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SENSISTIVE NEWAGE GUY:NO WAY

April 1, 2010

SENSISTIVE NEWAGE GUY:NO WAY

 

A casual conversation with a friend on the phone

“I heard your wife is a hairdresser?” He asks.

“That’s right.” I reply, “We have the salon attached the premises.”

“You should think about working in her salon to help her out. It would make good business sense of you were both hairdressers.”

“Nup, no way. I would rather eat bees than do hairdressing. Not this little black duck.”

The conversation is over.

 

Why do I hate the notion of hair dressing? It isn’t the work because it seems to be interesting enough for my wife. Isn’t the fact that so many of her clients are female? The real problem I have with being anywhere near the salon is that I cannot stand high doses of female conversation. It is not that I hate women or can’t talk to my female friends. It is just that there are certain subjects that put me to sleep.

 

Take me past a shoe shop and I’ll keep going. Well, I don’t see the point of looking at shoe styles; to me they are too far away from what I want to look at. I have a similar problem at a dress shop or even a children’s clothing store. I am actually bored out of my mind and I am trying to escape it like some yoke of oppression. (I must admit I have no such aversion to women underwear shop.) One of the things I hate about salon talk, it is the subject matter that drives me insane. It just isn’t blokey enough. Women do talk about some of the same things that men talk about but they also have a range of subjects that are like mental kryptonite. Mention anything about ‘Sleepless in Seattle,’ and I need to find an exit fast. Tell me about ‘Shall we Dance’ and I am almost suicidal. I don’t care about these super Sensitive Newage Guys winning the heart of some girl I don’t find remotely interesting. I don’t care if the male lead has been hurt before, unless it is with some kind of weapon. I want hear about the body count and the explosions. I want the action and the plot twists; not the heart breaks and tears. If the main character is slowly dying if cancer, I’m very quickly changing the channel.

 

I, like most men, do not have ‘Feelings’ with a capital ‘F’ and I have no way of exploring them. I do have basic emotions like happiness, joy, anger etc, but that is about it. Talking about a problem to me means that you want help fixing it. Listening to the problem without trying to solve it is just insane. Better still don’t talk about the problem and go kick a ball around. A few drinks and television blots out even the most terrible mental torment. There is nothing better than seeing Clint Eastwood plug holes in a few banditos to make up for getting a parking fine. Even going to computer swap meet can make up for an argument at work. Repressions and denial work wonders at keeping a bloke going and has been the male dogma from the dawn of time.

 

As blokes we only have one fatal weakness, we bore easily. I fall asleep watching ‘Love Story’ and wake up to celebrate ‘her’ snuffing it in the end. Musicals? What the hell is the point? Shoes? They all look the same to me. Clothes? It had better be skin tight or low cut. Feelings? You might as well say that some religious guys are at the front door. Women’s Problems? Kill me now.

 

I really cannot understand how there are men who can enjoy such subjects and still have time to give platonic backrubs. Platonic Backrubs? What fool invented them? Nor can I understand the man who sits through more than one chick flick and can stay awake. The ‘Sensitive Newage Guy’ can because he is trying to give women what they want in the hope that he’ll get an extra helping of what he wants. Of course as he brainwashes himself into being more in touch with his so called feminine side he looses site of what he actually did want in the first place. Suddenly he wakes and finds that his life is harder than the other blokes. He can’t enjoy the subtle rumblings of a midnight beer in his stomach. He won’t be able to stay up and see that epic war film. He can no longer feel the pleasure of mindless destruction. Instead he sits poised and perfect waiting for the next opportunity to be caring.

 

God, he must be bored out of his mind.

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