Now, my flaws are innumerable and much-ballyhooed in this blog. There's no one who can eviscerate me quite like I can. I am my own worst enemy in that respect.
But the conversation I had with Al completely blind-sided me, making me aware of a personality hiccup I didn't even know I had.
This was back when I was on OkCupid, and was in the midst of revising my profile for the umpteenth time. I was frustrated with the oddballs who seemingly had nothing else to do during their days than send me the most ignorant instant messages ever asking me what my panties looked like or whether I was "DTF."
Clearly, my pleas to find a man who enjoys dining out and spending time with friends and family were far too much to ask of the traveling freak show that is the OkCupid dating pool, so I turned to Al and threw up my hands in exasperation: "I'm just going to write that all I want is to find a man who will let me be the Big Spoon."
Al looked at me wide-eyed -- I'd knocked the metaphorical wind out of her.
"...what?"
"I just want to be the Big Spoon," I repeated, unaware that I was verbalizing something so earth-shaking. "When we're sleeping, I just want to curl up against his back, not the other way around."
Al's tone was severe: "You CANNOT put that in your dating profile."
"Why not?"
"Because it's EMASCULATING," Al spluttered. "Besides, don't you want someone's arms around you to keep you warm and safe?"
Whoa -- It was a concept that had never crossed my mind before. Emasculating? I'm emasculating?!??! My desire to be clinging to my sweetheart's back during our shared unconscious hours is akin to castration? My sleeping position preference is enough to deflect his caveman instincts of protection and subjugate his ability to be a man?
And furthermore, to answer the question she posed, NO. No, I do not want someone's arms around me at night. It doesn't so much make me feel "warm and safe" as it does "the approximate temperature of the sun and irritatingly confined." Whenever I'm sleeping as the Little Spoon there's always a point in the night where I lose my shit and shriek "Get your heavy MAN ARM off me, I can't fucking breathe!!!" as I'm wriggling out of his grasp.
So at first, as I do with so many of Al's little truisms, I pooh-poohed the notion. Nah, I said to myself. Surely, being the Big Spoon is not THAT big of a deal for them. I went on living life, being awesome and rockin' out.
That is, until I went to Los Angeles in June for my high school buddy Kevin's wedding. Also in attendance was Mark, my best friend from high school, who was moonlighting as a groomsman for the occasion and thus had gotten to the City of Angels a day or two prior. My reputation preceded me to the party, where Mark had taken the liberty of announcing my imminent arrival by telling the other groomsmen they should look forward to hanging out with me because "it's like she has a penis... but she doesn't."
I was a bit miffed at the time because some of the dudes in attendance were cute enough to make out with, and Mark's characterization of me was downright unappetizing. Nevertheless, I didn't let it get me down, and I didn't necessarily make the mental connection between that and Al's take on my Big Spoon affinity.
... until just a few weeks ago, when my new guy friend "C" (pretty sure he's not too keen on blog fame, thus the initial instead of a name) invited me out for beers at the Biergarten Haus with a bunch of his guy friends. C seemed psyched to hang, but his friends were none too pleased that an estrogen interloper had been added to the mix. C assuaged their misgivings with a simple, "No, seriously, guys -- it's like she's a dude."
Admittedly, he'd had a few, but three such assessments a pattern made. And the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize its utter truth: I am kind of a masculine girl.
For starters, I've got a mouth on me. I curse like a sailor and have been known to let loose some of the more vulgar things you've ever heard in your life (never during a first impression, though -- I at least know better than that).
Is my mouthiness funny? You're goddamn right it is. Ladylike? Hardly, and therein lies the rub.
Additionally, all those things you're supposed to do as a woman if you're following traditional gender roles? Things like house cleaning, cooking, etc.? I FUCKING HATE ALL THAT SHIT. I remember watching the series premier of "Desperate Housewives" with my roommate Marisa back when I was in college, and the opening scene is this woman who ultimately becomes the show's narrator going grocery shopping, cleaning her house, getting the mail -- typical housewife stuff. I turned to Marisa and said, "If that were my life, I would shoot myself in the head," mere SECONDS before the woman offs herself. (It was a pretty freaky coincidence, actually.)
No, I don't do housework. The floor of my apartment is my biggest shelf. I own cleaning supplies, but they emerge from their hiding place at about the same frequency as Punxsutawney Phil.
I live a little bit like a frat boy, honestly. Exhibit A: The contents of my refrigerator.
And that brings me to cooking -- don't even get me started! I was at a female-only dinner party recently where the girls were talking about how they couldn't wait to be married so they could make meals for their husbands, and I was sitting there thinking, "These uteruses be CRAZY!"
There are many things in this life that I am good at -- cooking is not one of them:
And sure, it's not all bad. There are things I do that skew feminine.
I have many shoes:
and many dresses:
But real talk: The reason I have all the dresses is not because I'm any sort of fashion plate. It's because they're "onesies," effectively. Dresses are easy because it's one piece, and you don't have to think about what matches with what else. If wearing flight suits was socially acceptable, that is more likely what you'd see lining my closet.
You might be thinking to yourself, Katie, it sounds like you're a girl who can roll with the guys. I bet they'd like that more than someone who obsesses over "Twilight" and "The Bachelorette"!
Negative, dear reader. I implore you to enter into a belching contest with a guy you're crazy about and let me know how that works out for you. Dudes don't want to be out-duded, and I'm afraid that on occasion, I have a tendency to out-dude, which apparently is emasculating.
It certainly limits my appeal to the opposite sex, something I've illustrated in the following helpful chart:
Yes, my personal sexiness falls somewhere in between two lions doing it on the African Savannah and a Scottish sausage composed of sheep heart, liver and lungs. It is a goddamn miracle that anyone's ever had sex with me at all.
If I want to land a man, I probably ought to get my shit together and starting acting like more of a girl. But that just seems so unlike me that I don't even know how I would accomplish that.
And even if I did, would I like the guy I ended up with? Probably not, unfortunately.
So, here's to finding a man who enjoys scrubbing things and feels at home in the kitchen. Let's hope he's out there and looking for a manly gal like me.
No, I don't do housework. The floor of my apartment is my biggest shelf. I own cleaning supplies, but they emerge from their hiding place at about the same frequency as Punxsutawney Phil.
I live a little bit like a frat boy, honestly. Exhibit A: The contents of my refrigerator.
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| Apologies for the blurriness -- I took this on my BlackBerry. |
There are many things in this life that I am good at -- cooking is not one of them:
I have many shoes:
and many dresses:
But real talk: The reason I have all the dresses is not because I'm any sort of fashion plate. It's because they're "onesies," effectively. Dresses are easy because it's one piece, and you don't have to think about what matches with what else. If wearing flight suits was socially acceptable, that is more likely what you'd see lining my closet.
You might be thinking to yourself, Katie, it sounds like you're a girl who can roll with the guys. I bet they'd like that more than someone who obsesses over "Twilight" and "The Bachelorette"!
Negative, dear reader. I implore you to enter into a belching contest with a guy you're crazy about and let me know how that works out for you. Dudes don't want to be out-duded, and I'm afraid that on occasion, I have a tendency to out-dude, which apparently is emasculating.
It certainly limits my appeal to the opposite sex, something I've illustrated in the following helpful chart:
If I want to land a man, I probably ought to get my shit together and starting acting like more of a girl. But that just seems so unlike me that I don't even know how I would accomplish that.
And even if I did, would I like the guy I ended up with? Probably not, unfortunately.
So, here's to finding a man who enjoys scrubbing things and feels at home in the kitchen. Let's hope he's out there and looking for a manly gal like me.
