to lavish her with physical attention for a good long time before the actual sex begins. Except when we are supposed to divine her unspoken desire to be ravished.
Otherwise, we are to strictly leave her the hell alone. Our own sexual desires be damned, we will have sex when she is exactly ready to have sex and not a minute sooner. Except when she’d like to be surprised, which happens at no particular time and wholly without warning.
OK, girls, the problem is we can’t do that. It’s not that it isn’t a nice idea. It’s not that we wouldn’t do that if we could. It’s that we can’t do that. We date bitches because they don’t have that requirement. That’s why you think they are a bitch. You think they are a bitch because they mess with the girl code of keeping up the illusion that nice girls don’t. She’s not a nice girl because she does. So do you, but you keep up the illusion. Thus, we date her and not you and you’re bitched off about it. Then, we get heartbroken because the bitch does and, in fact, does it with someone else. Or, berates us constantly because we don’t at her command. Or, because she’s so outside the mainstream in other ways than just sex that we can’t live with her idiosyncracies. It’s a lose-lose deal regardless of what’s between your legs.
Same with all that emotional availability. It’s not that it isn’t a good idea. It’s not that we wouldn’t do it if we could. We can’t. We’re not built that way. You want to talk about the problems you had with picking the drapes and all the choices you had to make about fabric and design and color. We want to help you solve that problem. Wrong. You don’t want a solution, you want to talk about how exhausted you are and how you feel about decorating your nest, not our stupid input about decisions you are best able to make your own selves. We don’t get that and we never will. You wanted to lean on us when you were emotionally exhausted by wrestling with your dead mother’s memory and her plastic over the living room couch. You never mentioned your dead mother and we had no idea AND NEVER WILL. We go to work and are praised for our ability to solve problems. We come home and expect praise for solving a problem. When, instead, we’ve tromped on your emotional toes and don’t get that praise for solving your problem, we’re testy and want to go fuck some stupid, ass-shaking pole dancer fantasy and think it would be nice to be married to someone who is so stupid we don’t care what they say or think. Until we try that little fantasy and see what a living hell it is to listen to an endless stream of inanity.
Another common female dream is “he makes me laugh.” Oh, yeah. Humor is the grease that makes everything else a slide. Survey says Humor is the most sought after quality in a man. No win. First of all, if we were that all fired funny, we’d be on television. Or, at least You Tube. We’re not. We go to an office and slog through paper all day. Some guy out there foreclosing on elderly widows is supposed to come home and regale the wifeypoo with his hilarious life. Right. Go read the female profiles on Matchdotcom or Yahoo!personals. Every single fucking one of those women is looking for a date that seems like a sitcom. They all want to love Raymond. No matter how bad the problem, it gets solved hilariously after about 22 minutes and she is the smart one and he’s the boob, but everyone laughs and it’s Oh Kay. Ladies, this is every bit as real as Lucy and Desi’s twin beds. It does not exist in real life. It’s a show, kids. Not real. A fantasy. An illusion, like that other illusion, “nice girls don’t”. The man who is funny at all times and on demand is not out here. He doesn’t exist. Sorry. Maybe that is the way things should be, but it isn’t the way thing are.
Personally, I’d give up a stroke a hole on the back nine just to be able to remember the punchline. (poetry? song lyric?) Humor comes from tragedy and those guys who are funny are fucked up. Get it? If you pick humor, you get the tragic, it’s one of God’s little tricks on us. you pick the girl who puts out and you get a psycho bitch. You pick the guy with financial security and you get an emotional wasteland. you pick the guy with an emotional IQ and you’ve chosen a life of poverty. The guy in your life who does NOT “clock” the waitress while you’re sitting in the restaurant is the guy who will never haul off and ravish you and is too awkward sexually to even contemplate seduction — he’s afraid of your standards and will soon seek out a bitch who will grab his genitals and force him to accept a blow job because that’s the only way he ever gets laid.
It’s like I tell my legal clients: there’s fast, there’s good and there’s cheap. Pick two. You can’t have all three. Same with us guys. You can pick one thing but you can’t have it all. Does not exist. Same with you girls. We can have a smart, richly textured woman that will keep our interest throughout our lives. We will get at the same time a woman who is never satisfied, has issues and takes antidepressants by the handsfull. We can have a beautiful woman who can’t wait to haul our ashes, but we also get a shallow and ignorant bitch. Choose which poison you want to kill you, but die you will.
