Women who lunge

There are a couple things that I can never trust: Stairs, revolving doors, people with teeth that look like chiclets, absurdly beautiful men, children too clever for their own good and women. The last comes bold, italicized and underlined.

I’ve never been one to be excited about slumber parties, dates with the amigas in the salons, Mandy Moore movies and the like. I shop alone, have manicures with my guy friends (I know…) and watch a Coen flick.

You see women think. They think a lot. Unlike men who usually get in trouble for not thinking (even if they are neurotic), women can be very calculating, petty and determined. Again this not a harsh generalization, this is just how I sum up most of the gals I’ve encountered. I’ve already concluded that I’m an alpha female. My female best friend is one too and I think the only reason we have such staying power is that we have different tastes in men. And we both are wary about women.

It is said that the demise of the best friendships between men is always a woman. This truth could not be further from the truth between women. Sometime in high school I got a glimpse of the blueprint of girl power – the bad kind. With me starring as the contravida.

My friend was seeing some guy who I liked. They got together much to my chagrin, but then I found contentment being the confidante of both parties. One night we were all dressing up in my house to go to Euphoria when the boy calls me. We start whispering in the foyer while my other girlfriends were dressing up in my room including his girlfriend. A sneaky wench (other than me) caught me huddled on the phone and immediately stormed to my room and announced, "Listen to this!" She pressed the speaker button on my phone just at the precise moment the boy and I said "I like you" to one another. What happened after was a bit comical.

My friend locked herself in my closet and I implored her to come with me to Euphoria for the last time. The double agent girlfriend told me that she thought the guy and I were perfect for each other anyway and all my friends agreed. I felt sick, everyone was acting sick and I was guessing that my friend was getting sick in the closet. She came out, we all wore slutty outfits and got drunk on tequila in Euphoria. The next day, true to form, my friend stopped talking to me. I convinced myself that it was love, a greater force that caused this to happen, that it meant something. Of course after being racked with guilt for two weeks, without much hubris the scandalous romance ended. The betrayal didn’t really mean anything. I was just jealous of my friend.

That was the last time I fooled around with anyone’s property. However, that wasn’t the last time I witnessed the stylings of a crafty woman. I vowed to end my career as the contravida, but to survive I realized later you gotta play the part. Our so-called friends played double agents pretty well. Assuaging my wrought conscience by saying it was love blah, blah, blah. And of course singing another tune to my friend. At the end, I learned what a woman was capable of when it came to getting her way.

Female competition is very fierce. It starts out with who has a prettier dress in the piano recital, to who has a better boyfriend, to who has a bigger engagement ring and maybe later on who has the cushiest divorce. Men are not free from that kind of horse and pony show either, but for some reason they are able to keep it friendly in most cases. Women are as serious as a heart attack. And now with botox keeping their intentions from being drawn to their faces, you really don’t know what they are up to.

Women can be like accountants. I did this, so you should do this. She looked better the last time, I should trump her this time. It’s so scary. What makes men winning friends is that they don’t care. If you’re a woman and have dated a man, you’ll know what I’m talking about. They don’t care about anniversaries, Valentines’ day or even your birthday. They only pretend they do so they may live (amongst other things). As partners in life men suck. You gotta potty train them until you draw your last breath. As friends they are delicious.

They are free from all the pettiness, the questions, the historical references that make life a damn burden. The only peril of having a coed friendship is the advent of the "drunken evening." Most boy-girl friendships go through that, but if you know full well it was a great mistake just chalk it off to the purgatory of bad memories. The guy would do the same with aplomb. Men are great at forgetting things, like names and shit, so this could easily be eased out of the orbit of consciousness.

You can gossip with men all you want and chances are they’ll forget. You can ask advice and true enough it will be sound. You forget to invite them to a dinner or even your wedding, and they won’t care (they might even be thankful for the exclusion unless hot chicks are involved) and none of the annoying "Why was I not invited?" whines that drive nails in the coffin of your hangover the next day. You can tell them they look horrible and will look even worse the next time you see them. And if you’re really lucky they’ll open your doors, fix your cable wires and pay for your overpriced designer coffee.

But alas, they will never buy you the stuff you really want and that’s the rub. You know you’re in trouble when they do. That’s when you know things are starting to go in a certain direction you’re not quite ready to be in. Should you or shouldn’t you? I suppose that’s the catch-22 of the entire relationship. Come to think of it, isn’t this how most lasting relationships start in the first place? Yes, I think it is.