1.) Girls usually smell nice. Boys usually smell like sweaty gym socks.
2.) Girls actually want to talk about �this relationship and where it�s going.� Boys don�t even realize that there is a relationship, let alone that it�s going somewhere. They just think that we get together on Tuesday nights to fuck; after all, Friday night movies are reserved for their girlfriends.
3.) Girls have souls. Boys do not.
Believe it or not, I didn�t always think that men were evil: in fact, for many years I defended them against the bitter diatribes of my female friends. �You�re being irrational,� I�d say. �The entire male gender is not a waste of space. Put the knife down and back away from the penis, sweety.� I mean, I have an older brother, and I had a lot of male friends growing up. I knew them, I understood them, I could relate to them on a basic human level--I wasn�t raised to think of them as �the enemy,� basically. �My guy friends aren�t a totally different species,� I thought. �I know how to talk to them. So when I finally start dating, I won�t have the problems my girl friends are having, right?�
Wrong!
After being almost completely ignored by the male half of the gender during high school, it came to pass that I went off to college and met a boy. I liked him. He liked me. Happy strummy guitar music played in the background as we ate lunch together, watched movies together, sat on my bed and sucked face together�it was all good, until he had to say those words. You know--the ones that made me want to wrench off his manhood and throw it to a pack of angry pigs. Yeah, those words: �I consider you a friend, and nothing else.�
It was funny: in the weeks following that statement, I went back and forth between wanting him dead and�wanting him dead. When I wasn�t busy plotting his bloody demise, I was very sad because the one boy I liked was a rat-fucking bastard; I was so sad, in fact, that I listened to Coldplay and ate a ton of chocolate chip cookies, because that�s what they tell you to do for incredible, unbelievable romantic trauma. But it didn�t make a dent in my male-induced misery: I listened to �Clocks� more times than was healthy, but I still felt used and abused (a side effect of having been both). I ate chocolate cake until I almost vomited, but all it got me was a weight problem to go with my man problem. It wasn�t until I turned to my fellow women that I found some measure of relief.
By �turning to my fellow women,� I do not mean, �having hot gay sex with my sessy female friends,� because really, that�s just a male masturbatory fantasy. What I mean is, I talked to other women, told them about my horrible experience, and benefited from their kind words and really sexist humor. My girl friends had about five years of male-hating experience on me, and thus were able to lead me to the truth: in order to heal, one must allow oneself to hate, and in order to hate, one must allow oneself to be vitriolic. While I was busy going, �Well, ---- really hurt my feelings by ditching me ten seconds after he�d finished sticking his tongue down my throat,� my friends said what I really meant but couldn�t bear to vocalize. �I hate bulls hitters,� my friend Brandy wrote in my journal the night I posted about the incident. �They piss me off. It's just, if they want pussy or a cheap makeout session but don't want any baggage THEN SAY IT GAWD! I hate the sugar-coated, sweetened down �I like you as a friend and nothing more, that's why I fucking shoved my tongue in your mouth and felt you up and down--it was a totally friend thing!��
Yeah, what she said. Only multiply it by ten and add a few hundred more swear words, plus some bitter sobbing and a few death threats.
Brandy not only backed me up when I said that all men were bastards, she even helped me write a poem about it (well, we wrote two poems about it, but you only need to see one of them to get the point):
Brandy: "then he met a girl and she beat him down with cupid"
malwyn musing: lol
malwyn musing: Where's that from?
Brandy: I dunno. it rhymed. let'
Brandy: s keep on going!
malwyn musing: She took all his money and told him he was stupid.
Brandy: then she pulled out a bat and busted his..ehh..
Brandy: shit.
malwyn musing: Pick a new word and I'll rime with it.
Brandy: hmm....
Brandy: shit I should have just been like she pulled out a bat and capped his ass!
LOL
malwyn musing: And he was all, "Shit, never should have stolen her grass!"
Brandy: and she was all "yeah that's what you get bitch, for stealin' my shit!"
Brandy: :-P
malwyn musing: And then the dust he bit.
malwyn musing: Finis.
Brandy: lol
Brandy: I dunno. chicken soup for the frozen, bitter soul.
Brandy helped me be creative in my anger�and Erika, my best friend, helped me be violent about it. �You depressive emo whore! Cheer up you useless bag of pestilence and hay fever! Didn't I say....THROW THINGS?� she ranted at me in my livejournal. She told me that if I was upset about something and wanted this guy to know it, I should go into UNCA�s caf, steal a muffin, and hurl it at him the next time I saw him. �Make a scene!� she roared. �Scream at him in front of a whole bunch of people! He�ll run away, terrified! He�s a guy, after all--emotions are gross to them!� I haven�t taken her advice yet--I mean, what a waste of a perfectly good muffin--but it makes me giggle every time I see him, which is good. Because A.) it�s good that I can laugh about the whole situation and B.) it�s really unnerving if someone starts laughing her ass off every time you enter a room. And I want him to be unnerved. Bastard.