Sometimes I think that I must be some sort of asexual freak. Despite being female, there are so many moments where I don’t understand women at all, especially when they….
…constantly whine about how fat or ugly they are, and when you say otherwise they never believe you. Okay, I admit that I do tend to complain about being “fat” every now and then. But all I need is someone to tell me that I’m so skinny I could be thinspiration for teenage girls everywhere, and then I shut up.
…take constant trips to the restroom to retouch their make-up. Am I the only girl in the world who uses the restroom to just pee? I don’t know why but I can’t stand having to fix myself up alongside all these other women. When I retouch my makeup during the rare occasions where I wear makeup, I do it while sitting on the toilet.
…blame themselves when their dates go wrong. Hon, it’s not your fault that he offered to take you home and then charged you for gas afterwards. It’s not your fault he made a date with you and completely “forgot” about it. It’s HIM. HE’S the dickwad. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.
…choose to chase the grade-A asshole who clearly doesn’t give a rat’s ass about their existence over the almost-perfect great guy who’s already halfway in love with them and will treat them better than anyone else in the world ever could. This just completely baffles me. So okay, I’m kind of guilty of this too. Except for the part where there’s a great guy already halfway in love with me and who’ll treat me better than anyone else in the world ever could. That never happens.
…place all sorts of meanings to every single gesture their object of affection (or affectation) does to them. Admittedly, a person’s judgment does get rather clouded when they’re attracted to someone; thus, everything becomes prone to misinterpretation. But do girls really have to keep analyzing these events for hours on end? Seriously. No matter how much you talk about it or try to second-guess his motives, in the end you won’t even come close to what he was thinking of during the moment he looked you in the eye or held your hand or took a piss on a pile of construction materials. If he was even thinking of anything at all.
…can be megabitches to each other. Girlfriends can scream, call each other names, pull at each other’s hair, and do all sorts of nasty things when they’re in the middle of their menstrual cycles. Then at the moment one of them breaks down crying, the other pulls them into a hug and apologizes. And then everything’s back to the way it was, as though nothing was ever wrong in the first place.
Perhaps I feel this way about women and female friendships because the last time I had any real girlfriends, we were still playing Barbies and having serious arguments about who gets to marry Taylor Hanson. Dating and sex were alien concepts to us as children, but we were already designing our wedding gowns and picking out baby names. Over a decade later here I am, a part of a crazy bunch of girls that are a fucked-up version of the chicks from Sex and the City. We still design wedding gowns and argue about who gets to marry guys like Johnny Depp, but only as segues to long cryfests on the disappearance of our August boyfriends and canceled dates. There are times when I really can’t get them, but I love my girlfriends to chunky chocolate pieces. Who the hell needs a boyfriend when you’re practically married to seven gorgeous, intelligent girls anyway?
And just because I found the following exchange rather amusing:
Me: I hate band guys. They’re a paradox of machismo and sensitivity.
Kristel: Yeah. Womanizers with feelings.