So I’m a single guy. Single guys do single things. Checking out ladies is one of my favorite single guy things to do. My higher brain function is aware that it’s 2008 and that’s “objectifying”, but I do it anyway, sorry. I could be walking to work, walking to the store, running to get an injured friend emergency medical supplies; if anyone with a pair of X-chromosomes crosses my path I have to look. Judge if you want, but for this surprisingly destitute cubicle-bound comedian-in-white-collar-clothing, the stroll to and from lunch is as close to art appreciation as I get, especially during this time of year.
There are several well-documented dangers to the wandering eye. One is that it can be hard sometimes to shut it off when you do end up in a relationship. Your heart’s not really in it, but your retinas are working from muscle memory anyway, like a concert pianist or factory worker after thirty years on the job. Try telling that to girlfriends though; they never seem to understand how trying it can be to be a guy.
Another danger is the unobserved boyfriend, whom I believe I’ve mentioned before in an earlier entry. If a girl is attractive enough for you to notice, she’s probably got a man. If her boyfriend is nearby, chances are you’re not going to notice the boyfriend because you’ll be too busy noticing her. By the time you notice the boyfriend, he’s been noticing you notice his woman for just long enough to be mad, like IED-time-to-see-Allah-about-those-virgins mad. It’s at this time you notice that, even though there are witnesses everywhere, for some reason you still don’t feel safe. Your gut sends you your final notice
“Get the hell out of here Mike, the cops never seem to be around when you’re getting your ass kicked, only spectators whose idea of assistance is yelling ‘Aw DAMN son, you got meh-heh-hessed UP!’”
Aside: Does it seem like I’m always talking about somebody getting beat up lately? In reality, the boyfriend would probably be annoyed, but only enough to shoot me a cocky look and make a smug taunt out of putting his arm around her. To listen to me, you’d think everyday people are ready to commit felonious assault at the slightest provocation. I grew up in Southeast but it’s not like I was raised on the set of Goodfellas or Menace II Society. Let’s “keep it real”, I went to a place called Bethel Bible Christian School as a kid and had to wear a uniform with pleated pants and a V-neck sweater. Seen a lot of gangsters in navy blue V-necks lately? I’ve been in all of three fights in my life and they all were in junior high and involved the patented windmill-punching technique. I have so little street in me, I felt it necessary to put “keep it real” in quotes a moment ago; you could almost hear the white guy voice rearing it’s ugly head. Have about as much firsthand knowledge of violence as I do of success in the workplace and a well-rounded social life. This is why kids shouldn’t be allowed to watch action movies, pro wrestling or DMX videos, got my values all outta whack; should probably be under observation somewhere where I can’t harm myself or others…
…Back to the original point of this entry, there are numerous dangers to the wandering eye, and this week I had the strange fortune to stumble on perhaps the most devastating one yet. Was walking up behind this one lady, to look at the hair and complexion I’d guess she was Puerto Rican, and she was sporting what, at first glance, was one of the best lower halves these eyes have ever seen. I mean sculpted, sculpted by the Devil himself, to break both hearts and marriages. This is the kind of lower half that you use for extracting secrets and political decisions from high-ranking government officials or setting up green celebrities so you can rob them in their hotel rooms. This is not the kind of lower half that goes to Potbelly Sandwichworks and spends her days processing invoices.
And the attire! Heels! Walking strong in em too. Skirt! Just a little above knee high. With a slit leading halfway up to heaven, showing just enough thigh to remind you why no home is complete without an ample supply of cocoa butter and a pommel horse. Bright red silk scarf, with the ends draped over her shoulders, dancing with her hair as she walked. I’m telling you, all that supposedly outdated, pseudo-“chauvinistic” imagery guys are too PC to admit they dig anymore, that’s what this girl had going on and the sight was spellbinding. Your boy was right in the middle of brainstorming icebreakers, getting revved up like I had a show to do or something. The inner monologue was doing about 8000 rpms, was amazed I didn’t have an aneurysm.
“…ooh, she’s walking into my building, she’s taking the elevator, I’ll get to see her up close and by Jove we gonna get that number today… ok here we go, don’t mess this up… just start out with hello, juststartoutwithhello, juststartoutwithhhello ok nowornever don’tbeapunk it’s SHOWTIME! Scarf’s slipping down, ooh I would put hickeys all over that… Whoa! Whoa. Oh, ummm.. is… that… an Adam’s apple?”
What. TheF*ck. How the hell did I get duped like this? She, he, whatever, is doing her thing, ain’t bothering nobody, that’s her life. But me, I’m 27, I should be able to tell who’s who better than this. I’m holding you accountable Mike; this is some amateur night bullsh*t.
We got in the elevator and as I used my peripherals to take a closer look, the clues began to fill in like the last ten minutes of a mystery movie.
“Legs. Sculpted yes, but they’d look more appropriate on Troy Polamalu. Knees. What woman stands or walks with her knees that far apart? Looks like she’s lumbering across a field with a wheelbarrow full of horse feed. Think Wesley Snipes was more graceful in “To Wong Foo…”. Face. I’m gonna let you off easy on this one buddy because you didn’t see her from up front, but I think Bruce Wayne has a softer jawline; you could hide textbooks in that chin cleft. And finally, the arms. What lady has forearmed bones that far apart? I don’t even think they make ladies watches with that many links. As a rule you shouldn’t trust any woman who can carry and fire an M-16 with one hand, The signs were there detective, waiting for to find out, wanting you to find out, but you just didn’t see… maybe you… didn’t want to see, hmmm?”
The sad thing is I would’ve taken that girl around my friends too; the vain part of me would want them to see me with her before she realized she can do better and split. That would’ve been good, having her meet my peoples. Could you imagine if I never noticed and started going around town not realizing whom I was with? If you were a guy’s friend and you thought his girl might be a man but he seemed really happy, would you say anything? Think that would be the all-time awkward moment, pulling your boy aside to tell him you think his girl is a man, only to find out in fact she’s not. I don’t think you two could be friends any more, at least not while he’s still dating her, would probably have to wait for at least two girlfriends after her to invite him out for shufflepuck and pizza.
So to any single boys and girls who like people-watching and flirting as much as I do, please keep an eye out for the undercover brothers and double-agents; if you aren’t paying attention, you could get your mind blown. Maybe I got what I deserved for objectifying women. Maybe I should go to more poetry readings so I can remember to appreciate people for their minds. Maybe I should always be suspicious whenever a really hot girl is walking by herself, and walking to my raggedy ass building no less. Or maybe I just need some glasses. My name is Mike and I have more questions than answers.
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