A Squiggle’s Logic

Finally, a female voice for us dogs. Every woman should read.

Men can’t help but stare at other women.
It’s true: They just can’t control themselves. We’re the same way when we walk by a window filled with gorgeous shoes — we have to look.

Men are big kids (and proud of it).
When you put three or more men together, they bond by yelling at the TV and being idiots to each other…There’s no point in denying guys time to release their juvenile side.

Men want us to worship them.
Most men would never admit this, but they’d like to think they’re slightly smarter than the woman they’re with. Yet they have no problem with the woman being 10 times better-looking than they are.

Men love oral sex.
Guys say the best treat a woman can give them is oral sex in the morning. Forget scones — this is his idea of breakfast in bed.

Men don’t get Valentine’s Day.
Most guys consider February 14 a “chick holiday.”

I personally find convulsive a woman who perceives the demasculinization of her man as justifiable by dragging him to the mall, by imposing a curfew on boys’ night out, or even worst prohibit it, or by taking away his football Sunday. While at it, why not put him in a dress and call him Nancy. We don’t stop you women from shopping, never say a word about your gossiping, nor do we fuss about you leaving the toilet seat DOWN after peeing. So for once, stop condemning our inner dog and let us be men.

Valentine’s Day is stupid. Stupid stupid stupid! Nevermind the fact that it’s a grossly commercialized holiday concocted by greeting card makers, teddy bear stuffers, and flower pickers to empty the pockets of ill-suited couples who are trying desperately to prolong their doomed courtships. It’s stupid because it celebrates materialism. It forces us to believe that love, happiness, and even sex can be bought with red roses, chocolate hearts, and pricey jewelries. Let’s face it, it’s not about love or romance. At least not anymore. Valentine’s Day has evolved into “come home from work with something in your hands, otherwise receive the silent treatment, the indirect glorification of Jane’s husband, wonderful Steve, or the all-night bombardment of how sweet you used to be.” Quite frankly, I am tired of all that rubbish. I am tired of Valentine’s Day. So cupid, up yours. Go poke somebody else.

Update: Apparently she disagrees.

…Nhưng đây là ngày mà chúng ta có thể biểu hiện tấm lòng của mình đặc biệt hơn mọi ngày, chiều chuộng người ấy để người ấy cảm thấy hạnh phúc hơn. Những việc làm như tặng một đóa hoa, một thẻ kẹo, hay gởi một lời nhắn…những việc đó rất nhỏ bé nhưng chúng có thể nói lên một tâm tình rất nòng nàn, một sự quan tâm đặc biệt…rằng em thật may mắn khi có anh bên cạnh.

Why is it that you can hate Christmas, you can hate Thanksgiving, but damn you if you hate Valentine’s Day! I guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight!

I’m not making such a bold assertion just to convince myself of its authenticity. I have proofs.

You see, we live next to each other, my ex and I. And for the past week or so, her new boyfriend has been spending the night over there, just the two of them I suppose. Yet, being right next door, I don’t feel a thing. Not envious, not resentful, not bitter, nothing! Seeing them together on the stairs, I feel nothing. Hearing them giggle in their shower, I feel nothing. It surprises me how “nothing” I feel because generally I am quite a sentimental guy!

Surprisingly also, it took me only a week to get over her when I learned of her shameless betrayal. Now, after withstanding the ultimate “are you over your ex” test, I can assure both myself and those who know me that she is nothing but a mere figment of the past, buried in the book of time.

I mean especially if your colonial soldiers are small in numbers, with short-range missiles.

Chances are, over half of your army couldn’t survive the acid terrain. Half are too weak to bypass the barriers. And half would probably get lost and end up in the wrong fallopian desert. That leaves about 1/10 of your flagellated men who can actually undertake that long and treacherous march “laid” out before them.

Even then, only one conquering hero is fit to penetrate enemy lines. And with the strain of hostile enemies these days, that one soldier doesn’t stand a chance.

It has been suggested that “a woman’s heart is deeper than the ocean.” This alludes to the impenetrable enigma of the human emotion, an enigma that harbors secrets, that constrains thoughts, that enthralls reminisces of yesterday’s past, a past so complex that only oneself can fully grasp the hurtful consequences of its disclosure. Within the depth of that ocean lies, perhaps, an insatiable yearn for a lost love, an uncorrectable mistake not worth repeating; or perhaps therein contains deeds left undone, words left unsaid, love left unloved; or even more, perhaps it is shamefulness, in actions and in thoughts, that colors that ocean blue.

Nonetheless, woe to him whose life partner denies the very key to her heart. Wicked is she who withholds her very soul from the man she calls soulmate. And foul are you who bed in the present but sleep in the past.

The above thought stems from an event at the clinic today. As I proceeded to assess an elderly gentleman for pain management, his wife quickly shifted the conversation towards her, saying with a pleasant smile, “he is hard of hearing.” Upon querying her, I became amazed at the extensive knowledge she had about her husband, from the location, duration, and description of his pain to his thoughts, hopes, and fears. She was even able to recount his dreams, how often, how long, how severe. It’s refreshing to see love as it’s meant to be, built on trust and complete openness. He can confide in her his every thought and she in him. I only hope that I should be so lucky.