What If Men Were Extinct?

As a man, I’m worried for my species …

I worry that if we guys don’t evolve and act quickly, well, we’ll find ourselves in the dumpster out back jammed to the brim with beta and VHS tapes, 8 tracks, cassette players and buggy whips.

Recently as I’ve told you, I’ve become a bartender.

I make a lot of Shirley Temple cocktails in my new job. Kind of a girly drink, would you agree?

Some things are inherently feminine by their nature. I get it.

But when I attend a spin class or a boot camp exercise class, there is nothing feminine about doing 300 squats … or 70 pushups … or riding a spin bike up “hills” for an hour. And yet, I’m usually the only man, or one of 2 or 3, tops.

So why is it that men avoid these classes but pile in to Cross Fit boxes for intense exercise? I get confused by things that are supposed to be feminine or masculine.

Just like the confusion I feel about the attraction of women to the “50 Shades of Grey” movement, I find myself scratching my head when it comes to attendance at fitness classes.

These are the things that float through my head and lead me to further thoughts about gender roles in our world.

Aside from my sperm (and I don’t even have that in my post-vasectomy life), what do I and other guys have to offer to women?

We’re living in a post-masculine world. This is a good thing. Great, actually.

But switching from a male-supreme society to a female-dominated one is not where we want to be either. Merely switching from missionary to cowgirl position is not going to cut it. High heels and neckties should be equal.

A world commanded by neither gender would be a wonderful thing.

We don’t live in the same place where men returned from war and chased all the competent, hard-toiling women back to the sidelines of the home and aprons and coupon cutting.

Women have evolved and grown and assumed and learned roles that once filled men’s lives.

Woman work and earn money to support themselves and their families.

Woman operate big machines and carry rifles in the Armed Forces.

Women are police officers and astronauts and engineers and doctors and pilots.

I repeat, this is a good thing.

We men are the ones slow to adjust to 21st century realities.

Far too many guys just don’t bother to show up for this new world where men need to be responsible 50:50 partners.

Real men may not eat quiche, but they sure as hell should be equal participants in home life regardless of whether they bring home a paycheque or not.

Just as a woman should know how to make a reasonable living, cut a lawn, change a tire, and replace a lightbulb…

Real 21st century men should know how and be willing to:

• childmind
• clean house
• shop for groceries
• wash and dry clothes
• cook a meal

But but but I see and hear of situation after situation where the boys won’t play fair, leaving their female compatriots most or all of the roles that hold families and relationships together.

Pssst … Guys? Here’s a little secret that many of us aren’t catching onto yet.

Most women have figured out that we’re not pulling our weight and that they don’t need us.

They may want us, but if we’re not able to take on a reasonable workload on ALL fronts as well as provide emotional support…. well, then the option becomes clear. Why have a man in her life at all?

Check out the graph below.

It’s pretty apparent that more and more women are choosing not to marry as they become more independent, more able to provide for themselves.

The need for physical protection and a breadwinner, traditional male roles, are crumbling. Wilma doesn’t need Fred Flintstone any more than Lucy needs Ricky Ricardo.

When these “needs” are no longer needed, and the desire for an emotionally supportive partner who carries an equal burden on the home-front can’t be readily found despite the wonders of MATCH.COM and Plenty-of-Fish… then why bother?

Bottom line guys? If we want to stay relevant and equal in all areas of our world, we’d better get out of the La-Z-Boy a bit – or a lot – more often and cook a meal, change a diaper, or run a load of laundry. It ain’t a big deal … really!

Maybe the dinosaurs didn’t die in a cataclysmic storm from a meteor. Perhaps they just assumed their Tyranno-partner would chase and catch dinner and look after the wee little dinos.

Maybe the dinosaurs would still be with us if they pulled their heads out of their Dino-X-Boxes.

“Honey, I’m heading off to Spin Class with the girls to think through my gender confusion issues. I’ll pick up the kids from daycare and should be back in time to make dinner before you get home from work.”

I Have Bagina Envy …

Boy did we get it wrong. 

Who is this WE I’m talking about?

MEN.

 

All these many Freudian decades we thought that women suffered the slings and arrows of PENIS ENVY. Ha!

