Guess What? Men Are More Like Women Than You Think
By Rachel Smith
As my dating life has progressed over the last few years, I’ve picked up on some very interesting emotional and sexual trends from men.
Writers note: Please understand that by “dating” I don’t mean dinner, roses and a trip to Tahoe. Come on, children. This isn’t Roseville. I am not Mother Goose and this isn’t a fairy tale, nor is this article an accurate depiction of the male species in any way. This is midtown…and I’m currently on my fourth vodka.
For us single and fabulous (?) women out there who are less interested in marriage and more focused on squeezing every last morsel of fun out of life while our breasts are still above our knees, it’s evident that our priorities are ions apart from the chick looking to start a family. We want to party. With everyone. Though lately, it seems as if there’s an epidemic among us where gender roles are shifting at a rapid pace. (And by epidemic it’s really like … four men, but for the sake of this article let’s say it’s 1,000).
I don’t know if it’s age (impending death) that makes men want to be more attentive and romantic, or maybe I’ve only dated raging a-holes and these new age types of men have always existed, but either way I’ve been experiencing some men saying and doing things that I thought only existed in Nicholas Sparks novels: cuddling, sending grammatically correct texts before 3:00pm, talking about feelings, etc. Say what?
Society is quick to put these character traits all on us females, but this issue is far from black and white. Yes, most women tend to be the more emotionally attached sex who crave intimacy and respect –as well they should. Which is why many men who are just looking for a good time fear the stage five clingers (who exist in spades). But what about the women who don’t get emotionally attached and don’t want to be romantic? (Don’t answer that.) Specifically, what’s a happily wild spinster to do when she comes across a man who is … normal?
Below are just a few things I’ve observed recently that have knocked down my stereotypes of the “alpha male” and built up my metaphorical vaginal wall toward anyone with, well, a soul. (Metaphorical, because I don’t believe in celibacy). Call me heartless, but I just can’t get into these things:
People always assume that girls are the ones who want to cuddle after sex. That’s really interesting considering the last three guys I’ve dated clung to me in their sleep like I was the last beer floating down the river on the Fourth of July. I hate spooning and for that matter, I hate people in my bed. Some may call my disgust of spooning a cover-up for intimacy issues – and it is – but I also suffer from severe claustrophobia. I don’t want anyone breathing on me, looking at me or touching me when I sleep.
Spooning, holding hands, et al. is so much more intimate for me than sex, so why the hell would I want to wrap my arms around you in a slumber’s embrace if I don’t even know your last name? Shall we roast marshmallows and regale each other with childhood fantasies in the backwoods of Auburn as well? No, thanks. Unless I’m in a coma, I will leave your house immediately following the romp sesh, and I expect you to show me the same respect.
I’m a huge fan of texting, especially on the late night. I always enjoy receiving the “Wheb area upo comink over?” or “wHeere u at?” texts, but the grammatically correct “Good Morning J!” and “How’s work going this afternoon?” is not hot for me.
The only time I want to talk to a man in the morning is during a mimosa brunch so if we’re not clinking champagne glasses at Fox & Goose, then there is really nothing to say. What’s also not hot for me in this category is the double text. If I didn’t respond to your “What’s up?” it’s because I don’t want to see your face. And I recognize that when I don’t get a text back from someone, they don’t want to see my face either. Let’s all take a moment to accept and embrace that statement. (Now stop crying and put your big girl panties on).
It’s not cell service issues, you’re literally being ignored. Don’t send a follow up text saying, “You there?” – because yes, I am … but I don’t want you to know it. It’s 2013 folks, everyone has their phone permanently attached to their hip. I’m not in a meeting, I’m not in the shower and I’m not driving through a tunnel – I’m on Tinder talking to the 43-year-old co-captain of the Sac City debate team.
I don’t take life seriously, which means I definitely don’t take men or relationships seriously. And since I don’t take them seriously, I never waste my time getting into “important” conversations with them. Mostly because we’re just sleeping together, and there are no feelings to talk about. I don’t care what your favorite color is and I certainly don’t need a history lesson on your family vacations to Dillon Beach in the 80s.
Men will say that the women are the ones who always want to talk things through, but in reality there are tons of guys who initiate “the talk.” Where is this going? Why are we just getting drunk and hooking up? I need something more. Well I need something more too – a bigger glass of vodka. With a lime.
According to Cosmopolitan, and let’s face it, the empty abyss that is Midtown on Wednesday CrossFit nights, we’re seeing a surge of men jumping on the diet train lately. Gone are the unshaven, burly mountain men would party all day and ride bikes with you to Carolina’s at 4AM – on a Tuesday. I guess they all died from diabetes.
Regardless, now guys are all about “calling it an early night” and “hitting the gym after dinner.” Hello? Pub crawls are exercise you fool. Certainly living a healthy lifestyle is important if you plan on living past [my goal age] 30, but why not just switch from vodka cranberry to just vodka? The only time I want to see you at Fremont Park is if we’re passing through to get to R15. Holler.
Guys hate using condoms and if we’re being honest ladies, so do we. But it has to be done. The dating pool of twenty-somethings in Sacramento is compiled of raging alcoholics and extremely infected human beings. But when last call hits, nobody is in the mood to stop off at the liquor store for a magnum (wishful thinking here). Not only that, but condom application is a huge mood killer. But you know what’s an even bigger mood killer? AIDS. What a quandary we find ourselves in, huh? You’re both wasted and horny, you have HPV, he probably has crabs, and you used the last of the saran wrap for last night’s leftover casserole. Alas, nobody is climaxing, you’re sobering up and coming to the realization that you both look like ass in the light. Thus, you both retreat to your respective homes and pass out on your couch with your hand buried in a bowl of nacho cheese. Or maybe that was just me last night. I don’t know what any of this has to do with men acting like a woman, but I just really wanted to use “HPV” and “casserole” in the same sentence.