Listen Up Fellas
"Your lighter is purple... I like that; purple is my favorite color." A single white male, 5"10, 180 pounds, approached my friend and I with a sloppy grin at a bar while we were enjoyng a couple of cocktails in the corner of bar seating. I do not recall his name; to be honest, it was hard to follow him. Between the very open sharing of his thoughts on penis growth techniques and his seranade of the Boston hit, "Amanda" which lasted way too long for comfort, I began to drift in and out of his conversation.
Yes, he was likely intoxicated. But yes, he was likely... how shall I put it, not well.
When Jen decided to pull a cigarette out of her Camel Lights pack, our "visitor" quickly stepped up to the challenge by reaching for the seductive purple lighter and extending it toward her mouth. "No, that's fine... I got it," she responded with a generic tone. "Oh, stubborn... I like that in a woman."
He, without invitation, began discussing his love for hunting, pumping iron, and women. I quickly claimed vegitarianism, laziness, and lesbianism. "That's cool... I like that in a woman." -"I like that" appeared to be his response for every unexpected comment or event. Hey, he's still got a chance!
You may wonder why we didn't respond with the sitcom cliche' of "Buzz off" or "Drop dead," but it became interesting for us, for our friendship. Jen and I happen to find these experiences fascinating, as well as depressing, but this individual just kept shocking us with his total disregard for reality, style, and any dignity.
We didn't quite encourage him, that would offer him way too much leeway. We simply sat there, having personal conversations with one another in our heads. Right when I thought our adventure was perhaps over, offering us an opportunity to analyze our encounter, our "visitor" decided to put his thumb into his mouth with his arm extended in an 'L' shape and "blow" air into his thumb, thus obviously causing his bicep to flex oh so impressively. "Have you ever seen this before?" he said nodding his head excessively with a facial expression indescribable. It was a last resort... apparently it had worked before. I hadn't yet considered this possibility, so I replied, "Are you for real?" I knew he was serious, but it took a period of time for me to grasp the ridiculousness of it. He, unfortunately, didn't iniitally catch the haughtiness in my voice let alone my troubled facial expression, eyebrows concentrated in attempt to understand this tangle of masculinity.
The next fifteen mintues went on in accordance to his character. He asked us if my eye color and Jen's hair color were real. He was in town on "business," staying across the street in a wonderful hotel. He's actually from California, really in tune with the city life. Addressing my "lesbianism," he shared that he "like's that in a girl," but gay men are "fuckin' gross." But, hey... he "met a gay person once." He was in California (did he mention he was from California?) and had hung out with a good "buddy" whose father was gay. He was soon introduced to his friend's father's (brace yourself) gay lover. (gasp.) "I wanted to fuckin' kill him, but he gave me a doobie and we smoked it outside so it was cool." All the while, Jen and I pretty much nodded and smiled, the common retreat of females either truly clueless or just wanting to embrace it for the time being...
Is this man in a text book? I always thought "he" was a myth, but sadly I watched as my hope for a true misconception of certain single men drained out of my subconscious.
Meanwhile, Jen, sensing my distress, informed our visitor that we had been engaged in a serious conversation before he graced our presence and in turn had to leave us to our discussion. (We had been talking about where to place my bed in the apartment.) He responded, "That's cool..." I was clinching my entire body in waiting for the follow-up, "I like that in a girl..." but fortunately it did not present itself. He simply turned to the party on his right and got acquainted. Within minutes he was singing Bon Jovi "Dead or Alive" a cappella with a new friend. It was loud... really loud, even louder than I have ever escalated. He had made new friends. His new "buddy" was attempting, unsuccessfully, to meld harmony with the supposedly hard lyrics of the song, primarily sung by our visitor. There were two young women next to them, obviously acquainted with 'harmony boy' who just thought it was a gas! They sat, bodies in line with the beat, tossing their hair from one side to another gazing at the visitor as though he were someone meant to be on a prime time television show like American Idol. He had won awards, best singer in a California, mind you, karoke bar; I should know, he stated it three times. Even so, somehow his depiction of a Bon Jovi classic wasn't convining enough.
Enter single dating life for a young attractive woman. I have met nice men who obviously in no way compare to the visitor of Jen and I. Even so, I have felt at a different level. Call me a bitch if you must, but I have already reclaimed the word. What an interesting game of strategy dating is; I have figured out that for me it is easier to be myself. Obviously I have not sold out for the hair tossing giggling woman who feels compelled to make statements like, "You're so brave," "You're so strong," or "You're so smart." But he, whomever he may be that night, he will meet me. If it doesn't clique, that is fine because I know I clique with me, and that is the definition of integrity... not our president's scapegoat definiton.
Obviously I realize this visitor does not represent the single male population; I suppose that is part of the reason I still have faith in being straight. I do not have high hopes of meeting my husband at a bar, but if I meet someone I will meet him somewhere and I will be dedicated to my strategy... the total and complete absence of it... at least in terms of discussing "penis growth techniques."
by maddog | posted on 9/16/2002