It’s difficult for me to say this, but the painful non-patriarchal truth is that I, and most men actually suffer from BAGINA envy (see, it’s so difficult and painful that I can’t even say the real word!) … the Grandest of All Canyons.

OK, it’s probably not envy so much as worship. It’s like the control centre of our universe. We always thought that Captain Kirk (Penis) was at the helm of the Starship Enterprise, but really, all along it was Commander Uhura (Bagina), the Communications Officer.

Yup, the Bagina is in charge…

We can’t help it. We just can’t help it.

It’s not a conscious choice where we men sit ourselves down at the conference table one morning and say, “Today I shall lay myself at the blessed altar of the bagina.” Unh-uh. Some joker of a mind programmer inserted a viral chunk of code in our heads that dictates, “you must have the Bagina, the more the better”.

There’s a ton of science behind it all.

Many have addictions to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, race horses (for betting, not carnal relations) … these are isolated, one-or-two-off dependencies for select individuals. ALL heterosexual men have an addiction to the big V, bar none. Why are porn websites so popular?… yup, worship of the bagina.

But are women as beholden to the phallic member of their male brethren?

By the popularity of BDSM literature like 50 Shades of Grey, you might be tempted to think so. But really I think that women are more attracted to the romance and desire inherent in the stories … a penis just happens to be involved – perhaps this is one more instance where a man is incidental to the true lusty lure.

Women say that men don’t understand them, which is probably true. Of course it works the other way around as well. Just as Men Are From Mars and Women From Venus, women don’t necessarily understand the primal sexual urge that propels the male head(s).

The appeal of visual porn for men and written erotica for women reveals the differences between the needs of the two genders. Men are viscerally turned on by the mere sight of female skin – foreplay be damned – show us a bagina, and we’re 95% of the way to steamy liftoff.

Women say “hold on … talk to me, hold me, tell me I’m desirable, touch me all over, not just on the naughty bits. Let’s make this performance a full-length feature, not just a 30 second commercial break.” 

…………………………..

Women know the formidable power that resides in their nether regions. Men have guns and swords and big bicep muscles for weapons. Women carry an arsenal that’s far different. They wield a softer, furrier form of authority that they carry with them at all times and can never set down or misplace. Men fear, yet yearn for it more than they fear or covet the sword.

…………………………..

To be in possession of a bagina confers automatic membership to an exclusive club, no boys allowed.

It’s a whole secret organization, a club for bagina owners, like the Freemasons or the Knights of Pythias (what the hell is a Knight of Pythias anyway? … is there some connection to urine worship here?)

There are pluses and minuses to Bagina Club membership, but the real bottom line of the clique is that its members secretly rule the world, a sort of  The DaVinci Code.

Men have no Penile Club to belong to where they share genital inside information with their comrades … no “I’ve got penile cramps”… no, “I’m a week late”, no, “is it hot in here, or am I just having a hot flash?”. NOPE, nothin’.

Women share the mystery and glory of their private parts as cooperative partners with other women. They carry spare tampons and pads for those stranded in distress. They nod compassionately and offer Midol to those in cramped discomfort. They visit restrooms (something they call “Powder Rooms”) together.

The closest men come to this clubby sort of atmosphere resides in the urinal line-up where we huddle in straight lines, hand-on-member, looking bored into a cold, tiled wall 6 inches from our nose … sure, 6 inches is really more like 3 inches, but we boys have difficulty determining true length. Talking is frowned upon while urinating because it just feels too intimate to be chatting to another guy when you have a penis in your hand.

Yes, to men, the bagina – and its club – are mysterious. The bagina is, like the Wizard of Oz, hidden behind a lacy curtain and all powerful.

