Too Bad So Sad

I don't understand women. Obviously, that's not a profound statement seeing as that roughly 100 percent (approximate) of men aged 0-114 years old do not understand women. Sometimes, I think I should have a better grasp of women seeing as out of my 10 closest friends 7 of them are women. Well, I think they're women, but I haven't seen any physical proof so I'll go with "women like". I've even tried getting a better handle on women by reinforcing my friendships with them by watching the hit movie (hyperbole) "What Women Want" and listening to the catchy song (taking literary liberties) "What a Girl Wants" by Christina Aguilera that then paved the way for the cinematic masterpiece (All lies) of the movie by the same name starring Amanda Bynes. The verdict?

Too. Much. Estrogen.

From all my research I've gleaned that women want someone that acts like pre-anti Semitic Mel Gibson, but with a dash of post violent Mel Gibson that can fix a flat and still give a girl some space to breathe since whatever happens will set her free. I have no idea what I just wrote. This is exactly the point. No one knows anything. Even these self help magazine articles about "What women REALLY mean," "How to tell her mood," and the popular, "How to install a lipstick camera in her shower without her knowing," don't really give any answers. The only answer I've gotten from them is, "yes, I would like to re subscribe to Cosmo for only $19.99 a year."

Love the sex surveys.

The problem is that a man trying to figure out a woman is like a non Asian person trying to solve a Rubik's Cube or a literate person trying to understand what Jesse Jackson is saying. All impossibilities. What I do then is just adhere to the stereotypes given to women to try to understand them. According to societal norms, women appreciate shopping. Ok, Nordstrom sale. Got it. Women also like to cook. Get me that Wok! Women like cats and gay best friends. A gay cat is the best of all worlds. (Insert vaginal reference here) Luckily, I watch Anderson Cooper a lot and waved at that Justin Bieber kid once. (Aside: I know Justin Bieber is not gay, but I wanted to give into the lazy writing misdirection ploy of homosexuality. It also lets me introduce my new game. Gay or Canadian? Think about it. How many times have you gone up to a person and thought they were gay but they turned out to be Canadian? Never you say? Well, then, uh, you're probably right. But it happened to me once so I would like a game show. I don't see much difference between Canadians and gay people at all. Both are nice, eloquent, hint of an accent, like haircuts, eat food, and love Ellen. They are pretty much exactly the same. Let's get this on the air. Chuck Woolery is unemployed.)

But the main thing I've realized about women is that they are the more outwardly emotional species. Ok, fine, they cry all the time. That seems to be the biggest stereotype of women. Relative died? Crying? Broke a nail? Crying. Printer ran out of ink? Crying. Got a regular coke instead of a diet coke at McDonalds? Murdered the cashier then started crying.

The Bloody Bawler. Unsolved Mystery.

Of course, I don't really believe women cry all the time. To be fair there have been instances I've cried that I have not been proud of. I cried at the final scene of Field of Dreams when Kevin Costner gets to play catch with his dad. It was embarrassing because I had literally just played catch with my dad 2 hours before I saw that. Why was I crying? I PLAYED CATCH. It made no sense. But I stand by my crying at the end of the Growing Pains series finale. Mike, Ben, Carol, we watched them grow up. Damn you ABC!

I used to never subscribe to the women crying stereotype because I had never seen it. In a land before time I was dating an actual woman, with a vagina, the whole nine yards. I went over to her place, and noticed the door was open so I walked in. There were no lights on and I saw her on her couch crying her eyes out. At first, I thought she might have been robbed, or raped, or even worse, forced to eat the black jelly beans. I ran up to her and said “What’s wrong?”

Her- You know that song Fast Car by Tracy Chapman?

Me- What? Yeah.

Her- (more sobbing) Why didn’t her dad stop drinking? (boohoooobooohooo)

Me- what?

Her- (sobbing) Her dad was an alcoholic so she ran away and DON’T YOU GET IT. WHY WERE YOU DRINKING MR. CHAPMAN, YOUR FAMILY NEEDED YOU.

Me- Who are you talking to? You’re crying because Tracy Chapman’s dad was an alcoholic? That song is almost 20 years old. He’s probably dead.

Her- (getting angry) YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND. Then her mom left him and he was old and it is SO SAD. What if that happens to me?!?! (more sobbing)

Usually when a woman is crying around me it’s because I slashed her tires and switched out her shampoo for urine. No grudges. I have no idea how to deal with crying or any issues relating to Tracy Chapman songs. The only move to do is to give her a hug and say "it’s going to be ok.” That’s it there’s no Plan B. So I’m telling her it’s going to be ok because Tracy Chapman is rich and she goes ballistic. “THAT’S NOT THE POINT. HER LIFE WAS SO HARD.”

But the car was fast?

Is there no crying statute of limitations? The song happened 20 years ago. At some point you should not be allowed to cry about something if you’re not directly involved. Where’s the cutoff? Is it acceptable to cry over the premier of Happy Days? Invention of the telegraph? The Lincoln assassination? HE JUST WANTED TO SEE A PLAY!!!

Every time I’ve heard that song since that day (once) I’ve thought about that moment. Maybe women do cry all the time and I don’t see it. Maybe that stereotype is the one that actually fits. If I’m going to be looked at as Mr. IT then women should, probably, embrace their waterworks.

Or we could all just go to Nordstrom.