Thursday, February 02, 2012

Miranda Catches the Gay

Cynthia Nixon recently said in the NY Times that she "chose" to be gay, which caused controversy and people freaking out and etc. To all of which Andrew Sullivan responds:

"My own view is that female sexuality is inherently more fluid than male sexuality, and that lesbians and bisexual women, because they are less fixated on crude physical signals for arousal, have more of a choice than men, gay or straight, in their choice of loved ones. I think this is about the difference between lesbian identity and gay male identity. For all the attempt to corral us into one vowel-free liberal conglomerate, I know few communities less alike than lesbians and gay men."

That is a beautiful and succinct way of putting it. Let me put it another way: my sexuality is tectonic plates miles thick and thousands of miles wide grinding away beneath the earth's crust on incomprehensibly powerful tides of magma, grinding and crushing and destroying and building up vast pressures sapped only momentarily by hellfire explosions and earth-shattering quakes that ruin civilizations and crush lives. Your sexuality, womankind, is a toy house made of toothpicks and gumdrops that you can disassemble and restructure on a whim. Your sexuality is as the mustard seed, small and unassuming but capable of flowering into something beautiful, delicate and complex under exactly the right circumstances. My sexuality is the fucking SUN.

Or maybe not. Seems to be more of a continuum with women. Some of them are raging fuckbeasts like myself and some of them are prim old dowager types trapped in the bodies of 23 year old actress/ waitresses. I think a good analogy for the variance in women's horniness is the variance in men's violent urges. You take a varying level of testosterone, possibly mix in being "socialized" in various different ways and you get a rainbow:

A few Dylan Klebold-type guys want to mass murder-- these are your rawdog in the bar bathroom every night/ gangbang a fraternity type chicks.

A few more guys like to go out and maybe beat some ass with a pool cue a couple nights a week. Or drive around in Denzel's car from TRAINING DAY tagging shit and doing drive by's. These are girls whom a dickhead would call "sluts."

Most guys, though, don't spend the day thinking about fighting but will throw fists if they're being threatened, or if they're drunk enough, or once in a while if they're just feeling crazy, etc. Just like most girls might go home with someone tall and confident and hot, or a guy in a band they just saw, or if they're just in the mood, but not all the time or with everyone.

And then there's a fringe of guys like me who would get their ass beat by a ten year old girl and are afraid of breaking a knuckle anyway. Guys who almost never feel the urge to fight. These are your Cynthia Nixons. Someone whose sexuality is mutable, because it's not really sexuality as a base, urgent desire. It's eating because you like the taste of food. This person knows what it means to be horny the way an earthworm knows the desire to find the perfect translation of Proust.

Obviously I'm talking out of my ass and have no fucking idea what goes through Cynthia Nixon's mind, or her stern, cold ginger pussy. But I think Sullivan's right-- you'd never hear a dude saying being gay (or straight) is a choice. I mean guys who are honest with themselves, not the pastor running a gay reeducation camp for Christ while secretly smoking pole. Or at least, I would never say being gay or straight is a choice, and I'm a dude, so-- all other dudes must think exactly like me.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

OKCupid: Girls with no pictures part 2: the trollening

I am being successfully trolled by a fake OKCupid account purporting to be a 21 year old local woman. I am aware that I am being trolled; that somewhere on my beloved Reddit or 4chan or some other message board a neckbeard in Saskatchewan is eagerly awaiting my showing up at some place with a security camera that he’s hacked into, ready to photoshop my face into foreveralone.jpg. Or it’s Chris Hansen. The girl is going to casually drop at some point in the conversation—a 15 email thread by now, which I would never tolerate except this troll is just so god damn motherfucking masterful—she is going to casually drop that she is actually 17 years old but her parents are gone for a long weekend now that Tahoe finally has snow and would I like to come over and bring a nice bottle of wine, her tastes are surprisingly sophisticated for such a young girl… I’m going to go and be told “have a seat” and after tearfully insisting that I was just there to warn her I’ll be told that I’m free to go only to be unceremoniously tackled to the sprinkler-muddy turf by a Whittier police sergeant built like Butterbean. They won’t have to ask me “if you’re here to warn her, why did you bring condoms?” Because of course I won’t be bringing fucking condoms. Fucking a 17 year old with a condom would be like looking at the Sistine Chapel through glass security block.

