Insomnia
A couple of nights ago, I couldn't sleep. No particular reason; my brain just wouldn't shut off. When that happens I typically will read or write, even though what I wind up writing falls under the "What was I smoking?" category.
But neither of those was happening, so I turned to the age-old remedy: channel surfing. Late night television is a world all its own, one filled with bad old movies, reruns you've already seen twenty times, and infomercials. Good God Almighty, the infomercials. A little sponge on a drill that will make your face look ten years younger. A ladder that morphs from a step stool to a scaffold that will work wonderfully for the do-it-yourselfer. Who also happens to be a NASA engineer. I lusted after the Magic Bullet Personal Blender System after seeing Mick and Mimi's party. Who wouldn't want to make two kinds of breakfast muffins, gourmet chicken salad lunches, and two different pasta sauces all without dirtying a single pot or pan?
But I happened to view something else that night. A dating show. Good. Lord.
Now, I remember The Dating Game. Bachelors 1, 2, and 3 had to answer really stupid questions from a nervous bachelorette hidden behind a screen. She made her choice based on those equally stupid answers, and the moment we all wanted to see? Her face when she saw exactly what her date looked like. And how the two guys she didn't pick looked. You could practically see in her eyes, "Why didn't I choose him? Or him? These two guys are fine. I'm going to get stuck with a nerd, I just know it." But it had rewards; the men were usually very nice, and they went on an all-expense paid cruise to Puerto Villarta or something.
Ah, for those days. This particular show had a mini The Bachelor quality to it, with one guy being fought over by 5 girls. I find the whole concept of The Bachelor insulting- any guy who thinks he's worthy of having 25 beautiful women fight over him has too bloated a self image to be attractive. And IMO, any woman who participates in such drivel deserves to have her heart broken. "But, but, I LOVED him! ~sob~ I only knew him for two weeks, and in that time he was sucking on ten other girls, but I LOVED him!"
So why did I watch this dating show? Because Mick and Mimi's party was over, and I just couldn't take the guys from Air Supply hawking Time-Life's collection of 70's easy listening classics. (I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you...)
This guy, Adam, what someone younger than me would consider a hottie I suppose, finally pares it down to two girls. One, Jessie, is a feisty little thing, who practically full-on copulates with the guy on the dance floor. The other, Blair, is more shy, dancing on the fringes, hoping to actually talk to him. The 'interview' portion made my blood boil. Adam says, "Blair is the nice girl you want to take home to Mom. Jessie is the bad girl." At this, he smirks and almost giggles. "I don't know which way I'm going."
I've never wanted to smack anyone worse in my life. No, not him. Men apparently still have the madonna/whore complex fully in place, with all our vaunted equality. Guys still know a slut when they see one, I guess. Adam did; he chose Jessie. What got me was that Jessie knew exactly why he chose her. She knew he respected Blair, and wouldn't be ashamed to take Blair home. But he only wanted Jessie for one thing, and there was no way she was 'good enough' to meet his mother. AND SHE WAS HAPPY ABOUT THIS. SHE WAS HAPPY SHE'D WON. And not because she won anything more than the rest of the night with Adam- they didn't even get a rattan chair out of the deal. My hand actually itched. Could she not see the diss? Have we come to the point where our equality has turned to bite us in the butt? Even if she just wanted a night of anonymous sex, would she really want it with a guy who thinks she's not a sexy woman, but a whore?
The world has never needed romances more. There was a Romancing the Blog post last week about a single lady's family who worried that her reading romances was causing unrealistic expectations for her. I say more power to her. Dreaming about a man who wants her, who will be smacked down if he treats her wrongly, about holding out for everything she wants- including a gold ring, and getting it? I'd much rather dream about that than Adam in his shiny shirt, smirking over his one night stand.
On second thought, yeah. I want to smack him too.
But neither of those was happening, so I turned to the age-old remedy: channel surfing. Late night television is a world all its own, one filled with bad old movies, reruns you've already seen twenty times, and infomercials. Good God Almighty, the infomercials. A little sponge on a drill that will make your face look ten years younger. A ladder that morphs from a step stool to a scaffold that will work wonderfully for the do-it-yourselfer. Who also happens to be a NASA engineer. I lusted after the Magic Bullet Personal Blender System after seeing Mick and Mimi's party. Who wouldn't want to make two kinds of breakfast muffins, gourmet chicken salad lunches, and two different pasta sauces all without dirtying a single pot or pan?
But I happened to view something else that night. A dating show. Good. Lord.
