Elementary

I am learning a lot about women this summer. The summation which is: they’re tough to operate.

Previously, my approach to women was simple and straightforward.

[approaching Girl at bar ordering drink]
Me: "Hi."
Girl: "Hi."
Me: "What’s going on?"
Girl: "Um, noth -
Me: [sweating, speedtalking] "I don’t really know how to tell you this but I’m trying to be famous, and I think I might be writing a book"
Girl: "Ok, I - "
Me: [having mild panic attack] "You know what? Just take my wallet!"
[relaxes slightly, looks Girl up and down]
Me: "Our children are going to be beautiful. And hopefully lithe."
[Girl walks away]

Sadly, this approach rarely worked (the exception being those girls that were so drunk that one needs only the ability to call a cab and tie a simple bowline knot to get laid). But now, everything is changing. I’ve begun a series of changes. For example, I decided that since I’m 30 years old and a future writer with his own house, I should probably have some sense of style. Or rather, I should at least put some thought into buying clothes aside from going to Banana Republic every three months and buying every XL shirt in the sale rack. I, in connection with most of the girls I know and male friends with some semblance of fashion sense, am working on this but results are not to be expected for another six to eight weeks (although the groundwork was laid this weekend with a few purchases). I feel like much progress will be made once I get to my friend Shantel, a pseudo-but-not-really-hipster who constantly criticizes my taste in clothes. I need a little more constructive feedback from her other than "Oh wow - another Gap polo shirt! Cool!" and "Are you going to wear the blue striped shirt, the not-as-blue striped shirt or the dark blue striped shirt tonight?" But again, this will take some time.

[And fear not: I will have limits. If any of you ever see me in a bar wearing a blazer, I invite - nay, implore - you to come up to me and punch me in the throat. And to quote my friend Meg, "Nothing says ‘I’m gay’ like a guy wearing a $150 pair of jeans" so we don’t have to worry about that either.]

Yet more immediate progress can be made in the realm of intersexual relations. See, for years, I have had a fatal flaw in my game: I actually believed women wanted what they said they wanted (here’s where I sound bitter, when I’m not - I’m more grateful than anything else).

For example, let’s look at the following syllogism that, on the surface, seems correct:

Women desire a man who is funny. I am a man who is funny. Therefore, women desire me.

Wrong. This syllogism is imperfect because one of its premises is flawed - at least when it comes to the social situations in which I usually find myself (think: $6 Bud Lights, dim lights, pool table).

Women say that they want a guy who’s funny. And I’m not doubting this. I think that sure, they do. I mean, hey - everybody gets fat and bald and wrinkly and impotent in the end, so you might as well be with a man who’s going to give you a naked picture of himself for your birthday every year you’re together, even long after it stops being funny, but because he continues to do it year after year after year it kinda gets funny again.

It seems to me that women’s wants, in order to be fully understood, must be divided into two categories: elementary and ephemeral.

The desire for a mate with a sense of humor is an elementary want. As the name implies, it is basic, inherent, practically indisputable. Other elementary wants is a man who is capable of providing stability, a comfortable life, and non-retarded children; who is physically attractive; and who is respectful and caring.

But when you meet a woman, elementary wants are difficult to manipulate to your advantage because it can be hard to appeal to those elementary wants in such a short time (literally a matter of seconds as she decides whether or not she’ll continue talking to you, provided you stop spitting on her of course). And more importantly, I’m usually so drunk that it’s a fucking miracle I can even get out the words "Tanqueray and tonic," let alone convince a woman that I have virtually no history of cancer, or retardation in my family. So while it can be done, I ain’t the one to do it.

Instead, it’s better to focus on a woman’s ephemeral wants. What does she want from her night? Is she looking to get laid? Does she want to get tanked? Is it a girls’ night out? By assessing where she’s coming from, it might make approaching her easier.

But there is one want that is both elementary and ephemeral at all times: the want to be wanted. That’s what it’s all about, baby.

In high school I was head over heels "in love" with one of my female friends. But it was doomed from the start; she happened to be one of the most beautiful girls in neighborhood while everyone in the neighborhood thought that I was gay (or at least bi-curious and VERY experimental), so I never told her about my feelings (at least not until much later). Once, in maybe sophomore year, she and I were on the phone late at night and the Lenny Kravitz song "Believe" came on the radio (she was on the other end of the phone listening to the same station). Overcome with a sense of teenage desperation over unrequited love, I repeated the lines, "Because it’s all just a game/We just want to be loved" after Lenny sang them and added a maudlin, "Man, that’s so true." There was a slight moment of silence before she broke into hysterical laughter, leaving me with the most profound sense of embarrassment I have felt to this day.

But wasn’t Lenny, in his infinite wisdom and leather pants, onto something there? From the moment we arrive on earth, we are looking for love, searching for something to project our feelings onto but at the same time gives us that warm and fuzzy feeling inside (that I haven’t had in a long time but fortunately have discovered that whiskey provides something similar). I say yes, he was. Whether it’s as a baby or as a 30 year old sucking down mojitos in a bar, we just want to be loved.

Now, armed with the knowledge that all anyone - man or woman - wants is to be wanted, what should you do? Johnny says: Completely fucking ignore that desire.

From this point forward, I am changing the way that I meet women. Instead of being the "trying too hard funny guy" we’re rocking more this style:

[going up to bar to order drink next to Girl]
Me: [surly] "What’s up?"
Girl: "Hi."
Me: [rolling eyes] "Whatever." [walks to other side of bar to order drink]

I’m pretty certain that if I actually got the balls to pull this off, said Girl and I would be making out in the coatroom in under forty minutes.

In an environment in which people are drinking, being agreeable elicits no reaction. Being a dick elicits an often visceral reaction. Perhaps this is an incorrect extrapolation and sure, I’m probably still a bit drunk as I write this, but is this the same kind of thing as "there’s no such thing as bad press?" Meaning, isn’t any sort of gut reaction better than indifference?

I don’t think that I could ever pull this off because I’m too soft (although we shan’t underestimate the drunk version of Johnny Trashbag) but there has to be something here, I think. Forget all the mumbo jumbo when you’re at a bar. Everyone wants to be wanted. By showing disinterest you only pique interest which can then be used to your advantage. I’m not claiming this is groundbreaking here - it’s pretty much textbook manipulation. But I’m wondering if it actually could work in a real life setting.

Here is where I begin to stumble - and not just because on second thought I’m not still drunk but rather my hangover is starting to kick in and it's making me unhappy.

So I’m sorry to disappoint you with this ending. Much like the way I make love, I got you involved, got you all riled up, and then suddenly finished and am now going to heat up some pizza. But this post was born out of a discussion which was born just after Drink #7 last night and I wanted to at least flesh out what I thought about the issue and see if y’all could provide any insights. It’s an interesting topic, no? Additionally, everybody is slow at work in August, so in keeping with the recent motto here at Inbreeding For Fun And Profit, "Hey, at least it’s long."

And now I’m seriously going to heat up some pizza. Fuck dieting. I’m getting a wicked hangover.