Or I’ll be murdered, or my credit card will be stolen, or my passport, or whatever. Though there is a certain comfort in being broke, knowing that you really have nothing to steal. And in being a sad unmarried loner. Because even if I were married, I would still try to set up a sexual liaison with this fake hot 21 year old girl, and in that version she could blackmail me by threatening to tell my wife, etc. There is a certain comfort in having nothing, knowing that outside of throwing me in jail or harvesting my organs, there is very little this person could do to harm me. When you have successfully fucked up your life like I have you are well nigh invulnerable.

Still. A person saw my long post about girls with no photograph, how it NEVER works out and you should NEVER email with that person, and she, having no photograph, successfully emailed me and got me to reply, and further baited me into asking for the photograph, which appears to in fact be an attractive 21 year old woman, does not match anything on Tineye, and might as well have been reverse engineered to appear maximally enticing and yet plausible to horny, lonely, aging dudes. I’m not talking about some stock photo off Ukrainianbrides.com with a chick washing a car in a bikini, it’s just a normal shot of a wholesomely-hot classically beautiful type chick taken with a webcam in a marginally revealing outfit that shows that she has nice tits.

I cannot resist this. For the same reason that Michael Vick’s dogs should not be adopted into homes with children, I should not be allowed to interact with women on the internet. In fact both of us should probably be summarily put down. You try to be civilized and to act rationally but there’s just that instinct, bred into you, and then beaten into you, and then the baby drops a toy or you see a nice pair of tits and suddenly it’s just a flash of black and you come to with something warm in your mouth and the room is splattered with baby guts. If there is a chance at attractive young pussy you have to go after it, no matter how absurd the whole situation is. The iron strength of the god damned human spirit is too strong and the audacity of hope is too great and the fucking retardedness of optimism is too immutable. Some awful primitive part of brain just has to go along with it and see what happens. Hey! Maybe you’ll get laid!

I can’t believe civilization was built by men. I can’t believe wars were fought and nations conquered and science was advanced and literature was… literatured and etc. I get the idea that guys were doing this to be in a position to get the most pussy but on the day-to-day level the getting of pussy is so god damned distracting, it’s a monomania—how could any man in history ever not stop whatever he was doing, put down the whip that he was cracking the slaves with to get them to build the pyramids—how could he not immediately put that down and let the slaves run free if there was even a one in a million chance at pussy out of the corner of his eye. Civilization must have been secretly built by the gays, who can just fuck and get it over with.

Anyway, I’m gonna keep talking to this chick and be robbed or embarrassed somehow. Stay tuned.

Miranda Catches the Gay

Cynthia Nixon recently said in the NY Times that she “chose” to be gay, which caused controversy and people freaking out and etc. To all of which Andrew Sullivan responds:

“My own view is that female sexuality is inherently more fluid than male sexuality, and that lesbians and bisexual women, because they are less fixated on crude physical signals for arousal, have more of a choice than men, gay or straight, in their choice of loved ones. I think this is about the difference between lesbian identity and gay male identity. For all the attempt to corral us into one vowel-free liberal conglomerate, I know few communities less alike than lesbians and gay men.”

That is a beautiful and succinct way of putting it. Let me put it another way: my sexuality is tectonic plates miles thick and thousands of miles broad grinding away beneath the earth’s crust on incomprehensibly powerful tides of magma, grinding and crushing and destroying and building up vast pressures sapped only momentarily by hellfire explosions and earth-shattering quakes that ruin civilizations and crush lives. Your sexuality, womankind, is a toy house made of toothpicks and gumdrops that you can disassemble and restructure on a whim. Your sexuality is as the mustard seed, small and unassuming but capable of flowering into something beautiful, delicate and complex under exactly the right circumstances. My sexuality is the fucking SUN.

Or maybe not. Seems to be more of a continuum with women. Some of them are raging fuckbeasts like myself and some of them are prim old dowager types trapped in the bodies of 23 year old actress/ waitresses. I think a good analogy for the variance in women’s horniness is the variance in men’s violent urges. You take a varying level of testosterone, possibly mix in being “socialized” in various different ways and you get a rainbow:

A few Dylan Klebold-type guys want to mass murder– these are your rawdog in the bar bathroom every night/ gangbang a fraternity type chicks.

A few more guys like to go out and maybe beat some ass with a pool cue a couple nights a week. Or drive around in Denzel’s car from TRAINING DAY tagging shit and doing drive by’s. These are girls whom a dickhead would call “sluts.”

