For Whom Doth The Sexy Bell Toll?

My very dear friend, The Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist, and I deluded ourselves into thinking that we were still athletes one recent Sunday.  We played a couple of hours of “hang-over tennis” on a gorgeous afternoon.  After removing protective knee braces, ankle supports, and our respectively bruised egos, we made our way back across the river to grab some beer and sit on his patio with his neighbor and our friend, The Pistol.

The Pistol earned her nickname because of her fierce mind, liberal politics, staunch feminism, irreverent wit, and more than occasionally profane vocabulary.   She is near the top of both of our lists of favorite people.

As we were leaving the corner store with a few six packs of Bell’s Oberon in tow, OSSL told me that he had recently received an email from Southern Charmer, once a relatively recent college grad who OSSL helped land a job in his field.

“Refresh my memory, which one is the Southern Charmer?” I inquired.

“You met her that night at Cashion’s.”

“OSSL, over the years, I’ve met more than a couple of women with you at Cashion’s, more information please.”

“She was the one with the really see-through shirt and the great rack.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember her now. How’s she doing?”

“Eh, she’s alright I suppose… she’s just contacting me because she wants to change jobs.”

“Refresh my memory about why you stopped dating her?” I asked.

“We weren’t dating, I was just helping her out.”

“You took her to a nice restaurant, you each dressed for the occasion, you paid the tab, you two flirted.  Call it whatever you want but it still smells like a rose.”

“Fine, whatever, but it stopped that night you two met… it was the hypocrisy that really turned me off” OSSL declared in a partial confirmation of the rosy aroma.

“What hypocrisy?” I asked.

“Well, she wears this see through shirt with her rather large rack on display in some fucking Victoria Secret Wonderbra, and then bitches about how ‘gross’ it was that men always leered at her.  I mean, you can’t have it both ways.  When a woman wears a shirt like that it’s because she wants men to leer at her.”

“Pump your brakes for a second” I replied.  “I’m not saying it’s likely you’re wrong, but it is dangerous to ascribe motivations to the actions of others.  I’ll concede that she might have been foolish not to expect the looks, but it’s not appropriate to suggest that she actively wanted them.”

“I call bullshit on that” OSSL fired back, “Women who dress that way want that kind of attention.”

By this point, we were parking the car. I tried to make my point more clear – “I’m saying that you’re probably right in your assertions about Southern Charmer, as you are probably right about most women who attire themselves that way, however, it is a bridge too far to suggest that all women who wear something revealing or particularly sexy do so for the attentions of men.  Perhaps they dress for themselves, perhaps they wear something like that because it makes them feel sexy.”

We argued for a few moments more before I said “Let’s let The Pistol weigh in on this… and I’ll bet she’ll agree with me.

The Pistol was already sitting on OSSL’s porch when we rounded the corner of his building.  We popped three bottle caps and immediately delved into the conversation.

“I gotta say, I am more aligned with OSSL on this one” The Pistol said in a declaration that surprised all three of us.  “For most women, sexy is inter-related with how other people react to us… and I would bet that the same is true for men too.”

“I’m not saying that reaction from women isn’t a part of it for men, and vice versa for women, just that it is only a part of it.  More importantly, I am stating that surely some women, and men too, dress exclusively for how it makes them feel.  She surely would be a fool to expect that with her boobs essentially on display that men wouldn’t look.”  It was another unsuccessful attempt to convince OSSL and The Pistol of my point.

“Refugee, are you seriously telling me that when you wear one of those fancy suits of yours” The Pistol began before pausing briefly and concluding with “You really don’t wear them for how women respond to you in them?”

“Pistol, I have three kinds of suits in my closet: good suits, great suits, and meeting ex-girlfriends suits.  When I wear the latter, there is an extra spring in my step but that spring exists on my way to the Metro before I have seen another person.  I wear those suits for me first, and any extra attention I get from women is just the cherry atop the sartorial sundae.”