Here are some of the features, tenets, advantages, and disadvantages of belonging to the BAGINA CLUB. I can’t know them all because I don’t have a membership card to the coven of adherents (and obviously never will):

1. Women have monthly menstruation … until they don’t, then another set of complications arises.
2. Women have hysterectomies – this is the easy way out of the complications mentioned above.
3. The bagina doesn’t protrude like a pistol when excited.
4. Women need options: Birth control pill, the ring, IUD’s, hormone shots, sponges, diaphragms, even female condoms. It’s like a shoe closet for the bagina.
5. There are whole aisles of product set aside in supermarkets for the care, scent and maintenance of the bagina … no penis aisles. OK, one shelf of condoms, but men don’t really want to use the product, so who is it really for?
6. There are special spa treatments for the bagina… Brazilian waxing, bikini waxing, sugaring, threading, bidet rinsing.
7. Sexual performance isn’t complicated … the emergency backup method is a bottle of lube, and if it’s still there in four hours, you don’t have to consult a physician.  You just wash it off.
8. Cutesy names: Peach Pit – Velvet Office – Temperamental Tunnel –  Garden of Eden –  Pride Lands –  Love Cushion –  Nappy Dugout –  Kitty Kat –  Mystical Fold –  Pandora’s Pink Box – Box Office

So for all the men who have derogatory comments about the one place they are constantly, actively trying to enter, and for all the ladies who are the gatekeepers of such an exclusive location, listen up.

I think we can all agree that women are not going to give up the “pit of power” anytime soon. So let’s shelve the Freudian pretense that women envy and want what we have and accept that girls have a more desirable “Playhouse” than boys.

The consolation? We boys still have control over the power tools  – at least the ones that reside outside the bedroom – the TV remote and the BBQ.

What more could we want?

Yes, you are the king here, and THIS is as good as it gets!

8 Reasons Why Internet Dating Sucks …

 

Online dating worked out well for me,

but my wife wasn’t as lucky.”

Comment posted on website Jezebel

This week I’m going to write to you about something of which I know nothing (as per usual, you say!). Like Seinfeld, this will be a blog post about … NOTHING.

Let’s face it … I’m from a pre-internet era where we had no electronics and little money and did things honestly when it came to dating.

We got barely-see-straight drunk on tablesfull of 25 cent draft beer and tried to pick up pretty girls in Irish pubs and flaky bars … FACE-TO-FACE.

Of course when you’re blotto drunk, the beer goggles make every girl look hot. I’m not sure that beer goggles work the other way around for girls looking at guys.

Sadly, I don’t recall ever getting luckier (or come to think of it, lucky at all!) as the night’s drinking progressed. Mind you, it’s hard to tell face down over a cold, porcelain toilet bowl. That sort of sums up my lack-of-success stories on the dating front.

Nowadays, past that stage, I just snoop in on others’ lives and smile and frown and identify when the shoe fits the life experiences I’ve had.

Last week, a co-worker Linda came into my office fuming, an angry sneer on her lip and cellphone waving madly in the air.

Linda’s a pretty, young, single Mom who wants someone special to come home to at night. Someone to share her stories with. Someone to share a meal with her and her young son.

The last few years since she’s been on her own, she’s tried her fortunes with online dating, but has only had hugs from frustration and anger.

At coffee break one week, she brightly tells us a story about a guy she’s “met” on Plenty of Fish –  her raised expectations and hopes reflect like shiny new pennies in her eyes and her smile.

Everyone online sounds like a winner … at first.

It’s like catalogue shopping and everything looks so new and lustrous and “I’ve gotta have one of those” great. And when you first meet the person, the shimmer is still bright for the first few minutes until you realize…

A week or two later the same coffee table talk turns into a “BITCH-fest” about the A**-hole who let her down or turned out to be a creeper.

We all want to love and be loved and it truly sucks when the goalposts shift back and forth so that you just can’t kick the ball into the net and celebrate. It’s frustrating and it’s lonely. It’s like anger and sadness kissed you on the cheek.

Linda says, “This guy was so nice online for the first while and then last night he messages me saying he wants me to tell him when I’m going to bed … what’s with that? Later, he leaves me a voicemail message, “Goodnight Sweetie” …Creeper!”

 

Without any further delay, let me tell you why you might want to run screaming in the other direction from Internet dating sites. If I was internet dating, these are some things that would have me biting my fingernails.

Realistically, I know most single persons (and many encumbered ones too… apparently 51% of all online dating people are in a relationship already) will still continue searching for love online.

