discusses, unscientifically, what women find as attractive characteristics in men. The many posts following the article are also interesting.
The lesson I learned is that while most women do not perceive muscled, hypermasculine men to be attractive, women that have "masculine" traits--high sex drive, high activity level--typically go for "masculine" men. Men that are active sexually, physically. This is an important lesson.
(I'm less inclined to use the scare quotes than in the past. Back in the day--after coming to college--I was more inclined to deny a biological reality behind our constructed performance of the femininity/masculinity dichotomy. That's back when I was more "responsible," and I thought that that would make me happy, that that was where my values were. I was so much older then; I'm younger than that now.)
My wife just laid down for a nap. "It's okay if I want to take a nap on a Sunday afternoon," she said. "Yes, you're right," I said. "The problem is that I don't want to do the things that you want to do, and you don't like what I do. It's not that one of us is wrong, just that we don't match." I really wish she would read this blog, which is sort of a prolonged and pathetic cry for help (see top exchange about not getting what one expected out of marriage). She got miffed at me earlier today when I walked out of shopping at Bed Bath and Beyond (how bathetic) and went to Starbucks and drank some sort of concoctions worth the $4.
It's just a lot harder to be a married, responsible adult than I ever thought it would be. Jess's accusations of my "selfishness" and "narcissism" only make me--or make me choose to--take on that role. Like, solidify it, reify it. Certainly that doesn't make me happy. And selfishness and narcissism are not in my nature; they're like distant leaves on a large tree that turn into the focus, given a telescope and enough magnification.
I want to work out, I want to travel--maybe here. I don't feel safe in cars; I feel like a mugwump--a traitor to my own legs. I want to save money. My wife Jessica does things that feel toxic to me. Credit card debt without foreseeable end, a sedentary lifestyle, burning gas in oversize vehicles, buying shit we don't need and that can only trap one into soul-crushing domesticity, which, I unerstand, can offer many people "security" (in the "be a follower and George W. Bush will take care of you" sense), but I happen to prefer "freedom" (in the way Jimi Hendrix used the word, not George W.). Not to mention stressing about work in a totally out-of-balance way.
In the end, my dear sweet friend, it's a wonder my wife is attracted to me, and also that we look decent. Oh, how I miss the foresight of my friend Tyler, who at one time seemed to understand the male Afghani dictum, "Women are for sex, men are for loving."
Experience, ah yes, has placed me in positions I once thought unthinkable. --ams