We argued for a few more minutes before I admitted the failure of my persuasion and changed the subject to that day’s edition of Meet the Press…. But, Gentle Readers, I pose these questions to you:

• Does a woman wearing something revealing inherently want the eyes or attention of men, or women if she is so oriented?
• Is it possible for women to wear something risqué just because of how it makes them feel and not as a cry for that attention?
• Or does the answer exist in some other explanation?

Evolving Backwards

I’ve read Holla Back DC for several months now – I may not always agree with their pronouncements but I am endlessly fascinated and disheartened by the uncivilized behavior of my brethren with non-matching chromosomes.  I also found my friend, Urban Bohemian’s, question about Catcaller Zero to be an interesting take on the knuckle-dragging courtship ritual of yelling random and frequently vulgar things to women on the street.

Like the two aforementioned bloggers, I also wondered about the implied positive reinforcement of this behavior.  Surely some woman, at some point, responded affirmatively to this, else evolutionary law dictates that it would stop.  I just had never seen it… until Monday.

I was walking through Columbia Heights, which can be argued is ground central of the Holla problem, when I heard a typically crude cat-call.  The object of this vulgarity responded with “You can’t speak to me that way; that’s not my name.”

“Well, I don’t know your name; what’s your name” was the hollarers attempt at a logical response.

To my horror and more than slight amazement, this woman replied “My name is Foolish Woman Who Rewards Troglydyte Tendencies.”  Increasing my horror, FWWRTT reversed direction and walked towards the hollerer to speak with him.

I don’t know the outcome of their conversation, and I am not in any way suggesting that we blame women, the subjects or victims (depending on your perspective,) for the behavior of the offenders; but at least we now know that it works sometimes.

*****

Speaking of encouraging negative behavior…

I had just left the wash closet of the restaurant when I was conspicuously distracted by a Long Lashed Ingénue, and her severely hot boots, as she walked into the joint.  When she settled into the bar a couple of empty chairs away, I said “I love your boots.”

“Thank you, it’s the first time I’ve worn them and I was a little nervous walking here because I couldn’t walk to fast.  Surprisingly, I am on time for something for the first time in like ever.”

“Are you on a first date” was the question I asked despite knowing the answer.

“I will be once he gets here.”

We chatted for a moment or two more before my friend, the Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist, returned from his phone call and we returned to conversation.  LLI’s impatience grew after ten minutes elapsed with her date still not there.  When it hit fifteen minutes late, I joked that he had five more minutes before she should ditch him and come drinking with us.  When it got to twenty minutes she was visibly annoyed and said that the first words from his mouth better be a huge apology and an explanation of a lost cell phone.

LLI’s date eventually posted.  He was attired by accident, a subject that I’ve never understood, and there was no apology offered.  He went to get their table and she asked for her check.  I insisted that the bartender put her bourbon on my tab and wished her good luck.  She replied with a not too hopeful “thanks.”

Thirty minutes later we walked by their table on our way out the door.  She was holding his hand and looking wistful and happy.

I don’t know what the exceedingly tardy gentleman said in those thirty minutes, I don’t know if he waited until he got to the table to issue the profound apology that was required.  I don’t know if he lost his iron along with his cell phone, and the power was off so he had to dress in the dark.  I don’t know if he made a case for himself that mitigated all of the lateness, the absent apology, and the sloppy dressing.  I would however, bet dollars to donuts* that it never happened.

Am I blaming women for the poor behavior of men? Maybe just a bit.  I know that most of my lady friends and suspect that most of the female readers of this blog don’t contribute to this problem; but there is little room for debate about the fact that “bad boys” have their behavior rewarded by too many women.  When behavior is rewarded it is defacto encouraged to expand.  Please talk me down from this position.

* That phrase used to have a great deal more meaning before the price of donuts got pretty close to a dollar.

