Or you’d think I might learn that it is not necessary to purchase the biggest, best, newest, spiffiest items for all on my list. I shouldn’t need to buy friendship; I shouldn’t feel as if I need to swipe a card for love.   It is that reasoning that has every gaming system known to man in my house now; it is that reasoning that has me buying gifts for co-workers just because I think they are perfect for them, not because they are actually friends; it is that reasoning that has me applying for every form of credit known to man and then regretting it for the years to come.  I need to be a hermit, with no kith or kin, living a lonely, solitary existence, then I’d finally be out of debt.  Ah, but as much as I deplore the human race, I need people.  I need arguments; I need discussion; I need confirmation of my beauty (lies); I need the warmth of another near me, inside of me… (Down, Hugo, now’s not the time)

Ah, well.  Nonetheless, I shop and purchase and wrap feverously so that the gleam in the eyes of the receiver and the warmth of thanks flow over me.  And for a short time I feel fulfilled.  Until I realize that the receiver has not gifted to me nearly as nice of things; then I’ll become resentful and bitter.  Just like and good manic-depressive-bi-polar-hormone-filled person should. 

I have a theory.  Well, I have many theories, but this particular theory concerns why I am less feminine and more guy-ish.  After watching too much Discovery Channel, I think I was exposed to that extra testosterone while in the womb.  I have no proof that actually happened, but it is my theory of why I like power tools, motorcycles, browsing the Hentai pages, snakes, video games, and other activities identified as “masculine” yet still am very very very attracted to men.  Mmmm, sexy men.  Mmmm.  Sorry, Hugo got out there. However, I’ve decided it is quite a good thing.  This extra boost of male-identifying factor often leads me to do very guy-like things, such as driving around without ever stopping for directions or putting complicated new purchases together without ever reading anything that came with them.  As I constructed the radiator that a co-worker identified only as “Santa” gifted to me recently (a very needed item as I have no central heat or air in my house), I realized that I didn’t flounder when no instructions were included; I probably wouldn’t have read them anyway.  And I know exactly what screwdriver to go for, and knew better than to refer to it as “that one with the x-head” (Phillips head, for those of you who have no visual imagery abilities).  Whenever I need a faucet replaced, no need to call the plumber as I can readily handle the situation.  Reframe a window?  Pshaw, easy as cake.  Masonry?  No problemo.  Kill a roach?  Run screaming like a little girl and tell anyone nearby it is their problem.  See, I can handle any situation. 

I also am of the opinion that my views on sex (the act, not gender) are greatly influenced by my male-mindedness. I am of the belief that physical interaction holds no ties to emotional connection.  To put that in the vernacular, just because I fuck ya doesn’t mean I love ya.  Unfortunately, this is a very revolutionary way of thinking, at least for a straight woman, and therefore I must hide these ideas.  For the one who is perfect for me in every other way, believes in one-to-one physical relationships.  I only hope that this does not drive us apart as I grow older and more bitter.  Though not mentioned often, there is someone in my life who, for all practical purposes, was meant for me.  We enjoy the same things, we understand the other’s warped sense of humor, neither of us wants children, both of us laugh hysterically when people get chopped up in movies or on television, and he puts up with my insanity, no small feat in itself.  Emotionally, however, his attachments are more feminine than mine.  So while I intend a long, happy future with this person, I secretly hope that I can control myself and my id so as not to ruin it. 

Now that I have extra time on my hands, with the boss safely tucked away on vacation and school out for the semester, I have even more hours to devote to the profile-browsing obsession.  It’s not just the general profiles now; I browse to individual websites, pore through life photos, watching as people I do not even know grow and mature.  Fortunately, many of these such sites are catalogued by date, so that I can progress in life order.  So now I spend hours in which I should be doing anything else feeding the voyeur in me, watching other’s simple little lives, watching loves develop, children grow, vacations happen, bowling and pool games produce fun, parties, holidays, and all sorts of other twaddle and rot filled daily happenings in the lives of the rather ordinary.  I’m not sure what I’m looking for in these distractions.  Perhaps I’m searching for a life I never had, friends I’ve never enjoyed, emotional ties that were never formed… No, I probably would have been disappointed eventually.  Because no one is as perfect as we wish them to be.  Friends, associates, acquaintances all disappoint eventually with stupidity or emotional overreaction.  No one ever lives up to the fantasy…