A Terrorist Attack on the World's Largest Lemonade Stand
29 November 2002
As with most terrorist attacks, it came out of nowhere, unanticipated. We (me and female friends) were at Fiddler in Den Haag. The conversation quickly turned sour for me.
A portion of it revolved around the Canadian Hitler, an all-too-frequent topic of conversation in the off-hours. She's won the battle by dominating and making miserable so many people during the work day, but against some she's also won the war when she dominates people's thoughts outside of work, in the evenings and on the weekends.
Even that, though, wasn't the problem in this case. The firefight started withmore male bashing. True, my new pants were also subject to some criticism as not being dressy enough. However, with a funky shirt and tie, I personally don't see the need for classy dress pants. That would look odd... seems to me. Like I don't know which direction I want to go. Besides, in this day and age, my need for dress pants is (thankfully) severely limited and I have all I need back home. No need to double up in that department. Not for one party.
Anyway, as I sat next to one of the ladies, I hear of yet another disappointing male pursuit. I met the guy. He spends have his time out on the ice, won't be home for Christmas or New Year's, is a Canadian, and has the exuberating personality of dry wall. But thank God he's a sharp dresser and, I guess ladies would think he's handsome. So, in light of that this one friend, who has told me on a few occasions how she doesn't want a man in her life, doesn't want another two-month relationship, has a lot of male friends out in Den Haag simply because they outnumber women in the couple by a wide margin... well, she went somewhat in pursuit of the guy and he didn't respond.
Why he didn't respond became a question she chose to address with the two other ladies, leaving me sidelined and quite insulted. In my opinion, I had been at least somewhat good company over the past several months and somewhat of a good friend, given the precarious nature of my professional circumstances and utter inability to plan more than a couple days ahead. So, to hear the railing yet again about how men don't make sense was too much to bear. I made it clear that what happened to her happened to me on many occasions - by women. Women do the same damn stuff to men.
To ignore the fact that I am a man and had been a good friend was simply unacceptable.
Ah. The politics of friendship.
My dream girl: The kind of woman I could travel the world with in pursuit of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. The kind of woman who could kick my ass and make me enjoy it. Basically, Lara Croft. But she doesn't exist! (Angelina Jolie would suffice and I'm pleased she's split from Billy Bob. Hope springs eternal!)
However, I'd settle for (wait a minute, not settle for, but would equally enjoy) the company of a woman with a sense of adventure and who makes me laugh.
Women's ideal seems to be something along the lines of a well-dressed pretty boy with a very large bank account. After Thursday evening's conversation, it became more and more apparent to me that it is indeed women who are killing the fun in relationships, the spontaneity, the romance. It's become too calculated, too pre-defined.
Anyway, I vented my thoughts, in an extremely illogical, scattered, heat-of-the moment fashion. Sulked a bit. Stormed out. Walked on.
Naturally, that set me up for a rather uncomfortable Friday. One in which one co-worker asked if I was OK because I looked "positively jaded."
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