Love, and the soul… Part 2
January, 15th, 2005
A month or so ago,
I wrote about my Alzheimer’s-afflicted Grandmother, and how I do not believe that we have souls because she is no longer
the person I knew as a child. This gets into the venue of love as well, because
my Grandmother doesn’t recognize me anymore. She loved me growing up, but
now she couldn’t pick me out of a crowd. As such, what is love? Where did my Grandmother’s love for me go?
The
answer is fairly simple (and heartbreaking). The feelings she had for me were
emotional connections contained solely in her brain, which doesn’t work anymore.
That’s kind
of an extreme example, but it serves to illustrate the point that love is neither mystical nor magical. It’s just another evolution-dictated neural response to a certain set of environmental stimuli. Kinda takes the romance out of it, yeah?
Still, love is everywhere,
and even though it’s very hard to define, I’m gonna try and do that here.
Not so much in a scientific context, but in a philosophical one.
First
of all, what constitutes love? For me, it means caring more about someone else
than you care about yourself. For example, I love my brother, and I can say this
because I’m fairly certain that I would die for him. If somebody was pointing
a gun in his face, I would push him out of the way and take the bullet myself. Granted,
I’ve never been in that situation, so it’s entirely possible that I would chicken out and save my own skin…
but I seriously, seriously doubt it.
Anyway,
that’s love to me. And- despite what Dr. Phil says- it has a lot more to
do with sacrifice and acceptance, than it does compromise and understanding. Why? Because if you care MORE for the other person than you do yourself, you don’t
try to “compromise” between what’s best for them and what’s best for you. No, you merely sacrifice. By that same token, you don’t
try to “understand” the things they do, you merely accept them.
Of course, this
would generate a totally one-sided relationship, if it weren’t for the fact that the person you love does the same things
for you. If you TRULY care more about them than you do yourself, and they TRULY
care more about you than they do themselves, it all evens out. That’s a
perfect relationship… the Holy Grail, if you will.
Unfortunately, this
is rarely the case, which is why I get so pissed at people throwing the word “love” around all the time. You may LIKE somebody a whole lot, but- in my opinion- it’s not actually love
unless you put them first.
That being said,
I’m now gonna switch gears and talk about romance.
At this
point in time, I’ve never completely loved a woman. I’ve cared a
great deal about a few, but never in that all encompassing, unconditional way defined above.
And I’ll tell you something else; I think the same is true of just about anybody.
Why would I say this? Because relationships are totally fucked!
Guys and girls seem
to want different things, and even when their objectives accidentally coincide, the methods by which they try and reach said
objectives, are fundamentally ineffective.
This is very clear
in my own mind, but very hard to explain, so I’m gonna start by breaking the sexes down, (and remember, I’m generalizing
about American culture, because that’s
what I have experience in.)
Most males start
out happy-go-lucky, their attentions consumed by sports and video games and a general social development based on competition. Then, around twelve
years old or so, they discover girls, and they spend the next few years trying to catch a glimpse of “boobies”. They don’t know why boobies are so fascinating, but they are, and it becomes
a paramount factor in their interaction with the opposite sex.
During
the teenage years, we males begin to understand sex as an ACT, and we try our
asses off, (usually unsuccessfully), to bang as many chicks as possible. No real
emotional connection there, just a drive to fornicate.
Later, during the
college-aged-years, we usually stumble upon a girl or two that we really like,
and that’s when sex AS AN ACT loses some of its power. Suddenly, women
are more than conquests, and we begin to understand the benefits that may (or may not) exist in the monogamy required for
traditional “love”.
Next comes the adult years, when true relationships bloom to fruition and solidify. If it hasn’t happened already, marriage traditionally occurs, (followed statistically by divorce),
and guys begin to articulate what they really want in a mate.
Finally, middle age hits, and the desire NOT TO BE ALONE kicks into high gear. This
introduces the elements of fear and vulnerability, and a more poignant desire for “family”. Guys at this stage make the best relationship partners, namely because they’ve “been around
the block”, and they understand that love- conceptually- is something they want in earnest.
Old age prompts an even greater need for companionship, the impending awareness of death making loneliness a hard
thing to endure.
Now, before anybody
starts emailing me with the obvious, yes, I realize this time table is EXTREMELY general.