Now, I remember The Dating Game. Bachelors 1, 2, and 3 had to answer really stupid questions from a nervous bachelorette hidden behind a screen. She made her choice based on those equally stupid answers, and the moment we all wanted to see? Her face when she saw exactly what her date looked like. And how the two guys she didn't pick looked. You could practically see in her eyes, "Why didn't I choose him? Or him? These two guys are fine. I'm going to get stuck with a nerd, I just know it." But it had rewards; the men were usually very nice, and they went on an all-expense paid cruise to Puerto Villarta or something.
Ah, for those days. This particular show had a mini The Bachelor quality to it, with one guy being fought over by 5 girls. I find the whole concept of The Bachelor insulting- any guy who thinks he's worthy of having 25 beautiful women fight over him has too bloated a self image to be attractive. And IMO, any woman who participates in such drivel deserves to have her heart broken. "But, but, I LOVED him! ~sob~ I only knew him for two weeks, and in that time he was sucking on ten other girls, but I LOVED him!"
So why did I watch this dating show? Because Mick and Mimi's party was over, and I just couldn't take the guys from Air Supply hawking Time-Life's collection of 70's easy listening classics. (I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you...)
This guy, Adam, what someone younger than me would consider a hottie I suppose, finally pares it down to two girls. One, Jessie, is a feisty little thing, who practically full-on copulates with the guy on the dance floor. The other, Blair, is more shy, dancing on the fringes, hoping to actually talk to him. The 'interview' portion made my blood boil. Adam says, "Blair is the nice girl you want to take home to Mom. Jessie is the bad girl." At this, he smirks and almost giggles. "I don't know which way I'm going."
I've never wanted to smack anyone worse in my life. No, not him. Men apparently still have the madonna/whore complex fully in place, with all our vaunted equality. Guys still know a slut when they see one, I guess. Adam did; he chose Jessie. What got me was that Jessie knew exactly why he chose her. She knew he respected Blair, and wouldn't be ashamed to take Blair home. But he only wanted Jessie for one thing, and there was no way she was 'good enough' to meet his mother. AND SHE WAS HAPPY ABOUT THIS. SHE WAS HAPPY SHE'D WON. And not because she won anything more than the rest of the night with Adam- they didn't even get a rattan chair out of the deal. My hand actually itched. Could she not see the diss? Have we come to the point where our equality has turned to bite us in the butt? Even if she just wanted a night of anonymous sex, would she really want it with a guy who thinks she's not a sexy woman, but a whore?
The world has never needed romances more. There was a Romancing the Blog post last week about a single lady's family who worried that her reading romances was causing unrealistic expectations for her. I say more power to her. Dreaming about a man who wants her, who will be smacked down if he treats her wrongly, about holding out for everything she wants- including a gold ring, and getting it? I'd much rather dream about that than Adam in his shiny shirt, smirking over his one night stand.
On second thought, yeah. I want to smack him too.
posted by Robyn | 5:58 AM
8 Comments:
and while you're at it, smack their mamas for raising 'em like that! What were they thinking? Never mind, I know what they were thinking....
Jessie's mother must be so proud...
"Did y'all see my baby on TV? She was the hoochymama shakin' her thing on the dancefloor in the skimpy outfit! That's my girl!"
Where do they get these people?
Everyone involved in the making of that show deserves to be jackslapped across the head.
Isn't it lovely, how much sexual liberation benefitted young women?
Smirking guys are dead meat.
They have no elan, no savoir faire, no class.
Missie! Where is your email? Want your hair girl. Want. Want. Need.
Mya- God, yes. I can just feel my mother's glare if I had appeared on national tv like that.
DQ- Absolutely. In some ways, I'm not sure we were done any favors if all the guys didn't evolve with us.
Bernita- I kept thinking, "This is what young women consider attractive?!?"
Lena- Missie's got great hair, I agree, but you do SO NOT have a mullet. Trust me. I live in Oklahoma. Come to the state fair; you will feel better immediately.
Gah. I hope Jessie gets a copy of that show on DVD, to treasure long after the night is over. And I hope someday her kids find it and play it.
I'm with you Robyn. Romance doesn't equal oppression, and being a whore doesn't equal liberation.
Robyn,
You are so sweet to assume that someone would actually want my HAIR. No, Lena wants my hairSTYLIST info. A friend of mine used to live in the town Lena is moving to, and wants the name of my friend's salon since my friend was pickpickpicky about her hair and Lena needs someone she could get a good cut from.
Still, it was nice to see that you assumed someone wanted my hair, as I sit here in my office sweating with my totally flat, straight, needs to have highlights redone badly hair. Heee, heee, heeee.
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