THE CHASE

I love women.

Curvy women. Beautiful women. Classy women. Short, tall, petite, voluptuous, grand, eccentric, shy, exciting, daring, smooth, clean, radical, intelligent. Women.

In fact, I love women so much; I could have them all the time.

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Maybe an afternoon snack, or even in the middle of the night (if I felt like getting up and I needed something to nibble on, that is).

Oh, how wonderful they are; running around on the Sunset Strip, with their 800 dollar Versace purses and matching pink poodle. “Ooh, ooh! A new shop! I haven’t seen this one before!”

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stereotype. Not all women are like this. Some are genuinely smart and sophisticated. Have a mind, are educated, have powerful, respectful positions within the framework of society. These are the women I love the most. They know what they want. They went to Harvard business school; fought through and survived the boys club; triumphed against the status-quo and proved that they are just as worthy as the rest of us. Magnificent.

There I go, stereotyping again. Not all women are like this either.

Some are ugly; desperate, insecure, hateful, arrogant, conceited, fat. There’s nothing WRONG with fat, it just so happens that the larger portion of society does not ENJOY putting their arms around a tree-trunk sized marshmallow and squeezing. I for one (and this is only personal opinion), do not enjoy comparing love making to leafing through the financial section of the Sunday Times. But there’s nothing wrong with fat. Or ugly, or stupid, or rude, or insecure, or hateful….

Did it again; stereotyping. Sorry.

But the true reason I love women so much, is for one, very good, simple quality. This one quality I will never, ever, no matter how hard I try, be able to possess. It’s not a physical attribute, nor a quality of character. It’s not flowing long hair or a cute little smile that could defrost my freezer; nor is it a sweet, smooth, tight, curvy, hello-I-just-did-40-leg-extensions-at-the-gym ass. It’s not wit, humor, sensitivity or soft pink lips.
Soft, pink, lips….

It is in effect an inherent quality. This quality is the very essence of what makes women, women, and curses men to a life of suffering and misery. It is a quality that exists across the board, with all species. Monkeys, giraffes, zebras, mice, and yes even leprechauns, of the female sexual persuasion, have this quality. It is an innate quality that is rooted deep in our biological programming and will never, ever go away. The gene pool, the rate-race, the need to survive and create off-spring; these are all bi-products of this very quality – Selectivity.

Men blast a shot gun at what ever gets in the way, and women set-up a leg-trap and wait, patiently.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, women. Sweet, sensual, titillating women…

Jerry Seinfeld once said, “Only 12% of the population is date-able. The rest – UNDATE-ABLE!!”. I tend to agree with him.

(Beautiful)Women need only be concerned with quality control. Men, on the other hand, are concerned only with quantity control. As in, MORE quantity; some quantity; a quantity. In my case, any quantity.

Men have no standards. What for? If we had standards, we would all be in deep shit. “Standards” is a word that was invented for people who have “selection”; as in: a large quantity to choose from. The majority of men (please refer to the 12% rule), are simply out swingin’ the bat at whatever might get in the way.

Oh, to be a woman. To afford to be so selective. How I long to be chased by the hordes; to select among the many that knock at my door. How I long to scrutinize; to pass judgment on those that flock to my feet with flowers and promises of romantic dinners.

What’s the most, that I as a man, get to pick on? “God, she can’t even recite the alphabet with out pausing to think about it, but she sure looks ready to go at it, so what the hell!”

You see, we men need it all the time. Day and night, night and day. Pretty much when ever it’s available. You’ll never hear a man say I’m too tired. Hell, you’ll never hear a man say I’m too anything.

As a friend of mine recently commented, “I had sex twice already today, and all I can think about is finding a strip club”.

Why do you think prostitution is “the world’s oldest profession”?

So, that, in a nut shell, is why I love women. How I long for them, need them, desire them, feel for them; fall for them. Why? Because I’m not.

What inspired me to write this little rant? A similar rant, Beyond Sunset: The Dating Game, from the other side of the fence, complaining about the lack of quality in LA. The Lack of men meeting her standards. No, that’s fine. You have the right, as a woman, to be choosy, as to who will get to decant your Merlot, taste your Zinfandel. After all, if I had dozens of women tugging at my coat-tails everyday, I’d start to get pretty picky too (then again, maybe not). As a man, I don’t suffer that problem though.

Am I jealous? Yes.

Am I bitter, angry, insecure, lonely, un-happy, self-loathing, frustrated? Yes.

Do I know the first thing about how to get women to take their pants off for me? Besides putting 300 dollars down on the dresser? No.