Our human suitcases are overfilled with hope and longing … the fear of loneliness and lovelessness are greater than our concerns about child rapers and father stabbers. But still I’ll cautiously remind you of what awaits, lurking in the internet ether:

8 Reasons Why Internet Dating Sucks …

1. It’s dangerous…if you’re getting responses from:  ILuvUrTaTas, pussylover69, MightyDong69, GoinDown… there might be an early warning built in here.

There have been studies indicating that one out of 10 sex offenders use online dating to meet other people. Also, about 3% of online dating men are psychopaths.

More danger? Some people are gaseous wonders. Who wants to spend their life with a chronic odor maker? … that is dangerous!

2. The “best” products are snapped up in the first 5 minutes.

The photo is the first impression you get with internet dating. The pretty sweethearts and the manly hunks are prey to be devoured … quickly.

Once the sale is announced, nobody wants to be left purchasing the crumbs left in the remainder bin. Unless you’re online 24/7, it’s leftovers for you, my friend.

Most internet dating match-ups end like this … NOT!

3. It avoids face-to-face contact …. all of those telltale signs of dishonesty like avoidance of eye-contact are impossible to interpret over a computer screen so you have no way of knowing whether the other person is truthful or not.

Our bright or grubby personalities are far more obvious when we converse face-to-face.

You can spend a lot of time establishing rapport with your “future one-and-only”, only to meet and discover a rat within 30 seconds. That’s a lot of time wasted.

4. It raises expectations … when you do find that one random person that does fit all of your supposed “must-haves” you get your hopes up so far that you are devastated when a real person shows up, at some point, with their own set of flaws and baggage.

5. It’s like obituaries, people post pics of themselves taken in the one best moment ever, 15 years earlier, no zits, no side profile shots of witch-like noses, no hint of a 60 lb. weight gain in the interim.

6. It exposes semi-literacy … online writing (eg. e-mails) makes us realize how few people can actually spell correctly or write a grammatically correct sentence.

Even the smartest people these days have trouble writing properly, and you may exclude fantastic potentials, just because they’re semi-literate. This cuts both ways though. It’s nice to be able to screen for those who say they have a law degree but spell their career choice as “Loyr“.

7. It’s way too rational… falling in love isn’t logical.

Love, like the lab I work in, is based on chemistry. It’s not based on height or earning capacity. Love is all about feelings and emotions. Dating site profiles deal with personal information. You’re choosing and rejecting potential mates by making rational decisions, whereas in real life, we choose partners by our emotional responses and establishing compatible neuroses.

8. The hot looking stud who came across so well in the messages and texts is a narcissistic twerp in person.

Conversely, the plain-Jane looker turns out to have a sparkling, bright personality that makes her 10x more beautiful than the photo portrayed. Beauty in a person is far more than the perfect symmetry of their face, or the chiselled cut of the jaw line.

I told you that there would be 8 reasons to avoid internet dating, but I always like to give you more for your money, so here’s an added BONUS.

Another colleague of mine, Carina, offered this next thought from her experiences.

9. The Cupboard Doors Are Always Open … even after you’ve established meaningful contact with a hopeful prospective partner, you’re able to see if they’re continuing to search online for “better” meat.

It hurts to feel you’ve exposed a part of yourself to someone who responds with tenderness only to see them continuing the passionate pursuit with others online.

Who wants to know that someone who has made their heart flutter in romantic expectation is still hoping to catch a slightly better fish.

 …………………..

There you have it … everything I know about nothing.

I don’t know anything about internet dating and truthfully, even when I was dating, I knew little about the best way to meet and seduce young ladies.

I was the cowardly dating lion and only asked someone out whom I had known, worked or studied with for months.

If I wasn’t 99% sure that I would get a positive YES to my request, or if by chance the young Miss was on the verge of herself asking me out of patient frustration, I wasn’t going to risk my ego.

So, it may be that what I’ve told you hasn’t quelled your burning need to meet that notable, unique someone from the comfort of your desktop.

I understand.

Life is about arithmetic. When you meeting someone new, you add to your sum and have greater value. And if you don’t have greater value as a pair, then you subtract that someone to get back to where you started.

