Permit me two stories.
About three years ago I was teaching a salsa dance class in Mankato, Minnesota. The dance scene had gone from a bustling marketplace of 20 something hotties, desperate to learn the art of
getting attention on a dance floor “ballroom dancing,” to a sad shell of its former self. The 20 somethings left to start families, and now certainly in their 30’s, their children prevented them from such luxuries as taking dance classes. Instead my dance classes were now full of recent 50 something divorcees thinking they were going to find a “Latin lover” if they and their 200 pound ass just learned a little salsa dancing.
It had gotten so bad that sometimes I couldn’t teach dips because many women were literally too heavy to dip and the dwindling number of men that remained would injure themselves if they dared try. And so instead of being excited to start a new class, the previous decade of decline in the beauty of my students had taught me not to get excited and treat what was once my passion like a job I no longer cared about.
Then she walked in.
“She” being the second most beautiful girl I ever had in my then 13 years of dance classes. Tall, model-esque, and a face that was the epitome of beauty.
I was about to pigeon-hole her as just another self-absorbed attention queen, and play the appropriate game, until we had a drink after class and was shocked. She was a sergeant in the US Army, fresh from Iraq. She was a communications specialist, worked a real job, and had the misfortune of losing her mother early on in life. She was not spoiled, but rather had suffered a harsher than average life, and thus was a rather impressive person.
Normally, at this point, one’s mind might default to “wow, this might be the one,” but there was just one problem. Though stunningly beautiful, there was just no physical chemistry between her and me.
I KNEW she was attractive, my brain corroborating what my eyes saw, but oddly enough I just really couldn’t get it up for her. She was one of those rare “hot chicks” that everybody else would want to nail, just not you.
However, while the physical chemistry was just not there, the personality was. So much so that you would almost consider this person to be a soul brother/sister. Her experiences in life shaped her into an interesting person and also gave her the street smarts needed to just do things on an automated and unconscious level. She intuitively knew what you were saying, knew what you were doing, and would support you without thinking twice. She was observant and clever, making her a great wingman. I was convinced that though I would not be dating this girl, I would have a cool tomboy of a chick to hang out with and thus started inviting her to hang out with my crew.
Then, something interesting occurred.
While she was desperate to go and resurrect her social life after Iraq, pretty much every invitation I gave her went unanswered. I’d say, “Hey, we’re going to a jazz club. Give you a chance to get out of uniform and dress like a girl for once.” She’d respond enthusiastically, only never to show. I’d say, “Hey, we’re going salsa dancing later tonight,” only to get a response back the next day that she had to work. I’d say, “Hey, bunch of us are going for a motorcycle ride, we’re coming through your town, you want us to pick you up?” Nothing again.
It soon got to the point that she so infrequently attended that I just stopped inviting her. However, I could never reconcile why we got along so great and why she expressed such an interest in doing things (to the point it sounded like she was “dying” to get out), only never to capitalize on my offers.
The next story is one set in Sheridan, Wyoming.
There I was working at a local bank, sifting through loans we made to local meth addicts, trailer trash, single moms, and degenerates who couldn’t run a sports bar effectively. I was fortunate enough to live downtown, which meant I could walk to work, not to mention, four bars were literally within one block of my apartment (one literally under it).
Because of my proximity to bars, my social life received a significant boost. I would hit every bar, every night, and even taught dance classes at the largest bar in town on Tuesdays. Also because of the relatively small size of the town I became one of the “regulars” overnight, me knowing everybody and everybody knowing me.
Unfortunately, since this town was in Wyoming most of the local women were hideous. This is not my opinion. It’s just a fact. Women in Wyoming just aren’t pretty. They’re overweight, they smoke and drink too much, aging their faces prematurely, they get pregnant before they graduate from high school, and they certainly don’t care to doll themselves up. They rarely wear dresses. They never wear heels. And no amount of make-up can save them, so they don’t even bother. Wyoming literally is just one big, square trailer park and their women represent this fact.
So imagine my surprise when a
drop-dead gorgeous blond in
6 inch cherry red heels and a
matching red cleavage-dropping dress
walked into the bar.
It didn’t make sense. The needle went off the record. Men’s jaws hit the floor and women sneered. NEVER had such a hot woman ever walked through those doors, let alone set foot inside Buffalo, Wyoming.
My instinct kicked in and I stopped looking, ensuring to be the only guy ignoring her. And sure enough she sat next to me and started talking to me.
But just like the beautiful sergeant from Mankato, her looks were deceiving.
She wasn’t a ditzy broad, looking for free drinks. Turned out she worked at a rather prestigious ranch outside of town and this was her one night off that week. She never had the opportunity to dress up and had been wanting to wear this little red number for quite some time. And so she was going to wear it, consequences be damned.
She was also incredibly smart and incredibly different. She had traveled to Russia to purchase a unique breed of horse and start breeding them here in the states. She was also very well read on philosophy and could challenge my thinking and make me think of new ideas I had never pondered before. And add to it again, she was a tomboy. She liked not only ranching, lassoing, and riding horses, but 4 wheelers, motorcycles, hiking, fishing and amateur paleontology and archaeology.
I was happy for there were very few people in Wyoming I could talk to, let alone be intellectually stimulated by. And because of the rapport we had established it was in my mind a foregone conclusion we would be friends. She invited me out to her ranch where she said she’d cook me dinner and then we could go fishing, hiking, arrowhead hunting, or whatever we wanted. She gave me her number and given how few intelligent and in shape people there were in Wyoming, I promised not to ruin this gem of a find by trying to hit on her or making any advances.