Factors such as personality, materialistic success, and blind circumstance can and do throw the whole thing out of
whack. Maybe you knocked a girl up when you were fifteen, and you had a son that
you love more than anything, (which makes you and his mom stay together). Maybe
you went to Medical School and never
had time for a relationship until you were forty. Maybe you’re a rock star,
and thus have access to so many chicks that you never feel a need to settle down. Maybe
you’re ugly, or crippled, or a social moron, and you’ve never met a female that would give you the time of day.
Mental disposition
also plays a part. Maybe you’re needy, and thus more susceptible to relationships. Maybe you’re fiercely independent, and don’t require a serious girlfriend.
Whatever the case,
variations occur across the board. Yet, this time-dictated mindset seems to hold
true for a large portion of the average male population.
It boils down to
this. Men are evolutionarily driven to procreate, so, the establishment of a
monogamous relationship is secondary to their quest for sex with as many partners as possible- that is until some social,
situational or emotional factor comes into play that changes their “need”.
Examples of this range from meeting the right girl… to, again, knocking
the wrong one up… to, again, getting older.
Not very noble on
our part, is it Ladies? Hey, don’t blame us! Anytime we do the “right” thing by you, we’re acting against millions of years of ingrained,
(and survivally dictated, with respect to genetics), behavior. This is why when
you talk about “good” guys and “bad” guys, you’re talking about differing degrees of motivationally
influenced self-control.
***
Okay,
let’s talk about women.
As children,
little girls discover boys much earlier than we do, and this goes right into the vastly different ages of sexual maturity
between genders. Biologically, there’s not that much difference, but EMOTIONALLY,
it’s as far apart as Vodka and Water.
My first
girlfriend was Christy Huggins, and I remember sitting in the movie theater watching Dune
with her when I was twelve, (it was our first date). She kept trying to kiss
me, but all I wanted to do was watch the fucking movie.
“Michaeeeeel…”
she whined, “Why don’t ya wanna hold my hand?”
“Huh? Stop that! Get off me! Can’t you see that there are giant worms on the screen?!? What’s
wrong with you?!?”
Christy pushed me
down the church steps the following Sunday and broke my wrist, but I doubt she was really trying to hurt me. No, she merely wanted my attention. Well, she got it.
I got her attention
(and some revenge) six years later when she showed up at my college dormitory and I had sex with her. If memory serves, the whole thing lasted about thirty seconds, and then I figured it was time for Christy
to leave.
How ya like ‘dem
apples, Roadwhore?!?
This
might be a good time to break my train of thought and talk about sexual prowess, because it’s different for guys and
girls. Now, I’ve heard a million chicks brag about how “good”
they are in bed, but RARELY are their skills worthy of boasting when they put their money where their mouth is. Unless you’re a dirty talking porn star, it’s really up to the guy to make sex good or bad. I mean, if we finish too quickly, it’s over, and you get to go home unfulfilled.
To me,
as a guy, being good in bed means making SURE the girl you’re with is satisfied.
If you succeed, then the sex was good. If you fail, (in my case, because
I was drunker than usual), then the sex was bad.
Taking
a few lines from the movie Clerks: Women
as lovers are basically the same. Insert someplace close, preferably moist…
thrust… repeat. If a girl gets a guy off, it’s standard. If a guy gets a girl off, it’s talent.
THANK YOU!!! Stop bragging about being able to put your legs behind your head! I don’t care… It’s MY little general that’s
doing all the work!!!
Despite what I’ve
just said, I HAVE come across a few girls that constituted a genuine exception to the above rule, but it usually had nothing
to do with something specific that they did. More often, it’s pure chemistry,
something innate that makes them unique.
You either have
it or you don’t; and, it’s totally dependant on the guy you’re with.
***
I just realized
that all the shit I’m talking might ensure that I NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN…
But then, most girls I meet haven’t read my website, so I’m gonna keep on blabbing.
Okay, so, in their
teenage years, most girls are yoked with a totally undeserved sense of insecurity. This
is directly related to America’s obsession with aesthetic
perfection and peer acceptance, and while I HATE that that’s the case, it cannot be ignored.
Teenage girls are
thusly more desperate for male attention, (doubly so if they had shitty fathers), and that’s why having an ACCEPTABLE
boyfriend in high school is The Balls.
There are other
factors to be sure, but this pattern of male-target-bonding is perpetual; and more, evolutionarily ingrained. As I’ve mentioned in other posts, while males are driven to procreate as much as possible, women
are driven to procreate with a partner that will stick around to help raise (and protect) their offspring.
Thus, even though
women like sex as much as men, women are far more selective- generally speaking, of course.
During the college
years, women often appear to “play the field” in a similar manner as their male counterparts, but don’t
be fooled. The desire to snag a beau is always foremost on their biological calendars.
