Man: a simple, predictable beast | AspenTimes.com

Man: a simple, predictable beast

Alison Berkley

I think I might be sexist. I just don’t really like girls.I’ve always been one of the guys, preferred the company of men. I think it has something to do with their eat/sleep/have sex approach to life. I mean, let’s face it – they’re not the most complicated creatures. There are always exceptions, but it’s a pretty straightforward testosterone-to-simplicity equation. When a guy is complicated, he’s probably weighing in way too heavy on the feminine side, which is fine if you want someone to shop with. But real men pretty much let it all hang out.I was thinking about this after my friend Adam invited me over for dinner the other night and warned me repeatedly I would be the only woman there.”Yeah, so? What’s the problem?” I asked. I reassured him I would be just fine.I arrived to a relatively tame barbeque on the back porch, with a table set for me and three other dudes. Except all of them are pretty well to do. Like, we’re sitting on the patio of this guy’s house in Starwood watching all the planes take off, and they know the make and model of each one because they’ve all had one of their own. Okay, chartered. Whatever. I don’t say anything because from my 620 square foot condo in the ABC, I hear a lot of planes, and I smell a lot of planes, but I don’t really see them. I’ve certainly never ridden in a private plane, unless you can count that 6-seat Cessna my parents chartered for the 30-minute flight to Nantucket when I was 12 (our poor dog threw up because my mom gave her too many tranquilizers), or the helicopters I’ve ridden in during ski and snowboard trips (maybe not as expensive, but definitely just as cool).So at first I’m a tad uncomfortable. This isn’t the Bud-draft crowd I’m used to. But they’re still guys, and soon enough they start talking about women. I realize it doesn’t matter if they fly commercial or not. They’re all essentially the same. Naturally, I know one of the women they’re talking about, so I chime in. “She has great tits. I mean, they’re big, but they actually look like they might be real,” Their ears perk up like I’ve just said, “Do you want a treat?” to my dog. The thing is, I’m being sincere, and we end up talking about this poor girl’s breasts for like 15 minutes. Guy No 1 says he’s seen them up close and personal and assures me they are real. Then Guy No 2 starts bitching about his ex and we get onto the subject of how all women are psycho. The guys all glance over at me nervously, waiting for me to jump on the feminist soap box since I’ve already made it obvious I’m more brains than breasts (I’m feeling very Jeanne Garofalo, minus the black rimmed glasses). “No matter what, I meet someone cool and I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” says Guy No 3. “They’re all nuts.” “I couldn’t agree more,” I say. “It’s just as confusing for us as it is for you guys. We’re a complete mystery, even to ourselves.”I tell them I love guys because they say what they mean and they mean what they say. Women, on the other hand, tend to do the exact opposite. Like you’ll say, “Would you mind if I borrowed your favorite shirt and didn’t return it for six months?” And they’ll go, “Of course, take it! What’s mine is yours!” when really they mean NO with every ounce of their being. Then they get mad at you when you do exactly what they expected you to do. But the worst kind of woman is the one whose real agenda has nothing to do with you but getting the man. She’ll act like it’s you she’s interested in, not your brother/best friend/ex-boyfriend. The worst thing about this girl is she befriends you under the guise of a confidante, so you do what girls do and you talk about boys. Only you’re pouring your heart out and she’s taking notes, strategizing which one of your exes will be her next catch. Not only is she going to stab you in the back anyway, you’ve helped her sharpen the knife.What blows me away is I can always tell immediately if I’m going to be able to trust a woman or not. The whole benefit-of-the-doubt thing has always come back to bite me in the ass. If she smells rotten, chances are she probably is. Guys tend to overlook that when they want to get laid.So it’s always a special occasion when I meet a girl I actually like. And lately I feel blessed because there have been a slew of them. Like Saturday night, I was invited to a girl’s only wig party and suddenly found myself wandering the streets with a gaggle of obnoxious drunk chicks with pink and blue and purple hair and oversized glasses, carousing the streets of Aspen with wine and plastic cups, camera flashes blinding anyone who crossed our path. And just a few days before that my new friend Jordan and I had a no-holds-barred conversation about our sexual fantasies while swinging Hoola-Hoops around our hips up at the Sundeck during Sunday bluegrass. She makes me laugh like I did when I was a kid, fits of uncontrollable giggles provoked by everything and nothing at all, hapless joy that’s pure and silly. And I just got off the phone with my old friend Sarah down in Carbondale who I can still share two hour phone calls with after 20 years of friendship. Of course I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop – I just hope it’s my size so I can borrow it.The Princess is a Pisces, so she knows a bad fish when she smells one. Send your loving e-mail to alison@berkleymedia.com

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