Most guys, though, don’t spend the day thinking about fighting but will throw fists if they’re being threatened, or if they’re drunk enough, or once in a while if they’re just feeling crazy, etc. Just like most girls might go home with someone tall and confident and hot, or a guy in a band they just saw, or if they’re just in the mood, but not all the time or with everyone.

And then there’s a fringe of guys like me who would get their ass beat by a ten year old girl and are afraid of breaking a knuckle anyway. Guys who almost never feel the urge to fight. These are your Cynthia Nixons. Someone whose sexuality is mutable, because it’s not really sexuality as a base, urgent desire. It’s eating because you like the taste of food. This person knows what it means to be horny the way an earthworm knows the desire to find the perfect translation of Proust.

Obviously I’m talking out of my ass and have no fucking idea what goes through Cynthia Nixon’s mind, or her stern, cold ginger pussy. But I think Sullivan’s right– you’d never hear a dude saying being gay (or straight) is a choice. I mean guys who are honest with themselves, not the pastor running a gay reeducation camp for Christ while secretly smoking pole. Or at least, I would never say being gay or straight is a choice, and I’m a dude, so– all other dudes must think exactly like me.

OKCupid: Girls with no pictures

You got two options: she’s either never going to give you the picture, or she’s going to be ugly. That’s it. And yet I bite, every single fucking time. I get a message from a girl who is pixellated out or black bar over the face or simply, you know, an Ansel Adams photograph or some shit and I bite every time. Because I have to know.

And no matter how many times—it’s either nothing, or ugly, every single fucking time—I still can’t just trust myself and internalize the fucking rule. I can’t take a second and reason with myself. Like, anyone who doesn’t list their body type– do you think they have a spectacular fit body? A guy who doesn’t list his height- do you think he’s dunking on (I cannot name a single defensive NBA player)? Do you think a dude who doesn’t list his income is hiding Mitt Romney levels of untaxed capital gains in the Caymans and that’s why it’s gotta be a secret? No. No. If someone is not explicit about a piece of information on OKC it is because whatever quality they’re hiding is a liability to the point of freakishness.

But I message back, every time. And I engage in the fucking cat and mouse game of teasing out their facebook or giving them my personal email with my full real name every fucking time, and it either just goes away because the girl chickens out, or despite her promise that “I am attractive I swear” it’s a sad ugly picture and you have to—I mean, you can’t go out with her, obviously, so, you either have to not message her back despite having clearly been intrigued by her personality, which is basically just cruelly screaming “YOU ARE FUCKING UGLY AND DIE” at a sensitive shy human being. Or you have to fake still being interested and let it slowly dwindle to nothing over an elaborately staged blowoff of “oh shit I just realized I have a work thing that night” and etc. You have to become a chick.

I message them back because of the perversity of hope. The ridiculous idea that it might be someone cute and maybe they are just so hot that they got tired of 15,000 unsolicited messages, or maybe they really are afraid of being recognized, or—whatever. The same reason people pick up used scratch tickets in the parking lot of 7-11. The same reason I still go to a bar because there might be girls there even though I’ve been to bars ten thousand times and have met girls there about twice. Your sad desperate mind will not let hope die.

So listen, even if I won’t listen to myself: someone without a picture messaging you is NEVER going to work out, it is ALWAYS going to be a waste of time and an embarrassment.

Frankly, it’s the same shit with girls that won’t give you their phone number and want to set dates over OKC message, girls who are at all hesitant to give up shit that might lead you to google them, etc. It never works out. And it’s because the type of person who is afraid to reveal themselves is the type of person who is too chickenshit to date on the internet to begin with. They are going into it with too many fears and doubts and too much post-traumatic and/or self-flattering paranoid chick shit and are just never going to let loose and have a good time. And nothing against them, maybe they were raped or something. Maybe they have a perfectly good reason. But still. Fuck ‘em.

To my future son, part 3

The feeling of being in love with someone who loves you back is literally unattainable. Because the very fact of being in love with someone makes them not love you. Your choices are:

A) Unrequited love

or

B) Cool apathy that gets you the person you thought you wanted, but because of the apathy necessary to get them, you don’t want them anymore.

That’s it. There is no other option. One party will always have contempt for the other. Your choice is to be the contemptuous or the contemptible. You don’t want either one? Too bad. I don’t want Sudanese kids getting kidnapped and enslaved but them’s the fucking breaks. Whatever you feel, that you think will bring you joy, will only work against you. Until you DIE. From BEES. BEES with AIDS.