Think about it. Reproduction is a huge expenditure on the part of the woman. THEY’RE the ones that have to carry the bullet for nine months.
THEY’RE the ones that have to lose their figures, (and thus, part of their sex appeal). THEY’RE the ones that have to raise the little shit factory if their fella bails.
In light of these
things, it’s no wonder that women seem more dead set on monogamy than men. They
have sooo much more to lose.
By middle
age, a woman is usually freaking out if they aren’t married with children. Society
marks them as failures, as reproductively unviable, regardless of the fact that they may have made the wise choice by holding
out for a “good” guy.
Still, middle aged
women have also “been around the block”, and they understand, (at least, subconsciously), that they need to shit
soon or get off the pot. The manifested fear of being alone at this stage is
TEN TIMES what it is for an equal-aged man, because- let’s face it- men have a longer shelf life.
Jack Nicholson is
presently traipsing around Hollywood fucking everything with breasts. And he’s, like, four hundred years old! Jacky boy looks
like a fat piece of stegosaurus shit nowadays, but he still has sex appeal because he’d be a good provider for a woman’s
offspring. Rich, successful and famous, Nicholson’s spawn would enjoy a
life bereft of need or want, they would survive to have children of their own, and women know this instinctively.
Contrastingly, women
of a similar age with similar success do not enjoy this privilege, and chiefly because their “worth” is far more
dependent on health and beauty. How many Demi Moore’s are there? How many Diane Lane’s? Not many. Smell what I’m steppin’ in?
Finally, women in
old age (having been ostensibly “freed” by menopause) are in a world of shit.
Who wants to settle down with an old bag? No one, except for men without
the possibility of younger prospects. It sucks, because such women are probably
far more nurturing. Alas, that’s the way it is.
***
I’m doing
a really crappy job of explaining my unique and unquestionably accurate perspective, (namely because I’m having to write
it down), but I think I’ve laid sufficient groundwork to get into the question of “love”.
I’m gonna
talk now about relationships between people who are about my age; men and women between the ages of twenty and forty. The best way to do this, is to go through your typical failed relationship scenario,
thus presenting a negative before I present positive.
Here goes…
Okay, Frank and
Jennifer meet one night at a get together orchestrated by mutual friends, (or at the grocery store. FUCK, I don’t know!).
Frank thinks Jennifer is hot. Jennifer thinks Frank is a nice guy. Frank asks Jennifer out, and they meet for drinks and dinner the following Friday.
Both Frank and Jennifer
are mid-level successful, mid-level attractive, and mid-level personable, (remember, I’m generalizing here).
They
talk over chicken and shrimp; each thinking that the other is “cool”. More
specifically, Frank decides that Jennifer looks good enough in her black cotton dress to introduce to his friends, while Jennifer
thinks Frank’s sense of humor will gain the approval of her gal pals.
Everything goes
perfectly, and they kiss at the end of the night.
Frank goes home
and calls his best friend, John, to tell him how he’s gonna “Fuck” this dark haired filly he just had dinner
with.
“Oh yeah!”
he brags, “I give us a week before we’re doing the No Pants Dance!!!”
Though Frank is
hopeful that his boasts will come to fruition, he actually likes Jennifer. Unfortunately, he can’t say that to John because John will label him a pussy. Thus, Frank communicates his attraction in the only way that John can understand.
Meanwhile, Jennifer
goes home and likewise calls HER best friend, Tiffany.
“Oh
my God!” Jennifer gushes, “He was sooo sweet, Tiffany! He listened
to me- really listened! Even when I went on and on about how much of an asshole
Tucker was, (Tucker is fictional Jennifer’s fictional ex-boyfriend), Frank didn’t say a word. I can’t tell you how much it meant for me to be able to vent!
I know I’m being stupid, but I think I’m gonna hang on to this one!”
“That’s
great!” Tiffany replies, “What does he do?”
“Oh, well,
he’s a CPA with this firm here in Asheville.
He just started, so he’s not making much, but Frank says it’s only a matter of time before he gets promoted.”
“I see,”
says Tiffany, then going silent. (Insert initial friend disapproval).
Switching back to
Frank and John:
“So, how hot is she?” asks John.
“Smoking!”
Frank replies, “Smart too! I swear to God I could bounce a quarter off
of her ass!” (pause) “The only thing is…”
“The only
thing is what?”
“Well, she
kept talking about her ex-boyfriend. He kinda dicked her over, I guess, and since
I really didn’t know what to say, I just sat there and listened.”
