Confessions of A Naughty Girl

No Really Means "No, And No, I Will Not Give You Rationale"

Pardon me if this post is semi-coherent, but some jackass decided to stay out until 2 am on a school night last night, two hours after the $20 second-place trivia winners beer voucher ran out, and about after $10 of James Brown and Beck jukebox music played at Fontaine's, which led to a heated dance-off involving some ass grinding, the Roger Rabbit, and the Worm.

So I'm talking to my friend CK tonight, and I was recounting this story from a few weeks back, where - brace yourselves, this gets odd - a friend (who I'll just refer to as James Blunt, for all intents and purposes of this posting) tried to get me to go home with him. Mind you, this was after a long night of drinking massive quantities of alcohol (including 1 Red Snapper shot short of throwing up), but as I'm telling the story, I said to myself, "Self, let's post a blog about this, so that we can help men everywhere prevent jackassedness from happening." Which is really how many of my posts begin.

In a nutshell, my very platonic James Blunt got into a bit of a fight for my honor after he spotted what he thought was a cute guy's Drunk Ugly Friend mocking me in conversation.

FREEZE.

Drunk Ugly Friend: the token asshole in a group of good-looking guys who is insanely ugly (face usually contains one organically protruding feature, like buck teeth, or ginormous ears) and not coincidentally insanely drunk, possibly caused by a glance in the mirror, or the realization that all of his friends will likely get laid that night and he will inevitably be headed home solo, with only an economy-sized bottle of Swiss Formula body lotion and some internet porn to console him. His motto is typically similar to "If you can't win 'em over, be an asshole because they like it," which would ordinarily work with a decent-to-good looking guy, but never works with an ugly guy because that behavior only validates what women have passed snap judgment on initially, which is that G*d has a cruel sense of humor.

PROCEED.

After defending my honor, I felt somewhat obliged to my friend, because although the situation was blown out of proportion, I knew that I had a friend that was willing to punch the shit out of any guy that mistreated me, and I give any man that would defend a woman's honor in that manner major credit. My ultimate goal has always been to have male friends (and at some point, a man) that would seek justice - with fists, the old-fashioned way - should I be disrespected. That move is hot, and if done correctly, almost hot enough to make any woman want to sleep with you even if she's not attracted to you.

So later in the evening (well, morning), as we're walking to the car, he stops me in the parking lot and the next thing I know, I am locked into an embrace. Now, with all due love and respect to James Blunt, had you asked me to make a list earlier that night of what could possibly happen, it would have looked like this:

1. I would meet John Krasinski from "The Office" and he would ask me out.
2. I would see Brad Pitt holding little black children for Angelina Jolie at the bar while she orders two cans of Pabst.
3. Scientologist aliens from Xenu would abduct me in their spaceship and take me back to their homeland.
....
....
....
184. My friend would stick his tongue down my throat in the parking lot of this bar.

After we pulled out of the parking lot, the drive home was relatively quiet. For the first time in maybe ever, I was rendered completely speechless and could not think of a damn word to say. I knew it wasn't that big of a deal, but the fact that it was so unexpected kind of made it that way. And I was a little nervous that he would try to pursue things further, which I knew off the bat was decidedly not something I wanted to do.

We pulled into his parking lot and I parked the car. He then asked me to stay. I said no.

And then, in the most common, yet idiotic man move ever known to...well, man, he says:

"Well, why?"

Men of the world, heed thy advice: Never f*cking ask why. Resist the temptation!

Here's the deal: asking why is only going to hurt you. And no matter what you think, it will not convince the girl to change her mind. This is f*cking we're talking about, not a malpractice suit. You can't rely on rhetoric to win the case. And while you may think that talking about this rationally will appeal to the pragmatism of women, we, as a gender, are a paradox. We may make a mental SWOT analysis of which pattern of sheets to buy at Ikea, but we are not as ambivalent about wanting to see you naked. We mostly know one way or the other from the get-go.

An added stress to the "Why?" question is that the Whyer puts the Whyee in a compromising position. In the case of James Blunt, who I think is witty, incredibly smart, a talented writer, funny, and astonishingly entertaining, I feel awkward because I now have to come up with rationale that reasserts my position to him without being offensive in any way. I mean, could I have said, "I don't think you're very good looking at all and yet you're so experienced that I'm scared if I get close to you and breathe in I'll contract a VD?" Possibly. But I'm fairly certain that even James Blunt would find that offensive.

So I tell him that given our friendship, this would be awkward. He responds, "Well, it's not like we work together anymore, so what's the big deal? There's no need to keep it a secret or anything."

Hmm...point taken, Johnny Cochran, but the answer is still "no".

"Why?"

I thought quickly. "Where's your angle, KA? Where's your f*cking angle?!" The truth was, there's a reason why I didn't go into any profession that required thinking on your feet. I was clearly quite terrible at it.

Finally, I decided to go with the Right Said Fred Approach:

"Well, here's the thing. I am so riled up right now that if I went home with you, we'd probably sleep together, and that's not something I want to jump into. You're incredibly tempting, but I don't want to regret anything."

Oh yes, he's too sexy. Too irresistible. And I will be so intimidated by his massive member that I would be irrevocably scarred. That had to work, right?

But then I hear, "Well, don't worry, I'm a gentleman. We can just (insert act here) and I won't sleep with you. Even if you beg me. Because you told me you didn't want to. It stops there, I promise."

Wait, we can (insert act here)? Are you kidding?! Way to go, James Blunt. Way to lay it out there. It was a brave move, but the answer was still "no".

With no options left, I went with the approach I was trying to avoid at the risk of making myself seem horrible - the Boiled Bunny:

"Okay, here's the truth. If we hook up, I might start liking you. A lot. And then if you say you'll call me to hang out and you don't, I'll get upset. And if we go out with a group of people and you talk to another girl, I'll get upset. And if you and I hook up and you tell me down the road that you don't want a relationship with me, I will boil a bunny in your kitchen. It will not bode well for you, I promise. And you really don't want that. You really don't."

Yes, baby. I will get so hot and crazy for you that I will go ballistic on your ass and you'll live to regret it.

Well kids, I tell you - the Boiled Bunny is foolproof, because with that, he was gone in a flash. And in the two weeks that have passed, we have never discussed it since.

Which doesn't make me want to ask "Why", because clearly, I know better.

posted by KA @ 10:15 PM