Hey, whattya know? These things aren't new!
This week marks the second anniversary of David'Z RantZ, the blog I "retired" in March of last year. I often feel that a lot of my current "Foxyblog" readers missed out on some really good RantZ, so I've been posting "The Best of David'Z RantZ" since the 11th, and will do so until tomorrow. Where necessary, I've done the most minor of edits.
Today's post has an unfortunate "profanity alert" attached, fellow babies. Couldn't be helped, really.
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This time around, boys'n'girls, we're going to talk about two of my favorite subjects:
Actually, I'm going to talk -- or write -- because this whole "blogging thing" has yet to be made interactive.
But I digress.
One of the places I frequent for late-night suppers is a nearby sports pub. I generally hate so-called "sports pubs" because I'm not a huge fan of sports in general. But this place offers really good food, and perhaps the best boneless buffalo wings in this general area, so it's pretty easy to tune out the forty-seven televisions playing whatever that evening's Big Game (or Big Games) is (or are). Plus, it doesn't hurt that 90% of their wall decorations feature old-time Red Sox memorabilia, and when I follow sports at all, it's generally the Sox.
I was dining there recently, and couldn't help overhearing a conversation taking place at the booth behind mine. A young woman was telling a male friend (who was, apparently, not her boyfriend) that she wished men would stop looking at her breasts.
Needless to say, I soon found an excuse... that is... I mean... I decided to turn around to face the kitchen as if I was impatiently awaiting the arrival of my meal.
Yes, I looked. Of course I looked. I looked at her, in toto, and I looked at "them" immediately thereafter, objectively (perhaps arrogantly?) judging whether or not she and her breasts were legitimately "lookworthy," from an arguably average male's point of view. She was very attractive in her way, and they were attractive in theirs. Just what Gurney Norman would call -- if I remember the exact quote correctly -- "just a couple of nice-looking boobs on a nice-looking girl."
I should add that the blouse she was wearing was what I'd call "stylishly revealing," meaning that it was low-cut enough to show a good amount of what we call "cleavage," but not showing so much that she was in danger of falling out of her clothing.
If memory serves, necklines plunged drastically in the year 2006. Suddenly, the average woman -- and not just those on television, or in the movies, or otherwise in the public eye -- was wearing outfits that drew attention to her breasts.
And men -- "men" being defined as "post-pubescent heterosexual males" for the remainder of this article, okay? -- appreciated this new fashion statement, and looked upon it with favor. Let me stressed "looked upon it." Or perhaps, "looked upon them" would be more appropriate.
And that's because, yes, ladies, we are going to look. Men like women. Hell, men love women. We love being with women, we love "doing the nasty" with women, and whether or not we have any chance of doing the nasty with a specific woman, we still love looking at that woman, or any other. And "looking at women" means looking at the stuff you women want us to see, and the stuff you women don't want us to see.
It's all in how we men look at women. It's a game we ("we" meaning men and women) play, basically. I think I'm safe in saying that it's taken for granted that a man will "check out" a woman. The important thing is that the man be discreet about it, especially where the more "intimate" parts are concerned. If I, being male, look at any part of a woman, and comment on it to the woman in question, her reaction to my comment is in direct proportion to the part or parts of her body upon which I'm commenting, right?
Man: "Hey, you have really pretty eyes."
Man: "Wow, you've got great legs."
Woman: (doesn't reply; feels slightly uneasy)
Man: "Whoa! Gorgeous tits!"
Keep in mind, the comment and the reaction in Scenario #3 would be the same whether the woman was wearing a low-cut top, or a turtleneck sweater. Unless a woman wears bulky, concealing garments, a man -- or a woman, too, of course -- has a pretty good idea of what the woman's figure looks like.
So, as I said, it's a game we all play. Men "check women out." Women (at least, those whom I've discussed this with) realize that fact, and hope that the men will do it discreetly and quickly. You know, just "get it over with." Like married sex.
