There have been a few discussions recently about the gender battles vis-a-vis courtship and public behaviours, and I am consistently astounded by how stupid partisans of both sides really are. I, of course, in the immortal words of the Lacanian friend Christopher David Andrew Merwin, have "...serious problems with The Feminine." Let us for a minute assume the methodological validity of Lacanian psychoanalysis, or psychoanalysis at all, for that matter, and ponder this. Who the hell wouldn't have a problem with "The Feminine"? Are you kidding? Ugh, I truly hate Lacan and his followers. Well, anyway, I have decided to offer a few thoughts on this matter.

There is truly no way to muster up the necessary snark, hatred and rage possible to do this without channeling one's inner r01d3r. What is a r01d3r? It is a force of nature, the quintessence of outraged common sense reactions the idiocies of the world. It is the Ethos of The Fat Man. It is the Gyrations of Freedom. It makes Lou Dobbs look like Prescott Bush. It is pure, unadulterated rage at having to coexist contiguously to idiocy and a desire to pummel it. All men have an inner r01d. It is what drives us to drink lots of beer and eat chili burgers afterwards. It is what drives us to write posts like this one.

More on the flip. Also, please find a massive policy statement at the end. It will shock everyone.

I intend to address the following delusions in this post:

• men thinking that women are interested in them,
• women wondering why men are not interested in them and
• women wondering why men are interested in them.

Men thinking that women are interested in them

First things first. This is what is known as Dheeraj's Law of Courtship:

It is the case that no woman is sufficiently interested in you unless she tells you, verbally, that she is or tries to make out with you.
Some of you may think that this is harsh or unfair. These are your objections.
"omfg dx she like looked @ me."

Guess what. People have eyes. Everyone has eyes. They look at things and people all the time. In public, people look around. I am doing it right now. Yes, even as I type this, I am looking around to see who's sitting around me and who's walking by. People watching is fun to do. And, if you're a woman, you're probably not only people watching, but, furthermore, looking to see what everyone is wearing. "Is that Manolo or Jimmy Choo? I'll bet that's fake DKNY. What a cute scarf. Eww, she's too fat for that skirt. I could wear that." The simple fact that you were an object in her field of view at some point in time T doesn't mean that you're going to go Wuthering Heights with her. Christ, Jesus. In fact, if you're the kind of idiot who thinks that just because you were an object in a woman's field of vision for some point in time T, odds are that you will never, ever, ever have a woman interested in you, because white trash and sorority girls aside, women prefer a modicum of intelligence in their prospective mates.

"lolz sleazy d she like let me talk to her"

Let's get this straight. In some kind of social situation where people are expected to make small talk with strangers, and where alcohol is probably involved to catalyse the process, the fact that someone said, "No problem," when your stupid, fat, drunk self bumbed into her and spilled her plum martini with orange zest all over her unnecessarily complex shirt and said "Excuse me," means that she's interested in you? You have got to be kidding.

Let's assume that you're not a bumbling moron. Let's assume that you actually did have something to discuss with her beyond, "So, come here often?" and "How do you know the host?" You made cocktail conversation with someone for three minutes and thirty-four seconds. You're obviously in love. You make Tristan and Ysolte look like middle school kids holding hands as they walk from homeroom to P.E. God, what kind of delusional, pathetic idiot are you?

"indicus u don't get it i felt a connexion"

Yeah, as the two of you bonded over discussion how awesome the last Dave Matthews Band cd was over Miller Lite at your latest douchebag happy hour, somehow, everything that Plato described in Symposium of the two souls coming together through the body for the beautification and perfection of each other occurred. Moron. You felt the Miller Lite making its way through your system, nothing more.

"filthy dheeraj she was wearing some pretty hot clothes no one dresses like that unless they're interested"

You are an absolute moron if you think that a woman needs an excuse to wear tight, revealing and flattering clothes in public. This doesn't even warrant a response.

"omg delta chi u r such a dickwad she was like tapping my forearm and tipping her head at an angle."

You are not Charles Saunders Pierce. Leave semiology to those who know what they're doing.

"dude d we spend all our time together adn hang out all time"

That is because you are a moron. If you are interested in a woman who has to this point not expressed any interest in you beyond the amicable, you are the douchebag in the box. You are the stuff that Drew Barrymore movies are made of. You are the guy who's her best friend. You are the guy who performs all the onerous duties of a boyfriend while getting none of the benefits. Every time he forgets their three and a half week anniversary, you have to listen to her cry and watch her eat copious amounts of stupid flavoured ice cream. Here's a basic tip-off: if she talks to you about other men, you will never, ever be her boyfriend, ceteris paribus.

Women wondering why men aren't interested in them.

This one is really simple. Men are not trained semiologists. Most men are not trained in the fine art of linguistic analysis and translation. Perfect example: yesterday, in conversation, I referred to the protasis of a conditional statement, and no one had any idea what that meant. If someone doesn't know what a basic grammatical unit is, do you honestly expect that he'll know that you like him based on how many times you use the word "like" in a sentence? Christ, Jesus.

"omfg dx it's like he doesn't get it i try to talk to him every day n i like laugh at his jokes n like i tilt my head at a thirty-five degree angle and bat my eyelashes more frequently than I otherwise would n like he still won't ask me out."'

I urge you to make reference to Dheeraj's Law of Courtship. Please also make not of the fact that men are not trained semiologists nor are the trained linguists. When most men talk to each other, there are few, if any, subtexts and overtones. The propositions are complete, containing sufficient data for communication. They are not going to notice that you're wearing your flirty lipstick or your cute new earrings. They are not going to notice the tonal inflections that you add to the phrase "hang out."

Moreover, even if they do, because of Dheeraj's Law, most reasonable men assume that women want nothing from them except friendship. This is because it is universally true that every man has at least once in his life fallen into the douchebag box, purely because he followed the semiological and philological approach to dealing with women.

"I was just looking for activity partners."

" I think of you like a brother."

"Can't we just hang out together?"

Once again, women, it's a question of other women screwing you over. No man wants to wind up in the box. Moreover, no man wants to wind up accused of sexual harassment. Because other women have made relying on semiology and philology unreliable methods of determining a woman's intent, you have to make it bloody clear what you want. That means that you tell him or you grab him. It's that simple.

A former co-worker named Jess told me how she resolved the ambiguity with her current boyfriend. They had been hanging out together for weeks, and she was waiting for him to make a move. This didn't happen. So, finally, one night, after several drinks, as they were sharing a cab home, she told the cab driver that they were going to her place and pulled him out of the cab to make out with him. That simple.

"lolz but i'm the girl y won't he make a move?"

What is your objective? If your objective is to have your nice Drew Barrymore movie play out in your life, then continue with that mentality. If your objective is to wind up with the man you want, then do what's necessary. Christ, Jesus.

He is probably not making a move for the reasons mentioned above or because of the fact that he's genuinely not interested in you. Get over it.

Women not understanding why men are interested in them

This may seem a bit contradictory to the above statements, but I do genuinely have some sympathy for men who are trying to navigate their way through the ocean of idiocy that is the sum totality of female behaviours.

"omgz i don't know why he likes me like i just went with him to a bar got drunk and booty-danced all over him for hours and made out with him and got really drunk and told him to call me and then he did n like i didn't mean it i wuz just drunk and now he likes me"

This should fucking speak for itself. Acquire responsibility, morons.

Massive Policy Announcement

This has been an interesting year. I would like to announce, though, that my year of trying to outdo Jagger/Richards is over. As soon as I hit the reset point, the Greek letter system comes to an end. I return to SOP, which is serial monogamy. Wish me luck.

-dx