I know, I know. You want that “Sleepless in Seattle” soulmate. Right. Don’t get me started. IT IS A MOVIE!!! IT IS A FANTASY!!! Your “soulmate” is in India and you will never find him. If you did find him, his Tom Hanks humor will be grounded in Hindi culture and you won’t understand what’s funny.
My reading of current American cultural standards for post adolescent dating is this: adults seeking to date come in two varieties, the ones who are so desperate they are willing to take just anyone to have someone in their life and the ones who are so picky that it’s fair to ask if they really want anyone in their life or are just putting up a pretense. When I hear a woman say (or read what she writes) that she wants a man who is/will ____________ (fill in the blank), what I understand is that she’s setting herself up for failure by making sure that no man can ever live up to her standards. That way, she can reject anyone or everyone and/or accept someone she will berate for the rest of her life because she’s unable to “fix” him to meet her standards. When I hear a woman say she just wants someone in her life, I know that drill as well. When you’re willing to have just anyone, that’s what you get and when you get him, that’s when you start having standards and are dissatisfied that he’s not Tom Hanks living on a zillion dollar houseboat on the bay, effervesantly bubbling with jokes. She doesn’t want just anyone in her life, she just wants to have something to bitch about so it seems like she has a life.
Then, there’s the two wants ten guys. I’ve written about this before, but it just baffles me. Guy makes $28,000 a year and lives in a tiny apartment and drives a piece of shit and dresses every day in blue jeans and tee shirt and ball cap. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with his being overweight and having thinning hair under the ballcap. Nothing wrong with his fascination with NASCAR and pro wrestling. Why does this guy think that Cindy Crawford is just waiting for him? Why is he pissed off when MindOverMary just looks at him in a mixture of disgust and bafflement? What makes him think a world class woman is gonna be interested in his no class act?
But what the hell? World class woman, low class man, emo guy, rich guy, bitch. no matter the situation you are in, you can’t win. The guy who wants a 10 even though he’s a 2, well, he doesn’t make any sense and he’s not going to be successful. However, us guys who are above 4 aren’t going to be any more successful. Neither are the women. If she’s a 10, the only guys who talk to her are 2s and 3s and she doesn’t get it but knows they aren’t in her league and she’s just as frustrated as the woman who is a 2 and just wants SOMEONE.
In the end, I don’t think we ever get any better than we can/are willing to give. I think if you want a man who is emotionally strong and financially secure and sexually sensitive, you have to meet his high standards as well. If that guy exists, he is not going to be interested in being tolerant of your neuroses. You’d better be a world class girl with a Ph.D and lots going for you. In fact, you’re likely to be just as non-existant as he is.
I think we’re all fucked on the relationship scene for one single reason: we’re going at it backwards. We all have these ideas of the qualities we want in our mate. He will be funny. She will be beautiful. That’s wrong. It doesn’t work that way. I think we need to start with our own flaws. For example, I don’t think my good education and good wardrobe has anything to do with it. That’s just bullshit. The important thing is my flaws. I’m chronically depressed and will take antidepressants for the rest of my life. I’m a recovering alcoholic and will go to AA meetings until I die. Now, what flaws am I willing to accept in a woman that are of that same magnitude? Ladies, look at yourselves. What are your worst three flaws FROM A MAN’S POINT OF VIEW? How “big” are those flaws? Those are the size of the three flaws you will have to accept in your man. I’m looking for a man who will overlook my fat ass because I’m willing to be tolerant of his emotional unavailability. That’s the ticket. Guys, if you get calls from creditors and your belly overlaps your belt, get ready for a woman with a fat ass and baggage. Be happy that you get laid at all, LOSER.
ah, a cynic after my own heart. Reminded me too of a comedy act I saw the other night–Tom Papa–relating how we need to stop it already with our high expectations and just settle. It was freaking hilarious. And rang so true.
Coupla things leave this unclear to me though. I’m not so sure we’re all on the same page when it comes to our individual definitions or understanding of what a “bitch” is. It’s pretty clear that John’s and Erika’s definitions are different. Or what our understanding of “relationship” is…or even love for that matter. I agree with you that we are going at it backwards though. That’s because of my individual notion of what a relationship or “love” is. It’s not about what we get, but what we give. What we’re willing to sacrifice for the good of the other, as a daily chosen vocation…knowing it’s a tough row to hoe, and having and being a humble partner through thick and thin–well, I don’t think most people “looking for love” are of thining these things. But I could be wrong. Anyway, thanks for a thoughtful post.
