I’ve had enough of cooking for a while (don’t ask). Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.
My frustration levels are off the charts (don’t ask). I hope it’s temporary.
So, what does this tired and frustrated girl do? Well, I like to watch.
These last few days have given me ample opportunity to observe many fellow human beings. Most notably ( go on, guess): men of varying ages and maturity levels (not one in the same). I don’t think you men realize that women like to watch. And you give us so many reasons to turn away.
The Airport Louse
You probably have no idea who you are.
You’re the guy who passes gas in the gate waiting area or on the plane and thinks no one can tell you’re the disgusting fool who did it.
The Airport Louse thinks he’s invisible. He speaks into his oh-so-important but not-the-least-bit-attractive Bluetooth entirely too loudly. He insists that everyone around him needs to know what his business deals are, where he’s having dinner, and whether or not his flight is on time (um, buddy? We’re on the same flight, ok? We know). The Louse gets rip-roaring drunk at the airport bar. The Louse gets his first class upgrade and drinks Jack at 10am because he can and it’s free. Ten. In the morning. That’s not sexy, it’s desperate and gross.
The Airport Louse is also the Airplane Louse (see the reference to the stud who orders whisky before lunch). The Airplane Louse insists his blue blazer is more deserving of overhead space than your laptop or overnight bag. (My reply to that is to promptly remove said blazer, fold (or wad, depending on my mood and whether he said, “Hey , my jacket is more important!” You think I jest??) and cram it in the bin, on top of my delicately placed bag/suitcase, laptop. Beware, I’m out there and I don’t give a shit about your navy blue pinstripe. The Airplane Louse takes off his shoes, and sits, for the entire flight, barefoot for all to smell, without regard for how gross it is to sit next to someone’s bare feet. Even if they’re beautifully pedicured, I do not know you. I do not wish to sit next to your naked, smelly feet.
The Ingrate Twenty-something
This does not apply to all of you. You know that I have a soft spot for the young ones (not too young, just appropriately young).
But the ones I want to slap (and not in a way that they’d like) exhibit behavior that their mamas would be ashamed of.
These men show us their underwear when we really don’t want to see them. A message to the kids/guys who think that it’s the women who want to see their Calvins or Joe Boxers, or whatever you’re wearing, hanging out while your jeans are half-way to your knees: women don’t like it. Girls might. Women, not so much.
Why? Number one, because wearing your jeans like that makes you look like you have no ass. And we like to check out your ass. Number two, because no self-respecting person wants to look like they wear clothes that don’t fit, are bad hand-me-downs, or like they’re too depressed to care that they look like they’re too hungover/depressed/distracted/tired to finish pulling their pants up. It’s stupid, just stop it.
Unless you look like Marky Mark, of course.
While I’m on him – er, it, This can happen by accident, I realize. It’s happened to me, just too low jeans and a slight peek of thong … it’s happened. I hate it, I do, but it happens. I try to avoid it, but sometimes I forget to pull my shirt down or my pants up before sitting. Guilty. I do not, however, walk around with my jeans around my knees. Well, not most of the time, anyway. (Making you feel the rhythm is my occupation.)
In an earlier post I mentioned that baseball caps are sexy. I meant this:
(Ok,that guy is kind of hot, but most of the time, backwards is just stupid. Wash your hair.)
And speaking of washing your hair – DO IT. We don’t like the smell of dirty hair anymore than the smell of dirty feet.
Geez. It’s like you want women to stay as far away from you as possible. It’s working.
The Old Perv
We’re not looking at you, we’re not checking you out. When we stand next to you in public , it’s usually because we’re in line or something. If we say hi, and smile, you probably remind us of our dad. If we are 20 years younger than you are, it’s creepy and gross if you ask us out. Stop it.
When you check out women in public, TRY to be discreet. It’s much more alluring to wonder “Hm, did he just check me out?” than “Gross, he won’t stop staring at me! I wish he’d put his shoes back on!”
This guy is everywhere and is entirely too common. These might be minor infarctions, but we notice and they turn us off.
Not saying “excuse me” when you belch or fart in the company of women (or men, for that matter).
Using your napkin as a handkerchief (nose blowing, brow wiping). Especially disgusting if that napkin is cloth.
Describing your bodily functions and giggling.
Calling a woman a bitch or a C yoU Next Tuesday.
Expecting to be brought coffee.
Sitting on your ass while others around you are working , cleaning, cooking. This is especially eggregious if you are healthy and/or of the afore-mentioned activities are for your benefit.
Criticizing the meal that was just prepared for you.
Taking the aisle seat on the plane when you know it’s not yours, it’s mine, but you tell me to take the center seat.
Not offering to help me with my overhead bag. Even if I can do it just fine (I can, and I will), hearing the offer is nice.
I’m really close to just ranting now and not citing actual examples.
I’ll leave you with some positives:
I’m not made *entirely* out of stone. I , and other women, notice some pretty cool things too.
Men who tell the younger generation of men to respect women, especially the strong ones.
Men who have a genuine love for cooking.
Men who wear pink.
Men who hold hands in public.
Men who notice the details and give genuine compliments.
Men who smile.
Young Men who want to grow up to be someone good.
Men who are comfortable – not arrogant – around women.
Men who watch.
Men who open doors, help with luggage, stand up when we squeeze into the window seat.
Men who read books (or blogs).
Take note. We pay attention. It’s usually the little things that you don’t even know you’re doing that will turn us on or off.
So, ok, I’m finished with my rant; I got most of it off my chest.
It’s tough out there, I know – but help us out. We want you as much as you want us.
I invite you to rant right back, that’s what comments are for.
Until next time, at least try to keep it hot.