10 Dumb Things I Do Around Women I'm Attracted To

A case study in what not to do.
02/22/2017 01:30 pm ET Updated Feb 22, 2017
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“Upon seeing the women, I decided to act natural.”

That’s a phrase I use a lot. Because the opposite is true and that’s how irony works. Also it’s way easier than saying “upon seeing the women, I acted like an uncontrolled idiot because I’m still othering women into a monolithic group that scares me, because I can’t deal with my libido in a constructive manner.” I can’t say that. Firstly it has the word “because” too many times for one sentence. Secondly because it involves admitting I have a libido out loud.

I get it. Sex is bigger than my ego, than society’s morals, and older than human beings themselves. It may even be older than the dinosaurs but I’m not sure. I’m pretty sure prehistoric jellyfish were able to reproduce by simply winking at each other.

There’s an interesting, calm conversation in me somewhere, but it’s being drowned out by ancestral biological commands to defend “the women” from various threats in order to have tender choke sex together. If there aren’t any threats, I will feel compelled to make some up. And that’s where my behavior around women falls, swinging back and forth in between dealing with imaginary monsters and desperately trying to hint at the deep fulfilling conversation that is in me. Somewhere. Presumably. It was just here, I swear.

Here are a few random examples of what happens when I feel intimidated around attractive women I am meeting for the first time:

Fantasizing about kicking ass defending her.

She may have her doubts about me now, but when I save her from a drooling rapist/ Isis/ skinheads, my worth will shine through. If only Isis were here, she would know I’m not a loser. I could use that superhero routine I’ve been practising in front of the mirror. Backhand slap, point the unwavering finger of justice at him and then deliver the threat-line I came up with. “Touch her and I will spike you like a volleyball.” That sounded better inside my head. FYI, that’s why CNN is always making up new threats: to make lonely men feel useful.

Using violent sexual imagery.

To sound “edgy”. Actually, to let off pressure that has accumulated since I noticed she was not a man and was in the vicinity. Because upon seeing attractive women, I get overtaken with the irrepressible need to fell a tree, any tree, in her presence. Then I will build us a hut. I will present her with the still-beating heart of my enemies and she will throw herself at me. Presumably whilst she daydreams about the day I am finally considerate enough to offer the still-beating heart of her enemies.

Prophesizing doom.

It’s part of establishing a clear and present danger from which the women will need my protection. Also doom is the easiest thing to prophesize. It takes no effort and therefore leaves me with enough energy to practice my prophet face. Just like the homeless wizard in True Detective. I’m staring past you at the secret truth of the universe that only I can see. I look for the farthest point on the horizon to project a deep connection with infinity (usually a traffic light) and hope for wind to stimulate my tear duct.One flat eyebrow burdened with destiny, the other arched with possibility, I stare intently and hope I don’t pull a muscle in my face again.

Smoking.

Chain-smoking. And other behaviour that says “I am damaged, please pay attention, whatever, I don’t need any of you”. That’s what every cigarette is: a cry for help blown into the face of no one cause it’s february and I’m outside the bar smoking alone.

Mansplaining.

Oh did you mention Syria in passing on your way to a totally unrelated point? Let me seize that. We’re gonna talk about Syria, and you’re going to like it. Well, technically I’m gonna talk about Syria. Cause I know about Syria. Kind of. It’s near Lebanon. When I run out of soundbites I’ll just start talking about Lebanon. How about that lebanese food, huh?

When all else fails, prolonged eye contact to suggest inner intensity.

There’s a storm in there. Look at my emotional Maelstrom. LOOK AT IT!!!Take me home and I’ll show you a nervous breakdown you’ll never forget.

Negging.

Your shoes look bad. Boom! Seduction. (Boom! Overcompensation.)

Go quiet while I fantasize about spending enough time in the gym to be so buff I don’t even need to try anymore and you basically sweep yourself off your own feet.

But I don’t want to go to the gym. I want a burger. Ok I’ll skip the burger. Nice! Getting fit already.

Drop obscure references.

I’m so full of obscure knowledge I’m like an alchemist poring over a dusty and exclusive grimoire in the abbey dungeon. Play your cards right and I might share some with you. I might even cheer upon hearing you’ve also heard of Jodorowsky in a way that is so overly surprised it’s actually kind of insulting.

Mention Kandinsky. aka Abstract artistic inner turmoil signalling.

This is reference drop + maelstrom. Oh yeah I’ve kicked this into overdrive. Let’s talk about art. Renaissance art. Michelangelo sucked at painting boobs, amirite? Is it ok I’m talking about boobs? Someone please find me a tree to fell.

The thing I never think of doing:

“Hi, I’m Nathaniel”

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