Well every single thing you said about women is exactly the oppostie of me. Maybe the ways we’re defining “bitch” are entirely different. By your description, I would be the bitch. But then why don’t I win? Yeah, I would probably be considered the bitch by other women. But I’m defining non-bitch as the woman who totally accomodates the man, does everything he wants, wears the stuff in that picture, gives him space when he needs it, does the slutty shit in the bedroom and gets along with the group in public, maybe even has (or is about to have) that PhD. I mean, seriously. You’re telling me a guy would rather have some woman who yells and screams at him, tells him she hates him, calls him fifty times a day, gets into his shit, puts him in awkward positions publicly, etc. That’s how I’m defining bitch.
Admitting your flaws is one thing, but settling for a life in hell is another.
two of my favorite women, raven and westika. unlike most of the blogosphere, I happen to know both of you in realtime/realworld. And, may I be selfish and broadcast to the world how wonderful you are, each of you and both of you.
First, Westika, I was indeed mostly talking about the bitch who is not selfdefined but is so defined by others. For example, it makes not one single whit of difference that you are a brilliant mind, a talented wordsmith, gorgeous and hot. Not a bit of difference. You and I go out and every single solitary woman over the age of 35 is looking at you and saying the “b-word”. Fact of freakin’ life. There would be no inquiry whatsoever as to your sterling character nor your graduate school grades. That shit would not matter. Whatever imperfection that can be perceived or deniably fabricated would be blown up into epic porportions. Those who are sexually frustrated will add on words like “slut” no matter what your actual sexual practice might be and, believe me, you could be more chaste than a nun and still would be called those names.
You, and Robin also, btw, along with baby sis, have the problem of being 10s. The only men who are brave enough to talk to you in the main are the twos who have fortified themselves with too much whiskey.
The rest of us know better. We don’t believe we live up to the guy we think you deserve and won’t give you the chance to make that choice for yourself.
We’re skeered.
If you’ve been dumped/rejected by a 10, by a world class woman, then you’ve got to admit to yourself that you are a fuck up who fucked up bigtime. You have to believe that that woman, being a 10, has to have good judgment in the matter because she’s world class after all. If we’ve been dumped/rejected by a 10, we finally have to admit to ourselves that we aren’t a 10 after all. Maybe we’re only a six. Or, he wailed, a 4. Do the other guys know? Damn. Really? Damn. Does EVERYONE know I’m only a 4? I hate that.
But I digress, he wrote as Holden Caufield adjusts his funny long billed hunting cap.
Here’s the point: Westika, you are indeed as you describe yourself; you are not, emphatically not, the kind of bitch you describe with that word. What makes you think that not being a bitch will allow you to win? No one wins, honey. No one. The 10s don’t win, the 5s don’t win and the 1s don’t win. Male, female, all same same. The women you describe as bitches? How do you think they got that way? They thought that they deserved to win. They insisted on winning. They planned on winning. It didn’t happen. Never. Not once. No movie romantic comedy in real life. The real woman portrayed by Meg Ryan would have talked endlessly to her real life friend, Rosie O’Donnell, about Tom Hanks, but not once in the history of civilization did a real life woman give up a Tiffany’s engagement ring and go flying off to stalk a Seattle architect. Only in a dream. Only in a fantasy. Only in a movie. And if you DO go flying off to Seattle, hopelessly romantic, looking for your soulmate? You’re a kook. A new age disaster. A slut. Your friends and family will try to get you into rehab. When you find the architect and his darling son you heard on the radio, they won’t look like Tom Hanks. They will look like Jack Black or Ron Jeremey. The kid will be huffing gold paint from a spray can.
Oh, I’m just trying to be funny, you will think. You will accuse me of hyperbole for the sake of humor. Au Contraire.
Those women are pissed off because they, too, thought they were entitled to win. Not having won but refusing to give up, they are trying a second strategy: Treat your man like the worst house on the best block and try to refurbish him until you can sell him off and trade up or get comfortable with your upgrades.
And, you, poor and self sacrificing raven. Ahh, what a teriffic woman you are! I instantly fell for you. Ah, well. Just one question, my little bird: what happens if the man who falls for you is financially secure, emotionally secure if not always available (because he is, after all, a “he”) and sexually secure? How do you show your love to the man who is smart enough, funny enough and good looking enough for someone as bright and lovely as you? If your perfect guy is perfect, he’s handling his problems and then what about you?
We never learn.
You cannot win.
There are no soulmates.
