The Female Condition

I’ve recently begun to tire of my girl friends complaining about the lack of available men. Their frustrations seem to be defined in the relative non-existence of their sex lives and phrased in the length of time between satisfactory shags (or at least make-out sessions).

Their theory rests on the assumption that drinking one’s liver to failure in some dark bar with your girlfriends while shamelessly flirting with the nearest available male hottie will eventually lead into getting picked up by said hottie (or his crew) for a night of hopefully satisfying sex.

With any luck, this action happens before one drinks too much and has to make a big mess in the bathroom. In other words, if a man wishing to get laid proves himself to be relatively attractive without offending any insecurities and/or hangups (of which there are an infinite number) in a woman, then a night of carnal delights is not only in the offing, it is in the bag, provided the point is made before vomitus.

This is all very funny. These people expect, despite being extremely picky (to the point of being fickle), to achieve some measure of success on a nightly basis. When the inevitable happens and they come home empty-handed (figuratively), it’s never their fault – and they’re left in the dark wondering why. The even funnier thing is that its only my more “liberal” friends who complain of their sex-less predicament. The more conservative ones are either in denial or are conditioned to not care. I think that complaints about sex are only a symptom: the malaise is based on a lack of true intimacy.

I’m beginning to think this frustration is a global phenomenon. In the trailer to the movie, The Holiday, the LA-born and bred Amanda (played by Cameron Diaz), can be seen asking Londonite Iris (played by Kate Winslet) whether there are any men where she lives. When Winslet replies “None!” the match is deemed perfect and the two characters get set to “switch” lives in a postmodern holiday.

To me, this points toward an emerging belief pattern among people in the 21st century that denies this basic and fundamental truth about people and relationships: people are people because they are flawed and as such, living with a flawed being is part and parcel of the relationship deal if you yearn for intimacy (unless you become a Cistercian monk or a Pink Sister).

I think that my serial monogamist gay friend Rey has a good restatement of the problem: “If I’m such a man’s wet dream, then where is this man who has wet dreams over me?” Irvine Welsh defined it best, although he did it in a thick Scottish accent: who you want will not always want you, because you aren’t as perfect as you think you are.

It’s a vicious cycle: A wants B, who doesn’t return the affection because A is flawed (needy), and in turn, B projects an ideal (not needy) unto C, who thinks B is likewise flawed (also needy), and so C projects an ideal (not needy) unto A. So after B has mercy sex with A, B dumps A for a perceived longing for C, who thinks A is a waste of time and is instead pursuing B.

This theory of mine has a corollary. There is a disconnect between what you say you want and what you actually want. Many a time I’ve been subjected to hours and hours of nitpicking the faults of the latest date of my girl friends. Pointing out that they have flaws themselves is lost on these girls: they pout and whine and expect that they will be not only loved but worshipped, for they are goddesses. Each and every single time, there is a different deal-breaker that ruins an otherwise great relationship. What gets my goat is that one day, this guy with all the deal-breakers comes along, and this one makes the grade. Duh. Someone please explain this to me.

I surmise that the universal sisterhood in gender sensitivity class will start running after me with guns at the ready. Anyway, to avoid their wrath, here’s a disclaimer: this wake-up call/rant applies to you, you male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, or bisexual conceited pig.

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