Evil on Earth

Hello poppets. Tonight's title comes to us courtesy of my dear friend Melia. She has recently been on the receiving end of several emails from a sister-in-law clearly off her meds, or perhaps on too many of them. These were group emails, so the whole family could share, and can be summarized thus: a) Why is everyone so mean to me? b) Everyone IS so mean to me! c) What's wrong with you people that you are all so mean to me when I try so hard?

Sigh. To bust out a little old-fashioned ebonics: Dat be one crazy bitch. I find I'm sighing that under my breath with more frequency than usual. And unfortunately, ladies, it is all directed at the Us of the species.

I have been most pleased with the males of the species lately (the Them, in case you are wondering). In general, men, I am finding you most pleasing and transparent compared to a handful of said Crazy Bitches. Please note, I am not castigating the whole of womankind. I am very happy to be a woman and some of my best friends are gals. However, it cannot be allowed to pass when odd behaviour is flaunted for the world's derision.

You would not know it to look at these particular gals, at least not at once. They appear pleasant and rational and all-in-all so together one might be forgiven for thinking, wow, you seem to have your shit together. I think I'd like to know you further. So you proceed down that road, and it is for a while a merry journey.

And then they start sending out "signals". Mysterious non-sequitors dropped into conversations, and then aborted and waved away with a smile and a "whatever...". Okay, whatever. That means I'm supposed to ignore what you just said, right? I'm within my rights not to think anymore about it, correct?

Wrong. Apparently these signals are supposed to beam directly into my brain, preferably the cerebral cortex or whatever part processes language. In goes the signal, out pops the translated summary. It is always very important; however, it cannot be articulated verbally in a rational or precise manner by said signaller. The signal is assumed to be somehow intuited by signallee. Ergo, I just know what's eating at you, lady.

I'm not devoid of intuition, but appear to be missing this signal function. I'm not interested in acquiring it. I like most women, but don't put up with difficult or cryptic ones because, well, I don't have to. (That's the level of effort some guys choose to put into those ones, if they are enticing enough to merit the strain on one's sanity or credulity.)

This no-thanks attitude has put me at an impasse with two women this year. One of them had called me mid-summer to tell me she thought I was amazing, and it was nothing I'd said or done, but that recently she hadn't called or made an effort to see me because she just didn't want to, and what did I think about that? Hmmmm.

This same one phoned me a few days ago. Okay, I thought, seeing her name on my call display, let's see what she's got to say. She must have worked through whatever was eating at her, and I was looking forward to feeling pleased for her. (How generous of me, I know, la-dee-dah. Anyway, it would turn out my precious generosity was not called upon.) After the usual exchange of hello-hello and how ya been, she gets to the heart of the matter.

'Well, Gretchen, I called you before to let you know I didn't want to see you or talk to you. Since this non-event (her word!), it's been a while. I've had some time to reflect....and I still don't want to talk to you or see you or hang out with you. So yeah."

"Huh," says I, and pause. "Did we sleep together and someone forget to tell me?"

General embarrassed laughter. She was quite amiable but firm about it. The conversation was short. I signed off with a see-ya-when-I-see-ya. As soon I put down the phone, however, my real response slid quietly out of my mouth: "And fuck you too, nutjob."

A couple of days later I pressed send on a short, civil email instructing her not to contact me further. Her behaviour is bizarre and verges on the malicious from someone I once considered a friend. While I wished her well, I advised a) she was just not that into me and b) I'm okay with that part but c) she needs to stop telling me about it. And good luck! I erased her from the usual communications portals (cell, Facebook, email address book) and expect I won't hear from her again.

While I was at it, I erased my other friend, who I presume is still in a huff on someone else's behalf who, you may recall, was never offended to begin with. Jeepers. Apparently we just outgrew each other like hand-me-down shoes, and the blisters she never told me about were a bitch. Another "good luck!"

I also get the stories of others.

Jasmine tells me about her own bi-polar babe, She swings from "Let's have a girl's night soon, I miss you!!!" to a dead-eyed "I've realized we have a fatal flaw in our friendship (but I don't want to talk about it)", and then back again, all in the space of a week.

Melia and her two, count 'em, two crazy sister-in-laws, plus an ongoing crazier than FUCK mother-in-law.

Then the stories I get from men. Lovers past and present start these stories carefully, full of wonder. Yes they are puzzled, they fail to compute, because they tell of broads one step away from boiling your pet bunny in a Langostina pot like so much delicious lobster. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Don't get me wrong. I know dudes can be petty and malicious. However, it's been rare to meet with such men, much less engage with them in relationships. In fact, in 37.5 years there's only been one I look back on and say, yup, that guy was a dick.

Most of them were nice enough. Sure, a few were hapless or deluded. Several were clumsy, or hurtful due to immaturity and a lack of communication skills. , but only one was spiteful. Even he wasn't that bad. Compared to these daft cunts I hear tell of, that baitbaitbait and create petty farces and insipid dramas for their own self-indulgent, self-manufactured (wait for it) Feelings. Oh brother.
I do mean that: oh brother. I feel kinship with the dudes on this one. I've never been more aware that I'm evolving into a chimera: a straight man, who is into other men, travelling in a woman's body and loving it.

Anyway, ladies, for god's sake stay sane.

Cheerfully, zestfully yours,

GR