Violent Urges
This is the story of the first time I ever recall feeling very violent urges towards women... Yes, it was another Lying Nutball that is featured in this story. An extra-catty one. I guess this marks the first time I became painfully aware of EvilGuy's influence on me. Naturally, my own reaction shocked the hell out of me. I'm not proud of it, but I'm being honest. Well, if you've read the EvilGuy stories, you know what I mean so far...
In the summer of 2001, I was in a bar with some of my friends. It was about six months after I broke-up with Whorebag and a full month before I started this site.
We were sitting at the bar, and suddenly a very attractive woman came-up to the bar and stood next to me. She had short-cropped brown hair and was dressed very smartly... facially, she sort of reminded me of Cameron Diaz apart from her ovular glasses. She also had a really pretty shade of lipstick and a nice suntan. She looked like she was going to order a drink, but the bartender was facing the wrong way.
"Yo, Mike!" I called to the barkeep, he looked at me. I pointed to the woman. "Customer here!"
"Thanks." She said to me, and ordered a glass of red wine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Monica." (At least, I'm pretty sure she said 'Monica'.)
"I'm NiceGuy. How are you doing tonight?"
"I'm here with my friend." She gestured back at a table along the wall. Indeed, there was another woman sitting there. There was not room for three.
"You've got a nice tan." I said.
"I was in Hawaii recently." She said matter-of-factly. Well, I wasn't going to force her to talk to me, but I'll at least plant the idea in her mind.
"Well, I think my friends and I will be moving to a table as soon as one gets freed-up. If you'd like to come-over and sit with us..." The bartender handed her a glass of vino.
"Maybe we will. Bye." She turned-around and walked-back to her friend. She seemed kind of cold... I shrugged it off.
Maybe I should've just ignored her?
The evening wears-on
About twenty minutes pass, and my friends move to a table across the bar. The television is showing snowboarding on ESPN, and most of my friends are in a trance by watching it...
Meanwhile, I see Monica is sitting in such a way that she can see me if she just turns her head a little. I look at her, and a few seconds later, she happens to turn her head towards me. We briefly make eye contact. I casually wave with a small one-handed gesture. She waved back.
The next time the waitress came-by, I pointed-out Monica.
"That lady over there, the one with the glasses in the white blouse? She and her friend can have their next round of drinks on me. Okay?"
"Those women over there?" She confirmed that she knew who I was talking about. I nodded. "Sure thing."
Indeed, a few minutes passed, the waitress came-over.
"They're happy. Here ya go." She handed me the check, I throw some cash at her. Well, I think this is how the game is played: I buy each of the women a drink, and they'll come-over and say 'thank you'. I'll invite them to sit-down with me, and perhaps that might be a good opening into a conversation? Well, that's the way I hope it'll work-out at least. Isn't that a reasonable expectation?
But no... half an hour passes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see both of them are standing-up... and walking towards the exit.
Hmmph. Great. Just great.
I notice that Monica's friend heads-towards the ladies' room, and Monica walks-outside, and stands waiting just outside the exit.
I hop-up, and walk quickly towards the exit. I had about four beers inside me, and everything around the bar seems to be moving in an exaggeratedly confusing fashion. But, I step-out and see Monica standing there.
"Hi..." I said.
"Thanks for the drinks." She replied. In fact... she said this in a very perfunctory way, not in a way that conveyed any real gratitude. I got the impression that she'd just gone through the cosmetic motion of saying 'thanks' because it was what I wanted to hear, and I'd just go away after hearing it. In hindsight, I should've cut my losses and just walked-back to my friends.
"You're heading for home now?" I asked. She nodded. "Well... before you left, I just wanted to say that I thought you were really pretty and I was hoping that maybe I could call you later."
One corner of her mouth went-up into a smirk. Her tone was acerbic, dripping with sarcasm. "I bet you say that to all the girls." She laughed once, dryly. And the 2001 crown for Miss Cynicism U.S.A. goes to...
"No, just you. I mean... I'm here talking to you, aren't I?"
"Well, if you give me your e-mail address..."
Oh no, I know this trick. She'll never write me. I held-up my hand to stop her.