“Dude!”
screams John from the other end of the line, “She’s damaged goods! Bail,
man! Bail right now!”
“Get the fuck
outta here!” Frank chuckles, “Jennifer rocks, and you need to get a life!
Listen, if things work out, I’ll bring her over to hang out, deal?”
“Whatever,”
sneers John, then hanging up.
* click*
Jennifer’s
conversation with Tiffany ends on a similar note.
“Stop talking,”
warns Tiffany, “This guy can’t be all he’s cracked up to be. I
think I need to meet him. Why don’t ya bring him up to Tressa’s next
Thursday?”
“You’re
such a bitch,” Jennifer laughs, “But I’ll see if Frank wants to go.
I’ll call you as soon as I know. Talk to ya later! Love ya…”
* click *
Due to excuses made
on both Frank and Jennifer’s parts, neither John nor Tiffany are granted a “meet and greet” at first. Instead, Frank and Jennifer go out on three more dates, eventually having sex at Frank’s
apartment after the third.
(Keep in mind, neither
one of ‘em are necessarily whores, but, we’ll assume they’re in their late twenties/early thirties, so having
sex on the third date is not a big deal in 2005.)
The sex is not earth
shattering, but it’s good enough to inform the respective best friends.
* ring * …* ring * …* click *
“WHAT!!!”
John’s irritated voice barks at two in the morning.
“I did it,
man! I fucked her!!!”
“Dad?”
“No! It’s me!”
“Frank? Are you drunk?”
“Of course
I’m drunk, asshole! Did you hear what I said? I fucked her!”
“Who? That Jennifer girl?
“Uh, YEEEAH?!?”
John can be heard
sniffing drowsily and sitting up in his bed on the other end of the line.
“Well… That’s great, turd… How was
it?”
“Awesome! I think I really like her!”
“Oh yeah? Why is that?”
“Uh, ‘cause
she’s cool as shit?”
“I doubt it.”
Frank laughs, and
then:
“I thought
you’d say that, buttlord. What’re you doing tomorrow night? Me and Jennifer are gonna meet up with her friend Tiffany at Bier
Garden after work. You think you could
make it?”
“Is Tiffany
hot?”
“Dunno. I didn’t ask. Probably is, though. Jennifer’s hot!”
“I’ll
see what I can do. Now leave me alone.
I’m trying to fucking sleep.”
* click *
Across town, Jennifer
makes the same call, only she has the decency to wait until the next morning.
* ring * …* ring * …* click *
“Hello?”
“Tiffany! It’s Jennifer, what’re you doing?”
“Getting ready
for work. What’re you doing?”
“I’m
smiling, princess. Ask me why!”
“Why? …Wait, did you sleep with Frank last night?”
Silence, and then
Tiffany hears giggling from the other end of the line.
“You DID!!! YOU SLEPT WITH FRANK!!!”
“A lady doesn’t
tell!” goads Jennifer, her initial non-admission preceding an actual confirmation, “Okay, yeah, we made love…
and it was wonderful!!! He was so gentle, and I think he really likes me!”
“Did you cum?”
“No, but he did.”
* groan *
“Does he at
least have a big dick?”
* gasp *
“TIFFANY!!! I’m not telling you that!” * giggle * “What’s wrong with you?!?”
Another silence,
and then:
“I’m
happy for you. I really am. But
when am I going to meet this tube of wonderful?”
“Tonight,
if you can make it. Frank and his friend John are gonna meet us up at Bier
Garden. PLEASE say you can come! PLEASE?!?”
“I’ve
gotta work until six, but after that…”
Bla, bla, girlie
talk, bla, bla, bla… Tiffany makes it up to Bier
Garden, as does John, as does Frank and Jennifer.
After the initial
introductions, the four of ‘em find a table and order some drinks, the gradual insurgence of alcohol making Frank and
Jennifer all mushy, while simultaneously putting John and Tiffany at odds.
By the way, the
initial meet and greet can go both ways. Sometimes, the respective best friends
hit it off, thus orchestrating a “double couple”. But this is the
exception, rather than the rule. Generally, the number one in each participant’s pre-relationship life does NOT like the new addition to the social dynamic,
which is why when your plutonic girlfriend or boyfriend tells you that your new love is a bitch/asshole, you shouldn’t
take it to heart.
Still, the people that we call our “best friends” are graced with a far more astute level
of objectivity, and they can usually see an impending disaster months before you yourself can.