But real value is created when that someone new becomes a multiplication to your sum, making each of you far more than just a simple addition.

Well, I’m gonna add even more value for you below. I’ve done your homework for you … you’re welcome!

Here are 10 actual sites that – tongue-in-cheek – just might satisfy the hunger you have for that very special, SPECIFIC someone.  These sites remind me oh so clearly that there truly is someone out there for everyone.

Maybe I’ll even recommend these to my exasperated co-worker Linda just as a reminder that she should take a deep breath and remember there are “Plenty of Fish” waiting to be kissed and not just fried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Tim Hortons Love Story

All great and precious things are lonely.”

John Steinbeck

………………………….

Was it a faint hint of a tear I saw at the corner of her eye as I sat down with my coffee?

She was perched upright with her back snugged close to the large plate-glass window so that she was able to view the entire area of the store including the main entry door at the far side.

It’s not every day that I encounter a fractal of emotion when I order a “double-double” at my Summerland Tim Hortons’ coffee shop.

This is me being discreet when I snoop on others at Tim Hortons …

But of course now I’m intrigued, just like I was a number of months back when I sat next to a murderer at the Penticton Tim Hortons.

Tims has become the quintessential microcosm of Canadian existence, probably like Dunkin Donuts if you’re American, or Gloria Jean’s if you happen to live Down Under.

I curiously examined the inches-away-from-elderly lady (we’ll call her Linda) with dyed light-coloured hair; the network of heat-wave like wrinkles around her eyes and forehead told a truer story of her age. Scuffing her tan-toned shoes nervously over the tile floor, her eyes furtively scanned back and forth.

What was making this woman feel so distracted and out-of-sorts?

As many of us often do when we’re seated in a restaurant, I pried into my neighbour’s life and tried to piece together a sense of a story.

Here was an older woman sitting by herself but obviously expecting someone or something to happen. Nervous anticipation was written all over her face and body language. She turned and wiggled the narrow gold band on her finger uneasily.

It didn’t seem likely that she awaited a friend she met daily or weekly.

She was too old to be waiting on a business meeting or a job interview.

Perhaps a visit from a son or a grandchild had her feeling a bit edgy – had there been some family tension lately? Possibly she wanted to discuss how she would be dividing her estate when the end of her days arrived.

Or maybe … she was a widow awaiting the arrival of a man who had expressed an interest in her companionship. But there was that tear in her eye that left me wondering.

I sipped the steaming coffee, enjoying its smooth creaminess and feeling a bit guilty about having stirred in two Splenda sweeteners instead of the one I had promised to restrict myself to – too bad they were finished with the Roll-Up-The-Rim contest, not that I ever won anything anyways.

Then it occurred to me that there could be a person or two in my midst that was spying in on me at my table and wondering what my story held.

The watcher being watched.

I looked around at the other tables and their occupants suspiciously. Spooky.

But I snapped to present reality when I detected the woman’s eyebrows raise and her eyes lock onto a similarly elderly woman slowly passing through the door at the front.

I could feel it –  this was it.

The story would unfold now.

This new woman (let’s call her Rose), similar height, similar age but with short cropped salt and pepper hair peered anxiously around until she spotted her acquaintance and, smiling tightly, hustled over to the table.

There was a girl-like shyness about Linda as she rose stiffly and was engulfed in the arms of her friend.

Then, the tension melted away and they sank comfortably into each other’s arms, like long lost lovers reunited … and … I began to realize that this WAS the story.

Let me tell you the rest – at least as I imagined it.

Decades earlier, the two had been nurse co-workers in Vancouver’s Lion’s Gate Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit.

Working as part of a team, they were set in tense situations frequently while patient after patient entered their lair. It was hard – exhausting, physically and emotionally – work.

Their camaraderie and closeness grew over the months and years. Then one night, after a particularly tense crisis event, their friendship spilled over into a romantic interlude – the surface tension burst and developed into a relationship that continued on for months.

A covert operation.

It was a forbidden love in a society that told them what they were doing was so wrong, and yet they couldn’t step back. Their passion and affection wouldn’t be denied, just guiltily hidden from an unaccepting and hostile world.

