[From The Frisky]
A sensitive guy’s emotional availability is decorative, a means by which to exploit a woman’s weakness for men who are not total beer-powered, boxer shorts wearing Guitar Heroes with mommy issues and 18 gigabytes of porn hidden in a computer file named “Unicorns.” This sort of dude displays his sensitivity with emo mixtapes, passionate rants on fluffy political issues like being pro-bunny rabbit or anti-death from shrapnel, and professions of understanding the subtle intricacies of the female heart.
I don’t understand the female heart. I can barely comprehend my own selfish, insecure, dark little heart-much less a woman’s. I have no academic or critical perspective on gender identity issues; all I know are the mistakes I have made. I have neither been lucky nor thoughtful in love. In fact, some of my exes might say I’ve been downright thoughtless in love. Like karma, self-awareness is a bitch.
One needn’t be “sensitive” to lure women into bed. That’s a lowdown, dirty trick. I have my own lowdown, dirty tricks that have served me in the past. My tawdry, wayward, lonely past. Now, I’m currently single and publicly working out how to be a better person. One day, I might write about those misadventures, without totally prostituting my personal life. I’ll just be slutty with it. So many hearts were broken over the course of some years, mine and others, that it all blends into one gigantic tangle of woe, confusion, and occasionally really hot sex in a bathroom stall.
In fact, instead of being the sort of guy who keeps an acoustic guitar around so he can warble an impromptu version of Guns N’ Roses’ epic late 80’s could-be-a-love-but-is-probably-a-veiled-abusive-boyfriend-apology ballad “Patience,” I was a guy who flipped his faults to work for him. My insecurity became self-deprecation, my brooding moodiness became mysteriousness, my low self-esteem became galloping around like a centaur whose penis had its own zip code. And I could quaff, and convince randy bar wenches to quaff along with me, in order for us to have bawdy fun, and then in the morning, awkwardly lament having to see each other at work…
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