The Crazy Factor
I apologize in advance for the craziness that will be this post. I apologize for the explicit details from my own life that I incorporate as examples to further my rant. I also apologize for the crude and ridiculous amounts of vulgar language. Oh, wait, no I fucking don’t. Carry on…
It has come to my attention, not really all that recently, but over the course of my entire sexual experience on this earth, that men, although supposedly less emotional beings than women, are, actually, in fact, out of their ever loving minds. I kid you not; readers o’ mine, men are dramatic and erratic and out of control, an unhealthy, unorthodox combination.
Don’t get me wrong, women, in their own right, are absolutely bonkers. Raging mad. This is not a surprise to anyone.
But, and being a girl in our modern American society, I, just like all the other girls who have ever played with Barbie’s or watched the Disney princesses growing up, have been conditioned to expect the very manliness from those who own penises.
I take a quote from one of my favorite films, “He’s Just Not That Into You,” and explain this a little deeper, “A girl will never forget the first boy she likes. Even if things don’t quite work out… But usually someone is there with words of wisdom. (Do you know why that boy was so mean to you? Why he did and said those things? It’s because he likes you.) And there it is. That’s the beginning of our problem. We’re all encouraged… no, programmed… to believe that if a guy acts like a jerk… that he likes you.”
With this being said, girls are brought up being conditioned to be naïve when it comes to men. Boys don’t cry. Boys play sports. Boys are supposed to lift heavy things and get the lids off the pickle jars. Boys are supposed to like bugs and dirt, and save the damsel in distress from the spider in her room. Girls are supposed to just play dress up and accept the role of being some boy’s door mat.
Fact: Men are human beings too. Men have emotions. Men can have doubts and insecurities, broken hearts and wounded prides. And with these facts, this means, also, men can act insane.
I consider myself to be a rational human being. I still get pissed off, jealous, depressed, and all that other emotional shit, but I have learned to keep it in check. At least when it comes to men. The men in my life however, and maybe it’s just my poor judgment in character, but they just have no idea what to do with anything emotional. I’m not talking about my emotions, I am talking about theirs.
One guy I was seeing, who seemed to be normal, at least in the beginning, decides that he has developed some sort of feelings for me. He and I had been intimately on and off for maybe a good eight months before he said anything to me, but finally, and maybe a bit resentfully, confessed how he felt. Now, for some reason, because it is already presumed that I, being of the female persuasion, coerced him or manipulated him into spilling his emotional guts, but I implore you, this was not the case. I was very open with him from the get-go. I told him I liked him, probably more than I should, but that I held no grand expectation for him to return the feeling. I liked our friends with benefits routine just fine and I didn’t feel the need to be in a relationship with him. And that’s what I told him. So, he explains his feelings for me. Great. Except the next morning, after I went home with him, after an amazing night of not just sex, but talking as us about the idea of us, he acted as though nothing ever happened. As if the sun popped up into the sky and wiped the last 12 hours right off the calendar. We haven’t spoken now for almost two months. Blows my fucking mind.
So, I moved on to the next one, whatever. I had been kind of talking to him for a few months before we got physical, and everything seemed awesome. He was the friends with benefits package I had wanted. Someone I could hang with, but also feel completely comfortable being naked around. I was content. Until the motherfucker had the fucking nerve to call me crazy. What the fuck? In our entire time of talking to one another, hanging out with each other, and fucking each other, not once, not a single fucking time, have I ever acted crazy. Like I said earlier, I know how to separate my emotions from the greater scheme of things. But, apparently, Kayla can’t fucking win at this whole friends with benefits game. Either I just can’t pick them, or there’s something wrong with me. And honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me.
It all boils down to this, GUYS:
- If there’s even a remote possibility that you want to be with me: in a physically gratifying way, a friend’s way, or even of the acquaintance variety, fucking say so.
- Once you make up your fucking mind about me, which shouldn’t be too hard, don’t change your mind over night. And if you do, at least explain to me what the fuck happened. Dropping off the face of the earth is a good way to get your stupid ass drop-kicked.
- If, maybe because I’m awesome, you want to pursue a kind of friends with benefits thing with me, don’t fucking assume shit.
- I am not going to suddenly flip a switch inside myself that turns my chill chick into a crazy bitch. Go ahead and do you, kid… I will be okay. Have your merry band of bitches, your little black booty call book, and your bro squad. I don’t care. I do not get jealous. Just because I have slept with you and/or still am sleeping with you, doesn’t mean I have staked claim on you. I will not, God forbid, act like your girlfriend. I am also not your bitch. This is not a one sided venture. You want to call me? Do it. But that means that when I call you, you do the same thing I would do for you and pick up the fucking phone. I am not a back pocket bitch, nor a back burner broad. We are hooking up for each other’s convenience, not just yours.
- Take a look back and figure some shit out. I am a completely honest and open person. I speak what is on my mind. Hence the words you are reading right here. But, I expect the same kind of honesty, at least to some degree, with you. If you invited Tuesday Tina over when I text you to hook up, just say so. Have fun and wear a condom. Don’t make up some lame ass excuse about how your grandma needs to have her hip replaced for the third time and there’s no one else willing to drive the bat shit crazy woman to the hospital. Unless of course that is the case, in which I am sorry to hear that, tell her I wish her the best. Poor woman.
- Do not assume I am crazy. You’re definition of crazy needs to be extremely modified if you ever, for any reason, beyond writing this whole fucking post, think that I am crazy. In any of our conversations, before and after we started hooking up, have I once, just a single time, ever brought up any of the red flag crazy words?
- Love
- Relationship
- Committment
- Marriage
- Babies
No? Didn’t fucking think so. You’re welcome, douchebag. Until I bring up any of those words in the context of making you think that I might actually want any of them, especially with you, then you have nothing, and I do mean nothing, to worry about. Crazy avoided successfully. Really though, until I start asking you to run to CVS to go pick me up some fucking tampons, the word “crazy” should never be used to describe me. Or, frankly, any of the girls you are seeing. That’s just fucking rude.
The exception to any of this though is when we are actually exclusively dating. You are my boyfriend, I am your girlfriend. And right now, as it stands, being single is the life that is right for me. I am focused on living a full regret-free life. School and work are my top two priorities. And I do not need any man to hold me back or bring me down. I am not about to get attached to some asshole with a God complex who thinks he can control my every fucking move. Been there, done that, fuck you.
I know this whole bitch-fest makes me look as insane as they all assume I am, but I really just needed to let this all out there. Off my chest. I needed a good ranting and I don’t give a damn if it contradicts what I am saying.
Okay, I’m done.
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