But the step back did finally occur when Linda’s father suspected what he didn’t really want to know.

His solution to this “problem” was to forcibly introduce suitable young men into this daughter’s life. And … buckling into the pressure of her family, Linda eventually succumbed and agreed to marry the least disagreeable of the suitors.

Linda brokenheartedly and reluctantly cut her tie with Rose, married the young man and moved away to the small idyllic town of Summerland in the interior of the province.

The next 40 years were spent raising a young family, nursing at the local hospital, and living the quiet, desperate existence of a life of lies to herself.

Meanwhile, Rose passed her years in muffled isolation, immersing herself in her nursing life and occasionally allowing herself the stinging pleasure of remembering her one passionate connection. A mixture of melancholy and happy reminiscence encircled her days.

Rose retired and spent her hours gardening, reading and volunteer in a local nursing home when, one day, a letter arrived.

She could almost hear her heart beating as she opened it and read the bittersweet words from the pen of a decades-long-gone-lover.

It told her the story of a woman recently widowed who had found Rose’s address in the pages of the retired nurses’ website. It told her of a life spent with a husband and children –  days of school meetings and routines, and days filled with happiness and sadness.

And then, at its end, it asked if an opportunity to meet once again was possible. A gathering of old “friends”.

………………………

And so this is where you and I came in.

I gulped back the last drops of lukewarm coffee, rubbed my moist eyes and smiled as I watched them speak in soft tones and with long, lingering looks.

The last thing I saw as I pushed the door open to depart and return to my own life, was the two, their hands extended across the table, firmly holding on to each other as if they would never let go … again …

A great and precious love had been pried apart by an unaccepting world that had finally turned into a place of welcome.

I could feel the cavernous sense of lonely dissolving like sugar in aromatic coffee, leaving only the delicate sweetness swirling in its wake.

 

 

What’s It Gonna Be Girls, 50 SHADES or BITCHES? You Can’t Have it Both Ways…

Today’s WORDS OF WISDOM:

Before sex, a man isn’t thinking clearly and a woman is thinking clearly.

After sex, it reverses. The man is thinking clearly and a woman isn’t.

 

Prepare yourself … Christian and Ana are coming to the Silver Screen …

50 Shades of Grey Moments:

Anastasis Steele: “You’re a sadist?”
Christian Grey: “I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”
I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.
“Why would I do that?”
“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.
Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Christian Grey. And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted with me. It’s a revelation.

…………

“It slips down my throat, all seawater, salt, the sharp tang of citrus, and fleshiness…ooh. I lick my lips, and he’s watching me intently, his eyes hooded.”

Put that thought away, she’s just eating oysters!

 

Why Men Love Bitches Moments:

“Relationship Principle 1:
In romance, there’s nothing more attractive to a man than a woman who has dignity and pride in who she is.” 

…………

“That’s the big picture, your happiness. And health. You should never care what a man thinks of you — until he demonstrates to you that he cares about making you happy. If he isn’t trying to make you happy, then send him back from “whence” he came because winning him over will have no benefit. At the end of the day, happiness, joy…and yes…your emotional stability…those comprise the only measuring stick you really need to have.”

 

Are you feeling and smelling the slimy contradiction here?

Sometimes when I’m at work I sit in on coffee breaks and listen to my female co-workers chatter excitedly about their latest reading conquest. It’s fun to be the boy-fly-on-the-wall and catch the girly gossip.

Last year, the long white table surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and overlooking the busy Kelowna street was filled with talk of the lady, or Mommy porn prose of E.L. James. You may have heard of this little sensation – 50 Shades of Grey.

I’m not sure I’ve met a woman yet who hasn’t read at least a part of this beyond-bodice-ripping book.

It surprised me that non-street walking women were feeling quite comfortable admitting they had read the book (or the full series). After all, where was the timidity and reticence of the good girls to admit they were enjoying porn BDSM literature?

Could it be that women have come out of their sexual-inhibition closets?

 

This year I’m cocking my ear to the sounds of discussion over another popular book called Why Men Love Bitches.

