Following last week’s blog on love crossing bounds in cyberspace may have led to my growing Twitterspherestalkership, er… follower list.
So, I received an elite invitation to join a highly classy online social club, The Female Escort Club. At least, that’s what I understood their following me to be. Considering I am not an escort (surprise!), this was a bit shocking and confusing to me. Why would a social network for mujeres de la vidafacil follow me? For you gringos, that’s one of the four+ ways to say “prostitute” in Spanish – Happy Cinco de Mayo.
Honestly, I still have no idea. And after tweeting about my excitement/creeped-outness, apparently they are no longer following me. Then again, Obama isn’t following me back either. Tragic, really.
Anyway, I hate Twitter, and while I’m definitely not unaprostituta or maybe a legit relationship/love/sex columnist, I have some understanding of the psyche of woman. So I’ll shared that now
As I said months ago, I dropped Psych. My theories are devised and perfected and affirmed in my head, through day-to-day people-watching.
It goes like this: Girls and boys react fundamentally differently in different situations with different stimuli. It can be summarized in a simple paradigm case.
A girl receives a text from her current/past/potential future boything.Someone with an XY. She drops what she is doing, potentially breaking things or losing that round of FamFeud or missing a minute of ANTM because she can’t wait another damn second to see what the golden 160-character message will read. After responding immediately, or a calculated and specific amount of time later, she then sits and taps her fingers nervously until he responds. And if he doesn’t…
All hell breaks loose. Not in his world. He’s watching the game, or eating, or sleeping, or aimlessly surfing Facebook (guys and girls both do that… I’ve been watching a lot of computer screens in class to gather this data). Likely, he’s left his phone in another room altogether. His battery is probably dead. And when he finally gets to that phone and eventually casually types “sup” or “k,” completely abandoning any hope for use of more than 1/8 of the precious character allowance, he’s like a distracted puppy again.
Yea, I think I just turned all men into stoned and spacy Nate from Gossip Girl. But seriously, while girls are staring at their phones getting brain cancer, boys run through the world carefree.
Oh, pardon me for my blatant omission of the deviant cases: same-sex couples, girl ‘wears the pants’ couples, this-is-so-complicated-you-don’t-get-us couples, obsessive-online-mushygushy couples, etc.etc.etc. I get it. There are exceptions to every rule.
Every rule is also meant to be broken, some say. I don’t actually think this is true. Some rules make sense to follow. Like in Chicago, it’s illegal to fish while sitting on a giraffe’s neck and you absolutely may not give a dog whiskey. Clearly, these local laws have obvious and logical implications.
But global laws of text messaging, which extrapolate to the greater mindset and neurological makeup of the sexes, make sense to break.
Girls, put the phone down. Just because he hasn’t responded definitely doesn’t mean he hates you. He just is resting his mind from you running through it all day when he was bored in class. He likes you. Really. Stay confident. Just, the game is on right now. Or something. You should probably get some hobbies and distractions too. Obsessions and addictions, like yours with constant communication, are badnewsbears.
Boys, pick your phone up and try utilizing those characters. And don’t forget to call and say goodnight – it makes up for any time you might have screwed up during the day. Which, you unwittingly probably did if you’re dating a college-age female.
If you’re totally single with no current prospects, don’t text yourself. That would be weird. And write me – I’ll help you go on a manhunt.
Or, I can get you in touch with my friends at The Female Escort Club.JK. They unfollowed me. Rude.