"I'd really prefer your phone number if that's okay with you." I said.
"You know, there are a lot of other women in there, yet you single me out?"
Um... yes? You know, her reaction is the total opposite of what I hoped it would be. Does she think she's being witty or something? Yeah, I should've just turned on my heel and walked-away from little miss sassy-pants at this point. But no, like an idiot, I'm still trying to be congenial because I'm clinging to some optimistic foolishness that I might be able to get on this woman's good side if I talk to her in a friendly and honest fashion. She's rapidly depleting whatever attraction I might've felt towards her, though.
"Well, you're right. When you first talked to me, I knew I wanted to get to know you better." I replied.
"Oh yeah?" She folded her arms. "What's my name, then?"
"Monica." I replied.
"No, sorry." She shook her head.
"Monica?" I asked. She didn't so much as blink. "Come on."
"Buh-bye." She indicated that I should go back into the bar. Based on her stright-face, she could probably play poker very well. My face shifted in disbelief. Huh?
"What? But... you said your name was 'Monica' at the bar!" I cocked my head. Eh? What is this? I was one-hundred percent positive that her name was 'Monica'! "Howabout Monique, then? I mean... I'm very sure you said your name was Monica..."
"Sorry, nope. Better luck next time." At that moment, her friend walked-out and the two pair-up.
"So I remembered wrong? What is your name if it's not 'Monica'?" I asked, growing very irritated, in hopes that her friend might help set the record straight. I really don't feel like playing these head-games.
"Buh-bye." She said, and the two of them walked-away together. I stood there, unable to stop my confusion from turning into anger.
Aigh! Fer crying out loud! 'Buh-bye!' Oooh, the way she said that was just so freaking... smug! I just... grrrrr! Why do I suddenly want to hurt her?!
I glowered at her back as she walked-away. The sidewalk leading-out of the bar had bricks lining the side of it, and I noticed that one of the bricks near my foot was loose. I looked at the brick. I looked at 'Monica'. I had the overwhelming urge to pry the brick out of the dirt, run-up to 'whats-her-name' and plough it deep into the back of her skull.
"Hey, Monica!" I yelled. Her friend quickly glanced-back at me, but the woman in question did not. They were quietly talking as they walked. I was positive she said her name was Monica!
God, damn her! She deserves to be smitten! My face collapsed into a twisted grin. Yeah, I'd pummel her senseless with the brick, and when she was on the ground crying in agony, I'd twist her neck 'till it snapped like a chicken-bone! Then, I'd step on her throat and watch the life drain-out of her as she lay twitching on the pavement. Yeah, and then I would hear each of her ribs give a satisfying 'crack!' as I stomped her chest-in with the heel of my boot... I shook my head and put my hand to my face... Holy shit, I'm thinking like a psycho!
Dear God, I shook my face and rubbed my temples with my fingers. Yes, I really wanted to inflict horrible, searing pain on that chick! Was it the booze? No, I didn't think it was... it was like... like something highly irrational was starting to poison my thought. Crap crap crap. I was starting to think like a whacko. The realization hit me like an Amtrak locomotive. Was I losing my mind? Wasn't her name Monica!? Monika? Muh.... mah... urrgh!
I walked back-in, feeling shaken. Good God, I've got to sit-down and calm myself. Let it go, man. Let it go.
Let it go?! I can't let it go!! This is driving me up the wall! I swear to God I thought her name was 'Monica'! She's a Lying Nutball! And why was I relishing the image of grinding her face against a cheese-grater?
I wanted to hit her, but it's illegal! This is why she's never restrained from being a bitch! She needed a good ass-kicking!
I sat-down with my friends, looking glum. One of them pointed at the check for the drinks I'd bought the two shrews that just left.
"Who were these drinks for?"
"Um, some people I met at the bar." I replied, my voice was trembling a bit. Yes she made a monkey out of me, but that doesn't justify me going-off the deep-end. Does it?
"Who? We want to know!"
"No one, really." Soooo confuuuuuused....
"Some chick, wasn't it?" He asked.
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, where is she?"