Bitches, written by Sherry Argov, is like the anti-Christ retort to the 50 Shades Bible, a liberated and strong view of how a woman should want to be treated by a man, and where to bury him if he crosses the bitch-acceptability line.

When I first saw the title to the book, I thought to myself: “Oh, come on … What man loves a bitch? What idiot wrote something stupid like that?”

We all know a bitch or two – a spiteful or unpleasant woman – a witch, a shrew, a hellcat, yeah – A Bee-OTCH!

Do you remember how I tricked you by using the word SEX in last week’s blog title? Well, this author hurls out the word BITCH in order to trick us into reading her book.

It’s sneaky deception – she ain’t talking ’bout bitches like you and I know bitches.

But could she sell a book that was titled Why Men Love Strong, Confident, Independent Women?…BLAHHHHH! Boring!

And yet, this is exactly the type of women that she writes 272 pages about. The sensible, strong, sexy, charming, independent, loving woman that yes … many, if not most, men LOVE.

There are no perfumed hints in Why Men Love Bitches of the 50 Shades Ana that comes to thrive on submission to Christian’s every physical and emotional desire:

Christian lays it out to Ana:

 The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, any time, any way, I want – anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.

Give it back to him Ana!

SUBMISSIVE or BITCH?

Strangely, I’m pretty sure the reading audience for each of these books is similar.

What the hell is going on here … this doesn’t make sense, does it?

Trying to understand the wickedly confusing female psyche, I made myself read both books – such torture for a man to read about explicit sex with beautiful women.

Obviously, I’m now an expert peeking over the other side of the fence knowing exactly what women REALLY want in their men and relationships.

And the short answer is? I have NO IDEA!

Actually, that’s not true. I do have an idea, so hear me out.

Our GREY girl Ana is subservient and plays the submissive princess in the Grey castle where he holds the economic clout and other levers of control. Eventually, like a hostage with Stockholm Syndrome, Ana comes to love Christian and his sexy wicked ways.

The BITCH girl is no one’s bitch. She pays her own way and supports her own castle. As the BITCH says: Work=Money=The ability to choose the way you want to be treated=Personal Control=Dignity. 

These are two hugely popular books with enormous numbers of (predominantly) female followers. And yet, two very different views of how men and women relate on a personal and intimately sexual level.

Contradictory? Yep. But it comes down to this:

We love fantasy as a way of spicing up our lives.

We daydream, we nightdream, we fantasize, we blush inside and conjure up erotic images that we share with absolutely no one – I mean no one – in our real-life world.

It’s a little sweet, chocolate treat we give to ourselves to make our sometimes daily drudgery of working and shopping and cooking and cleaning and vanilla sex tolerable.

50 Shades, like many movies we adore, floats those forbidden fantasies that dwell down deep upwards to the surface and scratches the nagging itch of our inner kinky beings.

But even fantasy-driven people come back to their steady, earthly selves when reading BITCHES, knowing that life – REAL LIFE – is about respect and equality.

Think of it this way:

• 50 SHADES OF GREY is the Lusty Lord of the Rings trilogy, Star Wars of Sex, Indiana Jones of Intercourse.
• WHY MEN LOVE BITCHES is the PBS documentary NOVA or Nature of Things or Home Improvement episode.

 

Before a woman starts into 50 Shades, she’s a rational, documentarian bitch, a librarian with glasses and hair tied up prim and proper.

But find her a couple of chapters into Ana and Christian Grey’s story and the BITCH bondage of her updo transposes into the 50 Shades bondage of wrists and erotically lustful unbounded submission.

It’s a beautiful contradiction, and maybe you CAN have it both ways.

………………..

One last thought.

I can’t resist pointing out the appalling writing contained within 50 Shades. Who can write this stuff and STILL sell a billion copies??:

Ana: “And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata near where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: He’s here to see you.”

 

 

 

 

The First Time Ever I Called You Queer …

In the Elementary School System there are two separate,

Yet equally important groups.

The little boys who pull pony tails and trip girls in the playground at recess

And the little girls who giggle and skip rope.

THESE ARE THEIR STORIES

Almost like the kids’ game RED ROVER, there were inviolable, uncrossable lines at Glen Echo School in Hamilton where I spent my formative Kindergarten to Grade 5 school years.