Which brings me back to the young woman at the restaurant, the one who said she wanted men to stop looking at her breasts. It would have helped if she'd been more specific with her terminology.
If, by "looking," she'd meant "staring," well, yeah, that's understandable. Every woman -- even one who's flat-chested -- is familiar with the type of guy who can't make eye contact with a woman while he's talking to one. Nope. He's staring at the Devil's Pom-Poms, and that's regardless of whether the woman he's talking to is wearing the above-mentioned turtleneck sweater, or something she's practically falling out of. And that's just rude.
However, if by "looking," she'd meant "glancing," well, that's different. That's definitely going to happen. Even polite, discreet guys will do it, and that's still regardless of whether the woman is wearing a turtleneck sweater, or something she's practically falling out of. (Although, in this case, the more skin the woman shows, the longer the guy is likely to "glance.") Nevertheless... Get over it. It's going to happen.
And while I am most emphatically not one to advance the theory that women "ask" for & deserve poor treatment of any kind, I would like to add this: If you really don't want me to look at part or parts of you for too very long, please don't go out of your way to call attention to it or them, either with over-exposure or (especially) attention-drawing signage!
You know what I mean. If the seat of your pants has a word like "princess" or "precious" or "expen$ive" emblazoned across it, guess what? As you're walking away from me, that word will catch my eye, and I'll take time to read it. If you turn back and "catch" me, sucks to be you. It's your own fault. You made the decision to have everyone -- male and female, from kindergarten on up -- read the little sign on your ass when you put those pants on. So don't say or even imply that I'm a pig, because that would make a pig out of everybody else who sees you walk by as well.
Several years ago, I was standing in one of two lines at the local post office. In the line next to mine was a young lady of (IIRC) average looks. Her t-shirt had a rather longish expression written on it, which read:
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But whips and chains excite me.
As soon as I finished reading it, I looked up and saw that the woman wearing the shirt was staring at me, and not looking very pleased. Did she think I was checking out her chest? "I was reading your shirt," I explained, although unnecessarily, I thought. She still looked upset. I suddenly felt like I was on the defensive, and spoke accordingly. "Well, if you don't want people reading it, don't wear it."
Sometimes you have to wonder what's on people's minds when they get dressed in the morning.
Thirty years ago, when such things were considered much more offensive, I saw a man walking from table to table at an outdoor flea market wearing a t-shirt that said "Harley Riders Eat More Pussy." And this guy was with a woman whom I assumed was his girlfriend or wife. If I were classless enough to wear that shirt in public, I'd like to think that virtually every woman I know -- friend, lover, relative -- would refuse to be seen with me.
A couple of years ago, when I worked in the office of the local cable company, I waited on a young lady -- hmm, make that a young woman -- who was wearing a t-shirt which read, "I have the PUSSY so I make the RULES." Well! That was about as classy as something I'd expect from Courtney Love...
And I can't even limit it to wondering what's on people's minds when they get dressed in the morning. How about when they dress someone else?
By that I mean, what would possess a parent to dress a five-year-old daughter in a t-shirt featuring a drawing of an anthropomorphic, cartoony penis wearing a condom, accompanied by a caption reading "Keep me covered! I'm going in!"
I've often mentioned that I prefer restraint to censorship, which is why I usually write words like "s**t" instead of "shit," when everybody knows I mean "shit" anyway. Maybe I'm the only one who still believes in restraint. I don't know.
What I do know is that this was originally supposed to be a very light-hearted post. Something changed between the top and the bottom, obviously, proving that sometimes, even I don't know where I'm headed with these things.
So, to restore this post to its originally-planned uplifting (no boobie pun intended) tone, I'm going to embed a light-hearted YouTube video...
And then provide a link to a fun thing you all may enjoy, here!
Thanks for your time.
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Tomorrow: The final entry in this self-congratulatory series! It's a quick read, too, and it got a very favorable response when originally posted. It's called "The Saga of David in South Park!"