Category Archives: Social Etiquette

Sensitivity, Not Senselessness

Ralph-Tresvant-Sensitivity

“I’m not your man, not Ralph Tresvant, not Ronnie Romance…no, Ma.”

FaceTweet it!

I’m a sensitive guy. If you’re laughing already, it’s probably because you’ve mistaken my version of sensitivity for the cartoonishly effeminate variety of tenderness that has come to permeate the significance of that word. No, I’m not suggesting that I’d be anyone’s first choice for a marathon session of Lifetime TV shows…unless we’re talking about The Client List starring Jennifer Love Hewitt…’cause I’d probably watch that…a lot. But be that as it may, what I meant was that I usually demonstrate an acute awareness of others’ feelings. Awareness of said feelings and giving a single, tender fuck are disparate things, however, and that makes me wonder, at what point should I care more about your feelings than my own?

Assuming that we’re reasonable individuals endowed with a healthy sense of fairness, our inner arbiter of justice should assess our position when our emotional needs conflict with a fellow traveler’s and determine whether or not to reconsider our stance, moderate it so as to reach a compromise, or maintain it and respectfully tell that trick to back the hell on up. What surprises me is that the inner arbitration process seems to be super freakin’ spotty for a lot of folks.

Here’s a true story to clarify my point. It happens to embody the everyday drama of which VH1 reality shows are made, which is good since most of you are about as trifling as a pimp at a Bangkok orphanage.

Anyway, years ago I hooked up with this woman named Olivia. And by “hooked up” I mean “came to know” and by “came to know” I mean “we got naked and bumped into each other repeatedly while genitally interlocked.” Many years later we were reintroduced and began hanging out sporadically. While there were multiple instances of flirtation then, there was no more having of the sex. More importantly, not once was there a hint that we were remotely interested in spending consistent time together, let alone seriously dating. In fact, we regularly told each other about the people that we were seeing, and she almost always brought someone along with her when we met up. In other words, our relationship had all of the intimacy of a live-streamed cuckholdry session.

Well, one time Vicky’s friend Olivia accompanied her. We hit it off famously, and started to hang out without Olivia. Eventually, it became apparent to me that we had big-time chemistry, so I confronted Vicky about what I sensed. She couldn’t deny it. Granted, she couldn’t speak at all since my tongue was halfway down her throat, but still. All that was left was for the two of us to tell Olivia, and we assumed that she’d be surprised, but happy.

We were wrong. Like, real wrong. Like, “You dirty, lying bitch, you’re not my friend, he’s pathetic, it’s never gonna work, and give me back my fucking Helmut Lang dress,” wrong. According to Olivia, she’d always had feelings for me, even if nobody (including me) had a clue about them. By kindling a relationship, we were guilty of betraying her trust. Of course, I say that we were only guilty of miscalculating the ratio of rational thought to lunatic self-absorption in Olivia’s spoiled head.

its-all-about-me

No, it’s not. Unless you’re my girlfriend or wife
and you happen to be reading this…in which case, it is.

I mean, come on, dude. Olivia and I had had plenty of time to get something going. We’d seen one another multiple times, and neither of us had felt the urge to put in any effort to increase either the frequency or intensity of our meetings. There’s an old saying where I’m from: “If a cow has but one udder, it’s probably a bull.” OK, I made that up, but the point is that you can’t squeeze milk from a bull’s penis. It’s either there, or it isn’t…and it isn’t, ’cause bulls don’t orgasm milk.

What gives Olivia the right to stake a retroactive claim on something that was never hers? Her preternaturally late-blooming feelings? Well, la-di-da. Congratulations, Lady O, you’ve got feelings. Welcome to the club! You might have noticed that your friend Vicky and her man are also members, which is probably why they couldn’t make it to your initiation ceremony: they’re busy expressing theirs to each other in a very loud and physical way. Now, sit your Narcissistic Personality Disorder having ass down.

Look, it’s well and good for us to make our sentiments known to those around us, otherwise we can’t expect them to understand who we are and how they can help us live a more fulfilling life. As a corollary, it’s right and responsible to acknowledge emotions expressed to us in good faith, allowing them to shape our thoughts and actions accordingly so as to function as supportive, empathic beings. With that said, the phrase “in good faith” is key in that last sentence.

Your feelings are important, but no more so than anyone else’s, and their mere existence doesn’t make them unassailable. Emotions are not weapons to be drawn at random, pointed willy-nilly at others like some drunken, Old West villain, blasting away until you get what you want. When they are, I say that those on the other side have every right to return fire, or do like Vicky and I did: let the fools keep shooting until they run out of bullets, then laugh with everyone else as they stumble out of town, tripping over their inflated ego.

Can’t get enough cut-up? Follow Scissorhands on Facebook and Twitter.

FaceTweet it!

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under Scissortales, Social Etiquette

I Wonder If I Take You Home

OMG. You might as well wear an arrow pointing to your crotch.

You just broke up with your boyfriend two months ago.  It’s Friday night, and none of your people want to go out ‘cause they’re either too exhausted from the work week, or they’re with their significant other doing things that lovers do.  This leaves you bored and lonely, so you decide to roll out solo to the neighborhood night spot.  The live band is rockin’ it, the drinks are cheap, and before you know it, you’re feeling as nice as a Care Bear on ecstasy.

Then you see this tall, handsome cat with great skin and a chiseled frame roll up to the bar.  He sees you checking him out, so he smiles.  Before long, you and Lorenzo are on the dance floor doing the Lambada to a dancehall version of “Milkshake”.  Your oven is hotter than Grandma Patty’s on Thanksgiving afternoon.  Like a true predator, Lorenzo can sense that this is the moment to make that move: he asks if you wanna take the party to his spot just two blocks away.

