Originally posted to Posterous on January 19, 2010
God’s balls, Batman, what happened?!
Yes, this is going to be one of THOSE blog posts, where I swear a lot. Like the good old days! Because someone intelligent reassured me that Jesus actually doesn’t care about my liberal use of perfectly good Anglo-Saxon words (it’s the French that made them dirty in the first place. What don’t the French ruin? Ok, souffles. And my friend Bruno is lovely. BUT SERIOUSLY. THE FRENCH).
Um, I’ve had a very generous glass of wine.
Remember when women got offended because they were called girls & girl stuff was attributed to them, like crying & being hormonal & our feet are always cold? And see how we’re fucking over that because it’s ALL TRUE?
So…when did men get sensitive about being, er, men?
It’s an alarming trend I’ve noticed. More than one guy, lately, has resented being called a guy. These are intelligent, cool blokes whom I enjoy as friends. However, they are more sensitive about being referred to as guys than I was when someone called me a choice piece of tail. I in fact enjoy being called a choice piece of tail. It’s better than being called a fugly bitch, yes? So seriously…
What’s wrong with being a guy?
Guys are great! They don’t burst into tears during nearly every episode of season 2 of Buffy. They didn’t cry all through that “Worst Christmas Evar for the Scully Family” episode of X-Files, & then for hours afterward, & then every single time they see a child in a sandbox. Their butts don’t get ludicrously cold for no reason. They don’t whine incessantly about it being too hot or too cold…at the same time! They don’t obsess over knitting. They don’t throw things at the TV during football. They don’t spend much of their day in the office talking about how so & so did such & such. Guys are just peachy fricken’ keen!
So why do they get offended when I call them guys?
They call me a chick, a broad, a female (rhymes with ‘tamale’), sweetie, kid, and tail. For reasons I will never understand, they rarely ever call me kitten, which is just not fair, as I am SO a kitten! I’ve gotten “Simmer down, tiger” a few times (once from a wicked hot law school student) which perplexes me. I am perfectly fine with all this stuff. I’ve been recently accused of being a bat shit crazy bitch, which I thought was funny, and a silly girl, which I am. I don’t care. These are all acceptable terms to a girl who knows that words are just words. We can use them however we wish and we can ignore them. We can choose to get all uppity about the terms or we can bother to register the context.
So I say to my guys…why don’t you want to be guys?
Here’s a fact some people just do not dig. We’re machines. God made us so that we could run efficiently via a system of neurochemicals & other junk. You don’t have to have gotten an A in neuropsychology to understand this simple concept. You run on electricity & hormones. There’s also a sodium potassium pump in there somewhere, but I’d sooner stick a septic tank pump in my eye than describe it ever again. Countless exams are enough, thanks. If you have any kind of metabolic disease or immune disease, like me, you know for a fact you are electricity & hormones, because when they are out of whack, the whole world knows it. Your body screams at you “HEY! DIPSHIT! Did you eat gluten? You MORON! Now I’m going to have to spike you with sharp stabbing pains, aching, multiple trips to the loo, & constant, unending pissiness. Why do you suck? I hate you!” At least this is how my body treats me if I so much as inhale a crumb of wheat.
Yes, you have a soul, and yes, God loves you, but God made you so that He doesn’t have to futz with you every ten seconds. What good is a creation if you have to tend to it constantly? It has to be able to run independent of the attention of the Creator. If you ask, He will tune your shit up & give you instructions, but if you don’t, you are running entirely on electricity & hormones.
Men & women have the same electricity, but different hormones. If we didn’t, it’d be really hard to make more of us. God could do it, of course, but then who would make nachos for Andrew Klavan? Well, I’m sure ther e’s an Arch Angel of Nachos, or St. Jalapeño or something, but that’s beside the point. God is smart & made his Creations self replicating, & part of that is a delicate, ingenious balance of hormones. Some more of this for men, some more of that for women.
This delicious hormone balance makes us want to giggle too loudly & makes our brains go blank when we talk to each other & makes us do dumb things like cry by the phone or not want to call because we don’t want to seem too eager. It makes us think that snuzzling nosies is awesome & kissing is heavenly & that being naked & rolling around a ton would be aces. God did that for you! And all that acne when you’re stressed or right before a date? God did that too, but the inability to control your stress is, admittedly, my fault.
When we’re not using hormones in the complex, non-direct, non-Seven-of-Nine mating ritual we’ve devised for ourselves (God did NOT come up with the Cosmo “80 Ways To Make Him Crave You” thingy), those hormones are being used to keep us our genders. It’s very important that women respond to children a certain way. It’s very important that men respond to boobs a certain way. This is all to keep each other safe. Yes, boob lust keeps women safe, & by default, the children of the one with the boobs, too.
It’s ingenious, isn’t it? There are just a few chemicals & some electrical impulses & by jove, we’re humming. Er. And mating.
Now you want to piss all over that? It’s GLORIOUS. Look, I noticed you staring at my boobs, I called you on it, I thought it was funny, and you were mortally offended that I “accused” you of wolfish behaviour. GET OVER YOURSELF. You’re a freakin’ guy. Obviously it’s not an issue or I wouldn’t be hanging out with your dumb ass. If I say that you didn’t cry at something that I cried at because you’re a guy, that’s better than what I would say to another girl, which is “You have no soul.” You’re a guy; you’re not programmed to weep when Angel goes weird or the little girl gets leukemia on the stupid Lifetime show*. It’s ok! The alternative to you being a guy & not weeping is You Have No Soul. Accept the guy part, because I don’t talk to people who have no soul. They’re creepy.