We all get exactly what we are willing to settle for.
(yes, I know. sentence ended with.)
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I read somewhere once that it takes about 10 different relationships in your life to feel “complete.”
The older I become the more I believe this to be true. I am one complex creature, which I struggle to figure out. The different aspects of me as a mother, daughter, sister, friend, and colleague need to be fulfilled as much as being a lover.
No man can be everything to me and I don’t expect him to be.
Yes, of all the things I desire in a man, I would like one who is emotionally available or at a minimum, aware of the emotions that flow through him even if he’s unable to fully express them. Maybe even this is too much to wish for.
As for being a non-bitch, I think most men are far too threatened and/or confused when such a woman appears. Let’s face it, for a man to step up and be with a confident, secure woman who grants him everything he says he’s ever wanted, would in turn take a confident and secure man.
Ah, Nina. All three of you ladies here on my blog after being in our real lives.
First, I need to let other readers know that Nina’s rather politely “tagging” me. Yes, I’m L2 and I have a problem with low self esteem and lack of self confidence. Are there meetings for this?
Just like baby sis, all three of you have your standards. Nina deserves a man who has the security and self confidence she has. Westika is open and tolerant and deserves a man to love her in just that same way. Raven is forgiving and supportive and where is her man? Baby sis wants a man who she can lean on and, alternatively, support.
It seems like these are such reasonable expectations for such outstanding women and yet … and yet … they have not found “The One”. It just isn’t fair, is it?
Get over it, girls.
You haven’t found that guy yet because he doesn’t exist.
Guys who are looking for the perfect Madonna/Whore haven’t found her either. They need to get over it as well. If a guy picks a woman because she’s beautiful he’d best shut up if she’s also a bitch. It’s the choice they made.
Our romantic expectations, male as well as female, are simply resentments that have not yet ripened.
I won’t play.
I just want a lover that won’t make me crazy.
I’ve given up on the smart, talented, beautiful, sexy, compassionate woman I think I deserve.
The very fact that I’ve made such a list of qualities I seek in a woman has set me up for failure.
Same for you gals.
Talk about “shoulding”, Nina. Of course you SHOULD have a guy who has some touch with his emotional human nature. So what?
What price are you willing to pay? There WILL be a price, you know.
Part of the problem is something you just almost put your finger on. A guy who is in touch with his emotions is very unlikely to be confident. He’s always going to be going interior to check his “hole cards.” An emo guy is the guy who is not secure and confident. He’s always vacillating and wondering about and seeking for his emotional reaction. He is not a man of action, self confident and bold. He’s second guessing himself all the time. It’s the way us goofballs are made. we can’t help it. you get one thing, but you’ve got to give up the other. If you want confident and bold, then you are going to get a guy who has learned to ignore his emotional content, his fears and insecurities, and go ahead and haul off and do the thing.
I can pick a woman who is slutty but I’ll give up the virginal mother of Jesus or vice versa I can pick out the virgin and give up the slut. The two things don’t exist in the same space.
The question for all of us is the same. It’s not what we want, it’s not what we deserve and it’s not what should be on some movieworld planet. It’s what can we tolerate? It’s what we can negotiate? It’s what is our best compromise?
For example, Nina, I would say to stop looking for your emotional but secure guy. Start looking for just what you can live with. Do I think you have to settle for some dipshit fuckwad asshole? No. I do think you have to expect us men to be seriously flawed human beings who are capable of all kinds of good things at times but will inevitably fall short of the glory of God at other times. I couldn’t say what you have as flaws. I really didn’t find any. I’m sure you have them. I’ll repeat: pick out your three worst qualities when you are at your very worst and not meeting your ordinary standards for yourself because that’s the level of “flawedness” you must be willing to accept in your man. Same for me, same for everyone.
God help us, no one gets out alive.
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No one gets out alive. Isn’t that the truth?! As I’ve said many times, everyone is crazy…what kind of crazy do you want to deal with?
The problem, for me, is since I’ve experienced a guy who was not only aware of his emotions, fully capable of expressing them and confident (much more so than I on both counts), it’s hard not wanting someone similar or at least with a bit of awareness.
Now as for emotional expression, I sure as hell do not mean that we sit around, constantly talking about our feelings and/or checking in with one another. Heck, many times I can’t sort out my own and need time to process. I think the bottom line for me, is the respect to be heard and the grace to sort things out on both sides…whether together or separate.
By the way, I didn’t intend to tag you…at least, not this time.