February 16, 2002

• Men.

  
  

  It’s occurred to me as I scanned over the past month or so of entries that I have not been all that complimentary about our testosterone-laden buddies. I don’t want to give the impression that I have any axe to grind with men, cos I don’t.

  
  

  (Yes, I am a feminist, and I say it proudly. If men were women, they’d be feminists too. It’s sad that some women aren’t feminists, but perhaps that is because they have fallen victim to slick marketing tactics and the old ‘divide and conquer’ ploy. Perhaps they figure that women don’t have anything more to gain. We do – but that’s another topic for later.)

  
  

  Back to men. I love men.

  
  

  Being.

  
  

  I adore the way they think in terms of solutions to problems rather than the process of determining if you have a problem. They are less interested in how you got there, then what you are going to do now you are. Don‘t bother them with the angst or the handwringing.

  
  

  Friends.

  
  

  They can have close friends who don’t have a clue what is happening in their lives. These are the fishing buddies, the golf buddies, the rugby buddies or the camping buddies. I do not know how this is possible, but it seems to happen a lot, so it has to be a guy thing. A woman’s closest friend has not only heard the childbirth horror but also actually seen the episiotomy scar.

  
  

  Doing.

  
  

  I love the way men cannot seem to do more than one thing at a time. Multitasking is not something most men of my acquaintance do well. Must wash car. Must go to hardware store. Must finish painting. 1-2-3. That’s how it works. If it was me – it would look like this: 1 (oh fuck)…. Must wash car oh no I need to go to the hardware store to get some wood so I’ll drive there now and that reminds me I need to set up the easel so I can finish the painting but should I get the car washed on the way home? 1–1.5–2–3–1–2-1 – etc… 

  
  

  Wearing.

  
  

  I love the way men can throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and they look ‘finished’. Women need a pair of shoes or a good pair of earrings to look pulled together – men can wear a frayed piece of leather around a wrist. I like men who experiment with how they look. I love sideburns, 4-day-old stubble (not that designer stuff) and goatees and moustaches and every piece of facial hair a man can grow. I love men with earrings, men with ties and suits, men with grungy rock t-shirts and men wearing board shorts. Men in tuxedos always look fantastic – even if they think they look stupid. (Well unless it’s a baby blue tuxedo with wide lapels). I love men in wet suits and I adore surfies. My life would complete if my daughter dated a surfie just so I can hang around the beach with her, offering to fetch them both burgers from the milk bar and stealing perves at his ass, shoulders, lunchbox and thighs.

  
  

  Music.

  
  

  I love men who can dance, and men who can’t, though if I am ever lucky enough to have a son, I will teach him to dance. Men who love to dance, get laid more often, I am positive. Maybe I should do a study. Maybe I will. I love men who play air guitar and men who bob their heads up and down to ‘Enter the Sandman’. In other words, I love men who love music – men who want me to hear ‘just one song’ and think that by listening to it, I will KNOW…something. Not sure what, but something deep and important.

  
  

  Kids.

  
  

  I love the way men who like kids, really really like them. I love the way men who don’t like kids – tend to love something else like a kid, say their stereo equipment or their motorcycle or their dog. I think it’s okay not to like kids – not everyone does. I didn’t.

  
  

  Emotions.

  
  

  I love men who cry. I don’t love men who cry all the time, cos really that’s my job lately – but I love men who get overwhelmed by something and let it all twist in the wind for someone else to see. I like stoic men, men who show emotion by a clenched jaw muscle.

  
  

  Hard Time.

  
  

  I love the stink of a man who’s been working hard physically – the smell of sweat and soap and testosterone. I love hard stubby calloused hands; I love soft long fingered hands whose only hard work is turning the page of a book. I like long debates and loud arguments with men – they help me dig my heels in and ground myself so I can square.

  
  

  Mine.

  
  

  I love the fact that I cannot stereotype the men I know and love as friends and lovers. They are straight, gay, bookish, petrol heads that cook, hammer things loudly, dress like a magazine and think beer tshirts are the height of fashion. They like tittie and cootch mags, gourmet mags, The New Yorker and National Geographic. They hang out round the barbie with a tinnie, or elbow me out of the way to show me the best way to blacken shrimp. They have made me so mad I’ve thrown rocks through their windows and called up Talk Radio, and made me so happy that I actually married (twice).

  
  

  I can’t make statements that apply to them all – it doesn’t work like that. But I love men. It’s all good stuff somehow, sometimes even the bad.

  So are we clear on this?

  • 1:20 am
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