*Though I have to admit, the guy who cries for the little girl with leukemia is probably going to get laid. When men cry, I get soppy & lose my brain & I have to pat them & fuss. Well, it depends. If he’s one of those guys that cries when his World of Warcraft character dies, fuck no.
I think guys are tops! A guy is going to keep a relatively level head while I sob for a full half hour after The Colour Purple. A certain type of guy is going to do nearly anything I ask based on the depth of my neckline. Some guys respond simply to a tilt of the head that I don’t even realize I’m doing, apparently, & subsequently I will be treated more nicely. Because of my hormones, a guy who treats me more nicely is more inclined to receive masses of lovingly prepared food & I might, over time, even consent to give birth to one of his children. Hormones grease the wheel, so to speak.
So why do we keep wanting to act like we’re above them? Oh, that whole equality thing. Look. Having different hormones doesn’t make anybody more stupid or mean or crazy or worthless. I don’t like the dumbing down of the American dad on TV over the past couple of decades any more than you like it when women are offered less money than a man for the same job. I don’t like when a man is excused from simple chores because he’s too “stupid” to notice the garbage is about to tip any more than you like when a woman is considered a wiggy menopausal bitch. We do a disservice to each other & to hormones when we use them to excuse boorish behaviour from either gender. And being all politically correct about it is boorish behaviour.
You heard me. “Be nice to your coworker-of-a-certain-age; she’s all crabby today because of her period/hot flashes/pregnancy.We have to honour her womanhood.” Oh HELL no. Yeah, you may have a five alarm fire going off in your head thanks to ovarian dipshittery but you do NOT get to be an asshole at work. Save your murderous rage for someone who is having sex with you & therefore has good reason to put up with it. If you can’t be decent at work, you don’t GET to work. Go home, cook, & clean, little woman. People who can’t be arsed to comport themselves like gentlemen in public, & this includes ladies, should not get to be in public.
Another scenario: “You haven’t got your man trained yet? My husband’s been taking out the rubbish like clockwork for the past 20 years.” Really? Congratulations for marrying a music box monkey. Does he dance on command, too? What a weird thing to be proud of…does he also, like, I dunno, have a career of which he is particularly proud? Ambitions, life goals? Granted, I would be stoked if I met a man who remembered to do anything, really I would. That’s sexy. But I am more interested in who the man is. Also I refuse to clean in lieu of a man cleaning if we make the same money and I utterly refuse if I make more than him.
“Oh you shallow bitch!” I hear the moaning now. “Money isn’t a gauge of love or chores.” Um, yes it is. If my job is more stressful than yours, I don’t have to clean up after you. You’re a big boy; bus your own couch. If you made enough where I could stay home & be a writer & lovingly raise our children, I would gladly give you a spotless home & a martini as you walked in the door. In heels, no less. Until you supercede me in the providing for our home, you can suck it. Hell YES you will vacuum, mister!
Our reverse sexism has allowed us to become infantile & whiny, using our politically correct excuses for our equally annoying behaviour. There is actually a book called Her Blood is Gold. No, her blood is gross. You want to be equal but you want to exalt menstruation? Like we have a say in that or something, or can control it? Really? And now you want men to take us seriously. Right. When we’re writing essays about menstrual blood. Good luck with that. If you want men to honour menstrual blood, learn to honour Letters to Penthouse. OH, we don’t like it both ways? Bah.
In pretending to ignore our differences, we’ve called even more attention to them. I don’t understand those parents who try to raise their kids unisex, with trucks & dolls, only to be shocked & dismayed when the girls start picking dolls more often & the boys trucks more often. By all means, provide both types of toys. I played Army with my Barbies, for example, & they had a Jeep. And guns. And I took them in the mud. But they cleaned up & wore evening gowns & married bears. I also ganked my brother’s wicked water machine gun (pre all the goofy safety modifications; this was the first Reagan term, baby!), brought it for forest wars, belly crawled through the bracken in my freakin’ skirt & patent leather black maryjanes, and loaded it with Kool-Aid knowing full well how badly it stained & how pissed off their mothers were going to be. I was a devious goddamned little girl; it’s why chicks make the best assassins. Deadly & smart!
But eventually, as our hormones kick in, we will differentiate on toys, clothes, everything. This is not your failing as a parent. This is what God set up so that eventually, your kids will be happy adults. You may end up with a weird adult daughter, who hates chick flicks but did cry at the end of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but she’ll be totally a girl, & you will eventually get that big stupid wedding you want to throw. In theory. She is getting old, you know.
Oh God, & she’s SO tired…
I had more of a point, but I think we’ll stop it there. I am sure I will get some horrified comments I can respond to at a later date, & then I can clarify points that you may find callous, meaningless, offensive, etc. Look, I don’t deal in lady feelings, ok? I deal in facts. If you don’t like the facts, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re a creature of your gonads. Whatever they’re pumping out, no matter what you look like, that’s what’s going to inform your initial response to everything.
Which brings us to cognition. Your initial hormonal response to many things is probably inappropriate to give full voice to in a public setting, so your brain tempers it. This is fine. This is civilization. But don’t kid yourself. If you are lucky enough to have a spiritual connection to the divine, however you define it, this may also overlay all your brain & hormone action. How we relate to God, however, is still going to be dictated by hormones, because God wants us to make more of us. You might want to serve God by defending your country, or feeding the hungry, or simply by raising some decent human beings & being a decent person yourself. Male or female, you are still going to approach it differently. That’s why the Bible addresses us differently, as do the various sutras & other religious texts. The male & female ways are not superior to each other, just different. Yeah, we’re gonna mix it up sometimes. We each have a little bit of the other’s set of hormones, after all, and we also have the same basic brains. But we are different. You’re a guy. I’m a chick.