Your first thought is to say, “Hell yes,” but you vacillate for at least a minute.  I mean, what would he think about you?  What if he’s some kinda psycho?  Crap!  Did you remember to wax?  But Lorenzo, the liquor, and your suppressed libido keep whispering sweet nothings in your ear.  Before you know it, you’re off…and so are your jeans.  The next morning, engaged in The Walk of Shame, you can’t help but ask yourself, “Am I a slut?”

Instead of just jumping into the answer, let’s take a look at a checklist designed to ensure that you always know what to do when you hear the call of the wild.

1. Are you sober, or at least in majority control of your motor functions? If the answer is no, then please, don’t do it.  Any stand-up guy is turned off by girls who are fall-down drunk.  Seriously, who wants to get close to somebody that might go all Mt. St. Helens with her stomach contents at any time?  If the dude observes your state and still wants to bed you, he’s at least ethically challenged and maybe even mentally disturbed…which is a bad thing, for y’all taking notes.  [Exception:  If dude is shit-faced too, then feel free to stumble your alcoholic ass on down the road to perdition!]

2. Do you really need it? If you always “need” it, then I advise you to seek psychological counseling.  Or a dildo.  Or both.  This is about those occasions when it’s just been forever and you’re going to literally re-virginate if not tended to quickly.  In other words, it’s a smergency – a sex emergency.

3. Does it feel like destiny? You and this guy have been talking, dancing, and laughing the night away.  He’s wonderful, he thinks you’re fantastic, and you’ve never felt this uncanny need to be one with anybody so quickly before.  It just feels right.  Guess what?  It is!  Go for it with the knowledge that you’re following the will of the universe.  20 years later when you’re sitting in your gazebo at your summer home at the Vineyard, chillin’ with Mr. Right, you’ll thank your horny, twenty-to-thirty-something self for making up that BS.

So ladies, the next time shit gets thick with no time to think, go ‘head and get busy off of basic instinct!  Ask yourself those three simple questions and you can’t go wrong.

And oh yeah, I almost forgot.  You are DEFINITELY a slut for getting with old boy that Friday night.  I mean, c’mon, you just met him!  Your momma would be ashamed!

7 Comments

Filed under Sexuality, Social Etiquette

I’ll Be Late for That: Punctuality Pisses Me Off

 

Role Model for Us All

Let me paint a picture for you.

It’s been a while since you and your people have gotten together so you decide that you’re gonna plan a big dinner.  A week in advance you pick a trendy restaurant with a swanky vibe, make the reservations for 7 PM, and send out an Evite to the whole crew.  The big day comes and you’re so excited that you get there at 6:45.

7 o’clock rolls around and no one’s there yet.  7:10 hits and only two of your friends have arrived.  You ask the hostess if you can go ahead and move to your table.  The pretentious, aspiring model/actress barely looks up to remind you that Sexy Midget doesn’t seat anyone until their entire party arrives.

At 7:30, everybody’s finally in the house, so you walk over to tell the hostess.  She sighs, giving you that tight-lipped, constipated smile that women give men whose game is sub par, and informs you that she had to give your table away…and that there are no more reservations tonight for a party of 17.

Guess what, dumbass?  That was your fault.  That’s right.  Your inconsiderate, anal-retentive butt ruined the whole night.

Oh, stop looking like I just punched you in the stomach and rubbed your crotch.  It was your fault ’cause you failed to consider that your friends have hectic, tremendously busy lives just like you.  Or maybe the problem is that you actually don’t have a life.  Either way, it leads to the same place.  When making plans, it’s imperative that you allow space for the little hiccups and big bumps in the road.

Whether it’s parties, dates, or nights out on the town, follow these four simple rules to avoid strife and broken relationships:

  1. Never tell people the real start time for group events. These kinds of things tend to transpire on weekends, and weekends are packed with social events.  Give people time to move about their social calendars.  Or maybe the couples just wanna get a quickie in before they go out and get too plastered to do it later.  Whatever.  If it’s a party or an event at your crib, tell them it starts an hour before it actually does.  If it’s a meal at a restaurant, pad it by 30 minutes.
  2. Observe the 15 minute rule on dates. If Mr. Hotpants shows up anywhere within 10 minutes of the start time of your little dangerous liaison then he ain’t late, sweetheart.  However, if he shows up 11-15 minutes after the slated start then you have the right to issue his ass a demerit.  After 15 minutes, things done changed.  You can bounce on him like a lazy stripper, or stay, then use his lateness as a bargaining chip for one of your future fuck-ups.  It’s really up to you.
  3. If you’re “fake” late, use every tool at your disposal to shift responsibility onto the real guilty party.  (Hint: It’s never you.) You’re fake late if the host began the event on time, like a dick.  As soon as they start mouthing off, just look at ’em like they’re crazy and remind them that they violated protocol, not you.  If anybody else came late, get them to join the fray.  Pretty soon, the host will feel like the idiot that they are.  The same thing goes for dates.
  4. If you’re “really” late, just man up and channel Kanye. At this point, there’s only one arrow in your quiver: personality.  It’s time for a Jedi mind trick.  Again, look at the host/date like they’re crazy, then smile like Jesus is your dentist and say, “My presence is a present, kiss my ass.”

Yep.  Yeezy taught me well.

7 Comments

Filed under Social Etiquette