The Compliment that Convinced Me

Most of my friends have never seen me without my goatee, so I am never surprised by their surprise when they see me without the facial hair that I had worn for more than fifteen years.  Of the friends who have expressed a preference, a solid but not overwhelming majority have indicated they prefer the clean shaven look.  I am still on the fence about it… or I was on until last night.

I walked into one of my locals to meet my dear friend, the Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist, for a drink and dinner.  Our favorite bartender greeted me with a big hug and a “Daaaayummm, you look so different without the beard.”

I was about to ask her to amplify her thoughts before she continued “I mean, you looked great before, but then you had that ‘professorial look’ now you look like his younger much hotter grad student TA who makes all the girls want to attend the study labs.”

Yeah, I’m never growing facial hair again.

Loose Lips

My dear friend, the Only Slight Sleazy Lobbyist, and I were at the tail end of the best kind of late and lazy summer Sunday.  Our unplanned day included top down driving around the city, a farmers market, a spin through Haines Point, a trip to the batting cage, and a couple of beers on a patio.  We went back to his place to watch the end of the Giants game on the massive porn machine that adorns his wall.  It didn’t take too long for us to realize that game was a replay from the previous night so we switched to the latest episode of Entourage.

E, my favorite character on the show, was having a conversation with his sort of girlfriend when he accidentally called her by his ex-girlfriend’s name.

OSSL: That ever happen to you?

Refugee: Once.  In bed with a woman too.

OSSL: Are you serious, what did you say?

Refugee: I didn’t know it happened… in my defense, we both had been boozing for a while.  I woke up the next morning and she was on the couch and really frosty toward me.  She and I were in a generally weird place, so I just thought she was in one of her moods.  I left.  It wasn’t until much later in the day that I got a text from her that asked “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

OSSL: How did you respond?

Refugee: I still had no idea what happened so I replied “Inasmuch as I haven’t a clue, what are you talking about?”  Then she told me that I said another woman’s name while we were in bed.  There really was no recovery from that, but that’s not the worst part for me.

OSSL: Oh god, what’s worse?

Refugee: I really just wanted to ask her what name I said.

Kryptonite Is Only Dangerous If You Want It

“Fancy running into you here” I said to Kryptonite (formerly known as AB) as I alighted from the car I borrowed from an old friend.

“Good to see you” she replied with a hug hello.  “When did you get this Jeep?”

“I didn’t; it belongs to an old friend.  I am doing an after work dinner/bbq thing at his place for the people in his office, so I have been tooling around all day getting supplies.”

“Well you look great – I mean it’s nice to see you not in a suit for once” she noted with a bit of sarcasm.  “So what’s on the menu?”

“The crowd is a mix of people who need to be impressed and a bunch of junior staffers who need to be fed and given copious amounts of cheep beer, so the menu reflects that.”

“You know, this whole ‘Casual Refugee’ look with the khakis and flip flops and the top down Jeep thing really suits you.”

Actually, it suits Kryptonite and maybe her idea of who she’d like me to be but these are runaround clothes for me (not the Jeep, I’d rock that anytime and in any attire.)

“So come on, tell me what you’re making” she persisted unmoved by the thought bubble over my head.

“Slow Roasted Pulled Pork Sandwiches with a Memphis BBQ Sauce, Capresé Skewers, House Made Guacamole some with bacon some without, Five different types of sausages and brats, Tomato and Gorgonzola Orzo Salad, Asparagus wrapped in Prosciutto, Asian Style Skirt Steak, Jerk Chicken Satay, Lemon and Dill Roasted Sockeye Salmon Smoked on Cedar Planks, and Grilled Pineapple for dessert”

“Wow, that’s some kinda BBQ.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries.  I asked about her folks, she inquired about my writing.

In what I can only presume was an exhaustion related fatigue, I said “If you’d like, you’re welcome to stop by tomorrow; some of the heavy hitters there would be good people for you to meet.”

“Really, you know how I love your food!  Just send me a text with the place and time.  I’d love to come.”

