Yin, Yang, and Joni, Men’s Empathy
If I had to pick one thing I thought might be the greatest difference
between guys and gals--not including the biological elements--it
would have to be how unsympathetic men can be toward their fellows.
Sure, differences must play some role in the yin and
the yang of life, but I just can’t understand how a guy’s
inability to have empathy helps anything yang, yin, or otherwise--especially
when it concerns his own wife’s best friend.
in point: My best friend Oajsees (she had given herself the nickname
“Oasis” during her sophomore year, but altered the
spelling to better represent the complexity of her creative self-reality)
has recently had a few guy problems.
Now I’m similar to most women, in that I like to confer
with my husband about my friends’ problems, but, when I
try, all he does is roll his eyes and make jokes about euthanasia.
If it weren’t for the fact that every man I’ve ever
known has acted in this identical self-centered manner, I’d
divorce the jerk today.
I mean, who would have such a lack of heart but a man to make
a snide comment about a wonderful, creative, and original spirit
like Oajsees? How many women can say they’ve never been
married by the age of 38 like she can? And how many more--married,
divorced, or single--have the ability to carry their stoic beauty
about them like a badge of courage? It’s such an absolute
shame so few guys go for her.
But if they do, the timing’s always wrong, which is the
cause of her present quandary. There’s a guy named Donaldo
she’s had a crush on for years, and last month they finally
hooked up. But there’s one other problem: Scott. Scott is
an 18-year-old poet Oajsees met at an open mic two weeks ago.
Of course, because she was seeing Donaldo, Oajsees hadn’t
been considering getting involved with another guy. But after
the poetry reading, Scott approached her and told her he wanted
to marry her--a romantic situation a girl can’t resist!
Okay, I know it sounds sudden. But if things were going perfect
with Donaldo, I don’t think Oajsees would have had sex with
Scott in the cafe bathroom after the open mic. See, Donaldo and her have not
had any real sexual contact. Well, not in the normal sense. They
spend the night together, but apparently they haven’t even
kissed. The only thing that could be construed as being sexual
is when Donaldo gets up in the morning and goes to the bathroom
and jacks off on Oajsees’ panties.
This is the type of scenario my husband can’t deal with,
but it’s exactly the type of situation that causes a woman
to seek the guiding help of her friends. Oajsees really believed
the fact Donaldo was taking it slow was that it was “the
big sign” (every girl knows that if a guy doesn’t
go for it right away it means he respects you). But what’s
a girl to infer when Mr. Right makes her “special presents”
every morning in the privacy of her own bath? Will this be the
extent of their relationship, or could this be a segue into a
more normal relationship? Such questions can taunt a complex woman
like Oajsees to no end. But my husband hasn’t the ability
to contemplate these states. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re
kidding me, right?” he said when I told him what Donaldo
had been doing. I wanted to know if he thought Donaldo’s
activity could be construed as a man’s way of showing devotion.
Luckily, Oajsees is getting some play: Scott, apparently, fucks
like a rabbit! Sure, he comes every minute or so, but his “down
time” is minimal. Unfortunately, there are some concerns
here, too. If things were going perfect with Scott, I don’t
think Oajsees would continue to spend nights with Donaldo. I mean,
she loves it that Scott is already saving to buy her a ring, and
she adores the romantic poems he writes, and she loves that he
calls 30 times a day, but she’s concerned he might be too
young. When he turns 28, she will be 48, and then she could eventually
lose Scott altogether when he takes a mistress at the age of 38.
She’d almost be 60, then!
Well, it seems that fate almost took care of her quandary. Last
week Scott scaled four stories up a drainpipe and caught Oajsees
and Donaldo in bed. She told Donaldo that Scott was just a crazy
punk kid who had a crush on her, and that at least satiated Donaldo’s
curiosity concerning the youthful Spider Man. She also felt certain
that the Goddess Isis had sent her this solution: Now Scott would
run off and she could focus on loving Donaldo. And that morning,
after Donaldo had left, she admitted that she licked the semen
from her panties.
It would have all been fine had Scott not returned the next evening.
Out of love for her, he had burned off his shoulder-length hair
with a propane torch and engraved her name in his chest with a
butter knife (although, apparently, he mistakenly spelled it “Oasis”).
Again, this is where those sheer differences in emotional capabilities
between males and females really become obvious. “Jesus
fucking Christ, you’re kidding me, right?” is all
my husband could say when I asked him which love seemed stronger.
Although Oajsees is a true free spirit, one who normally taps
into the Goddess forces of the universe and allows the cosmic
mother energy to rule her actions instead of using her mind, this
time she devised a plan. She was going to tell both Scott and
Donaldo she was pregnant. Whoever agreed to take responsibility
would be the one she would stick with, and then she would fake
a miscarriage by falling down some stairs, so no harm done. And
true to form, all my husband could utter were his same derogatory
comments. Although this time he mentioned that Oajsees should
be put to sleep.
“But we never even kissed!” Donaldo yelled. Oajsees
told him that she had gotten into the habit of wearing the panties--out
of devotion--and she supposed there could have been some accidental
Donaldo, then, dropped out of the running by calling her “the
dumbest fucking bitch [he’d] ever laid eyes on” before
storming out of KFC.
But not to be dissuaded, later that day Oajsees met Scott, the
man whom she thought was about to become the man of her dreams.
She sat across from him, the smell of burnt hair wafting across
the table and the chest engraving seeping puss through his dirty
white T-shirt. This was a man who loved her, who would care for
her, and who would burn off all his hair with a propane torch
Their eyes met, and she hinted there was something special she
had to disclose. Then, clasping his hands between hers, she told
him of the miracle that would soon be born between them.
“How do you know it’s not that other dude’s
kid?” he asked. “How many guys are you fucking? I’m
starting to think you’re like a box of assorted creams!”
he exclaimed, and then stomped out of Taco Bell.
I’m neither happy for Oajsees, nor am I sad for her. I
think she tried the best she could, but, like I mentioned earlier,
the timing always seems off whenever love comes knocking at her
I’ll probably confide in my husband again, despite knowing
what it will get me, because that’s what women do (although
I’ll probably wait awhile, and see if anything happens with
Oajsees). The other day I noticed she was walking funny, and she
told me she had three pairs of soiled panties and a mentholated
tube of ChapStick brand chapstick stuffed inside of her. I really
would like to know what my husband thinks of the chapstick, but
there’s no reason to query him just yet; that would only
give him all the more reason to make a snide, shallow comment
before anything really happens.
But you know, even if bad love, complicated love, or confusing
love raps at Oajsees’ heart’s portal, it’s her
best friend who must be there to guide and advise her--a selfless,
caring act that guys simply cannot comprehend.