Imported Poems

I thought this would be pithy, but apparently I'm in the mood to either complain or angst.

Mr. Cheezy came over Tuesday night with his ridiculous massage oil candle and essentially played octopus arms while I was watching movies (I finally realized the reason he comes over with movies has nothing to do with watching them and everything to do with trying to molest me while I watch them). I had my butt and thighs clenched so tightly together to prevent entrance to the forbidden zones that I could have cracked open a coconut. And it's not that he's stupid and unable to read social ques: he just doesn't care, and so he ignores them and presses the point. (Thankfully, I got him out the door without promising to see him again, which relieves me of having to stand him up or break a promise, and thus I can in good conscience/without guilt completely ignore him).

A male friend once told me that there are two basic types of men: men who can get any woman they want and men who can't. The former don't try, because women come to them of their own accord, and the latter have no recourse but to take what they want through pressure tactics, etc. Of course, there are exceptions: men who are respectful of women and consequently end up getting a girlfriend/wife, etc because of their noble character, tender heart, etc. etc. But the majority fit either into the Narcissus Model or the Satyr Model.

So much for pithy, eh? Since when have I ever been pithy?

Regarding the satyr model, let me just say that a horny 25 year old male is like an overeager puppy dog bursting with lots of energy to play; ie: he's charming. But at the age of approx 40 that changes and he becomes a lecherous satyr leering and drooling on himself, ie: he's cheezy and disgusting. That's because at 25 a man is still in his sexual prime, but at the age of 40 he's a good 20 years past that and consequently should be farther along in his journey. He should be a refined and sophisticated gentleman, more interested in a good conversation over wine than behaving like a dog in heat.

There's a good reason why God made testosterone and estrogen deplete as we advance in years; He doesn't want to see old people having sex either (LMAO!). Just kidding, but the point is, one shouldn't be a horny old toad, or keep one's horniness to oneself, like me.

Which brings me to another delimma. I think this girl at work has a crush on me. I am androgenous looking, and I'm nice to everyone (I live in a military town where most gays are in the closet, whether that is due to a perceived intolerance or actual intolerance I cannot say) so it's possible because I treat her with respect and affability she thinks I must be the same way. She gave me her number - I wouldn't mind calling her and hanging out; at least she won't place a stupid tiara on my head like the Southern Baptist housewives or prattle on about the splinter in her toe (all that meaningless jabber women talk about, which is why my friends have traditionally been male) but I don't want to give her the wrong impression. I also don't want to say "I think you might be gay, and if so, I want you to know I"m straight" because that's presupposing *alot*. I would tell her about Mr. Cheezy, but that may give her the impression I'm bi and interested in a new relationship.

That's the angst part. Now I remember why I live in my hole: to avoid stupid tiaras/conversation, cheezy/drooling lecherous satyrs, and having to hurt someone's feelings (the poor sweety has already dragged her friends back to where I work, and being a girl, I know one only drags one's friends along to work to have a looksee if one has a crush one wants to show off).