Truly, SCHOOL laws and BOY laws existed that were unwritten but well heeded until about Grade 6.

These KGB-like regulations secretly stated that boys and girls would never display any obvious signs of admiration, crushes, or lust upon their opposite numbers. Come to think of it, this may have been my earliest encounter with political correctness. Talk about blurred lines.

I was teased – and I teased others –  if I was seen to be currying favour – you know, pulling a pony tail or chasing a girl in the playground, the glaringly obvious signs of pre-pubertal true love.

It just goes to show that we conform to rules, written and unwritten, at an early age. It was clear to us boys that – at least publically – we hated girls because they were YUCKY. ‘Nuff said!

The sadly remarkable yet funny thing is, I knew inside myself that I was attracted to these little cuties in pleated skirts and white knee socks. I just wasn’t sure why.

There were no swelling or developed breasts that shifted my gaze from eye level. There were no curvaceous hips that wiggled seductively as they shuffled in little girl packs ahead of me down the linoleum hallway that, because some Grade 3 kid just puked up a hot dog from last night’s supper, smelled of pungent Dustbane.

It was and is a mystery.

I didn’t really understand these feelings I felt inside.

I just knew that it gave me a warm, pleasant feeling, and had a really strange, stiffening effect on that wee little dangly thing below the belt that I peed from. What was with that?

Louise C. was my first official public crush in Grade 6 – I dished out an extra 10 cents to hold her hand and take her to the Glen Brae Middle School sock hop – but as far back as Grade 1, I was covertly madly and deeply in love with Dale C.

She was that deadly combination of both pretty AND smart. I couldn’t take my eyes off her when she’d come in from recess –  a little whisper of apple flesh clinging delicately to the corner of her lip – and tug her white tights up higher around her waist. I was hypnotized by her strange girly magic.

In Grade 2, she must have gotten pregnant (I always suspected Billy or Jerome of schoolyard lust) or something because her family moved away and I never saw her again. Took me 4 years and a crush on Miss Taylor, my Grade 5 teacher to get over her.

My first crush Dale C is in this picture, but I’ll leave it to you to guess who she is by the “S” we’re holding together…

Things probably haven’t changed a lot on the infatuation front for today’s youngsters, but now I’m casting my sight in a slightly different direction.

Now that I’m an adult (sort of), and the world’s scope of understanding has expanded for me, I find myself wondering.

I was (am) a sexually-straight little guy. We all assumed in my childhood years – again, at least publically – that everyone around us was straight.

My question: When do little gay boy kids start crushing on other little boys, and lesbian girl kids on other little girls? 

The early unwritten rules I’ve just described about not expressing desire or lust must have killed the gay kids.

Why?

Well, for me, Grade 6 came along and suddenly the dam walls that prevented public lust came tumbling down. The classrooms and schoolyards were filled with little conclaves of tender couplings and busy matchmakers.

Billy and Sarah, Blake and Miranda, Frank and Cathy, Nicole and Keith.

Some of the romances lasted for minutes, others hours, the occasional one might stick for a week or two, just like today in Hollywood.

The prison doors were flung open wide, and public yearning was instantly de rigeur. Suddenly, I could drool all over Cathy and Adele and Carol. No questions. No ridicule.

But the dam – the prison walls – never collapsed for the gay kids. I assume there had to be a fair number of homosexual youngsters given what I see in today’s world. But in the real world playground there were no couples walking hand-in-hand like:

John and George, Britney and Madonna, Elton and David, Ellen and Portia.

If anything, the walls of the dam grew stronger and more forceful for these kids. The level of ridicule and derision for queer youth became more heightened as the volume of sexual hormones rose.

By the time I passed through the front door of Glendale High School, the feelings of anger and mockery for homosexuality were at absurdly elevated levels. I can only imagine the frustration and self-hatred experienced by my LGBT classmates.

I’m living today with questions, and no small amount of guilt, for the way I must have treated my schoolmates who were attracted to their same-gender friends.

For the reality is, there were three, not two equally important groups in the system who had their stories, but we weren’t ready to listen.

Yet.

Are We Now?