“Send me one now, please, so I have your number.”

“You don’t have my number?” she said with a pout that I cannot believe I once found charming, and am mystified that I could find it that way again.

“I had to delete it… text messages and emails too.  I didn’t trust myself not to call you.” Kryptonite feigned shock with a tinge of hurt but I knew that it just masked the smile she was suppressing.

A couple of text were exchanged, a couple of promises too.  She promised to show, and I promised myself that it didn’t matter if she did.  I promised myself that I could see her for what she was for me and what I never wanted her to be.

Less than a day later, the cooking was largely done, the masses were fed and watered, the uppercase names impressed, and Kryptonite didn’t post.  The best thing about my new Crackberry is that it makes it really easy to delete the entire history of someone from the device.

I don’t need to delete Krpytonite’s history from my memory… it reflects it very accurately these days.

If Hating This is Lame, I Don’t Wanna Be Hip

I cancelled my Friday night date mostly because of my indifference towards her but the whiny client and his imagined emergency provided a good excuse that had the added convenience of being true. After mollifying the client, my evening was free. So when my very dear friend, the Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist (OSSL,) invited me to join him and a few of his friends at a downtown bar/nightclub, I agreed despite knowing better.

From prior visits I, I knew better than to give Café Lousy Mojito even small amounts of my cash or time but I boredom got the better of me. I arrived in the tween part of the evening – too late for happy hour, too early for the real club kids – hoping to find the sweet spot in the night. I gave my ID to the surly stereotype at the door – black leather jacket, three day stubble, bad attitude – and moved through the more crowded than expected night spot looking for OSSL and crew.

Like most Latin themed places downtown, CLM, had attractive but bad bartenders, too loud music which necessitated near yelling to communicate, and a dance floor populated in equal measure with really good salsa/merengue dancers and gringos just drunk enough to think they have rhythm. Having checked the main floor and the tiny upper level alcove without finding them, I descended the dark staircase to the basement bar and found OSSL easily. An outsize voice, always holding court near a bar, wildly punctuating his point with one hand, and a pint in the other – yeah that’s him.

I was introduced to the crew of five stylish, early to mid 30s gents, and one lady who is “I could boil water by looking at a glass” hot. I am certain that none of them remembered my name because it was too loud for them to have heard it and too dark for my face to have made an impression. I made a point of chatting with each person individually. I sipped a beer that took too long to get from a bartender who couldn’t be bothered to say thank you when I left her an industry sized tip.

I had one more beer because having just one is rude and milled about a bit more, yelled into other peoples ear chatted a bit more. After an hour (or what felt like it,) I grabbed my coat to leave and said my good bye’s. Just as I turned to face the stairs, the Boil Water Hot woman landed on the final step.

“You’re not being lame are you? You’re not leaving, right?” She mock-pouted.

“Yes, I am lame; yes I am leaving. This place just isn’t my scene, but it was very nice meeting you.”

“What’s wrong with Café Lousy Mojito?”

We had been standing at a distance that would have suggested we were intimates if we were on an afternoon sidewalk but simply meant that we were talking in a place like this. I stepped back, met her gaze, and in a normal tone of voice, replied “Nothing is wrong with this place. I just don’t like yelling, and don’t like dancing when there’s no room.”

She leaned back towards me and asked me to repeat myself.

“Exactly” I said returning to audible volume.

She smiled, I winked, we parted ways.

By the by, since it’s Wednesday that means I did the DC Blogs Round-Up.  Go over a take a peak at the posts in the DC Blogosphere that caught my eye.  By the By, this post from Sara who writes If I had to Pick Five would have been on that list but it aint exactly a DC Blog.

One more thing, since I am now a Contributing Editor at DC Blogs, I feel compelled to mention that the December DC Blogger Meet-Up is this evening at RFD at 7pm.  Bloggers, readers, lurkers are all invited – I can’t promise that I will be there (maybe that will induce more of you to attend) but I hope you will.