A couple days later I headed out to her ranch where she gave me a tour. We drove a 4 wheeler around, saw some amazing mountains, cliffs and a picturesque stream filled with trout. She showed me the horses (not a big fan) and then she showed me some old buildings that were there during the pioneer days. It was a good ole time, but she had to wake up early the next morning to work on the ranch, and so I headed back. But before I did she gave me a large arrowhead piece. Too large to be an actual arrowhead, but rather was obviously a tool of some kind. Regardless, it was such a nice piece I would have considered it museum-quality and was consequently thankful and humbled for such a gift. It also made me think she was a kindred spirit and further confirmed I had made a friend.
I was thinking since she could really only take off on weekends that we might climb this mountain I had scoped out the week before. Didn’t want to see too rushing, so waited a couple days and left her a voice-mail. She was so far from town, however, that I knew she didn’t have reception on the ranch. She had to drive to the state highway every night to get her voice-mails, so I figured she’d call back when she had the time.
Wednesday passed, then Thursday, then Friday and unfortunately, she never called.
No matter, I figured, probably busy. The ranch was quite the operation. I’ll catch her next week.
I then walked down to one of the rowdier bars in town and surprise! There she was.
Drunk as all hell
She saw me and immediately lit up.
“Hi,” I said, kind of surprised to see her bombed. I said in a jesting manner, “So I take it we’re not going hiking tomorrow?”
“Nooo, I’m sorrrry, I forgot to call you. We can go hiking next week. I just needed to get out and let lose.”
Understanding, I said, “Well, you’re sure making a go of it now!”
We continued to hang out, but unlike the first night we met and the day we had at her ranch, she was now flirting with pretty much every guy at the bar. There was no conversation and she was now dancing on the floor to hip hop music, spilling beer. I decided to leave her at the bar and check out the one next door. Sure enough within an hour she followed.
“Why did you leaaave!??? I need you to protect me from this guy,” she said somewhat slurred.
“What guy?” I asked.
“This guy, he keeps hitting on me.”
I saw no guy.
Realizing she probably had a few too many I offered her a place to crash at my joint. She refused and instead decided to hit the remaining two bars, while I believe I had enough for the evening and walked home.
The next morning I saw her car parked downtown. I found that odd. So I walked into the bar beneath my apartment and inquired (I learned that in small towns in Wyoming bartenders proved a better source for information than the internet, and yes, bars are open that early in Wyoming).
“Oh yeah, Amy!? Yeah, good ole Amy. She got ripped. Ended up going home with a bunch of Italian tourists last night. Bit of a drama queen that one.”
“Heh,” I said, “she does this much?”
“Yeah, she’ll come to town, get drunk, lead guys on, piss off their girlfriends, lead on the tourists. Provides for some decent entertainment.”
And certainly it did, for it wasn’t just that one night Amy came to town, but at least three more nights before I left for Minneapolis. I made a token few handful of calls to see if Amy wanted to go hiking, but none, of course, were ever returned. Last I saw her she was drunk at a bar scoring drinks out of a guy nearly thrice her age.
Now the moral of these stories is not one of entertainment value or living vicariously through the life of the ole Captain. But rather to prepare you for the likely event that in your 80 years of life expectancy you will run into a girl who is:
1. Gorgeous and
2. Has such a unique personality or spirit about her it practically compels you to be friends with her, but
3. For some reason you just aren’t physically attracted to her
You will be excited. You will be happy. You will think, “Wow, you know, I just REALLY dig this person for herself and it would be totally cool to just go and hang out with her.” But you will be let down, because the friendship you assume is a guarantee will never come to fruition. And the reason why is that her beauty prevents it.
Understand absolutely drop-dead gorgeous women are damaged goods in a certain regard. It isn’t even necessarily their fault, but rather society’s. Since they are so good looking, the vast majority of men interact with them on a sexual basis. They want to have sex with them, they want to be around them, they simply want to look at them. Sadly, none of them want to be their friends and therefore truly beautiful women have few, if any, platonic or non-sexual relationships with men. This skews their experience and mental development so far to the point that by the time they’re 20, maybe 22, they’re INCAPABLE of having normal, healthy, non-sexual friendships with males.
99.9% of the time, this is fine because 99.9% of the time men are physically attracted to such women and aren’t interested in friendship. However, for the remaining .1% of men who just don’t find that particular woman physically attractive, OR value a friendship more than a sexual relationship, you throw the girl for a loop. You “do not compute.” Making matters worse, is that some of these women ARE genuinely interesting and intellectually-engaging people which draw you in on a platonic level. But since these women never had male friends, and thus, don’t know how to interact with you, they assume you are just like every one else. You’re hitting on them, you want to nail them, you’re only interested in sex, and thus the games continue.
This will throw you off because (for once) you REALLY don’t want to have sex with this woman! You will be approaching her in (GASP!) an honest and friendly way! And so when you say,
“Hey, let’s go hiking this weekend.”
You’re not saying
“Hey, let me feign like I’m interested in hiking so I can get into your pants.”
You’re really, actually saying,
“Hey, let’s go hiking this weekend.”
But she doesn’t know that. Matter of fact, her mind and psychology has been so predispositioned by how society interacts with her, she is incapable of knowing that. And therefore, no matter how cool a chick, no matter how much you jive on a certain level, and no matter how much you may enjoy each others company, don’t get too excited about making a new friend. Because she is going to default to her sociological programming. She will play mind games. She will assume you want her. She will flake out. She will be the drama queen. She will be just another drop-dead gorgeous girl.
The sad thing, however, is not that you won’t realize a true and great friendship with these women. That was fated never to happen anyway. What’s really sad is you see a very interesting, engaging, unique person with incredible potential let society and their beauty dictate how they behave and what they’ll inevitably become. For while you’ll see the potential for a brilliant, intelligent woman, with various hobbies and interests, who would make a great wife or mother, and make a family incredibly happy, or have some amazing career, unfortunately she’ll choose to be just another piece of T&A at the bar.
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