"She left." I shrugged. I still felt like doing violent things.
"Heh, loser." He smirked. "Be an asshole next time. Chicks dig assholes."
Talking with my Psychologist
A week later, I was sitting in the office of Dr. Lipsitz, my psychologist. I was sitting, ensconced on her comfortable sofa. (It truly is the most comfortable sofa in the world. If only it didn't have a femmy lace antimacassar draped over the back...) I was retelling the above story, by the end, I was again totally flabbergasted at this chick's behavior.
"I am positive she said her name was Monica! Yes, I could have mis-remembered her name... but it's a one-in three chance that it was me. I mean... did I remember her name wrong? Or did she lie when she introduced herself? Or did she lie about me getting her name wrong? It could have been me that was wrong, but chances are it probably wasn't! And did she laugh her ass-off at me on the way home? Seriously, was I her big laugh for the evening? I bet she laughed all the way home! 'Oh, men are so stupid, ha-ha-ha.' Okay, so I'm stupid because she willfully misrepresented herself?! Yeah, I guess it is stupid to think a woman is capable of honesty!"
"Well, you're putting words in her mouth now. She never said you're stupid..." said the shrink.
"Okay, fine. Maybe she didn't say I was stupid but... but, I mean... I was just trying to be civil! I was being a gentleman! This would drive anyone to the funny-farm! Why the hell do women act like Lying Nutballs?! Do they want to make total strangers hate them?!"
"Well, you were in a bar, and there was alcohol in her blood. An environment of-"
"With all due respect..." I held-up my hand to pause her. "...please spare me the pithy bromides about how her behavior has to be beyond criticism. I mean... why do women find such delight in telling lies!?"
"Well, before we go-on to that, you were telling me your story. Let's go back to the main topic you were concerned about: tell me more about how you felt afterwards." She jabbed her pen at the air as she spoke.
"So... anyways, I immediately started thinking like a violent whacko. I wanted to, like, break her head-open with a cobblestone and stuff like that. This really disturbed me. I mean, I wanted to really hurt her in very gory ways. Am I losing it? Seriously, are my mental faculties unraveling like a cheap sweater? I was afraid to even say anything to you because I was afraid you might think I was turning into a psychopath. But I've had these feelings since the bar incident, too. Just the other day, I was at a Starbucks, and I suddenly wanted to hammer a railroad spike through the stomach of the woman standing in front of me. Seriously, I envisioned myself peeling the flesh from her face with a straight-razor. I'd never do it, but I wanted to open a can o' Whoop-Ass on her."
"What about her made you think this? Why her?"
"Um... I guess... you know what it was? She was attractive. And she just sort of had this haughty, smug, self-important, 'I'm all that and a bag of chips' aura about her. I just had a feeling that she somehow deserved being horribly maimed because..." I sighed. "... because I jumped to the conclusion that she had to be so utterly corrupt and ugly on the inside and never gets censured for it. I really believed that she deserved to feel some kind of pain." I looked at Dr. Lipsitz sadly. "That was really what set me off. I know it sounds crazy, right?"
"You never really started feeling these urges before now?" She looked at me through her glasses.
"Well... up until now, I'd dealt with that sort of frustration much in the same way that any adult would. You know, you just sort of grin and bear it. I mean, a lot of people sometimes get the urge to be violent. When you call the Department of Motor Vehicles or your health-insurance company, sometimes you want to reach-through the phone and gob-smack the intransigent bureaucrats on the other end. That's a perfectly normal reaction to dealing with day-to-day stress. I mean, I'm sure everyone feels that way from time to time. But this..." I leaned-forward on the couch. "This was different. It was... twisted. It was like... I understood how a thug might feel. I got a good idea of how a serial rapist might feel towards the world. I really wanted to strangle that random chick at Starbucks! I never wanted to feel this way! I never wanted to think these thoughts! But... after thinking these thoughts, I would feel a lot less frustrated. It was a real relief. It felt good."
"Yes, too many people use violence as a release valve. We've talked about your frustrations in the past. Your lingering issues from your break-up with Whorebag six months ago..."
"No, no... Whorebag didn't trigger this sort of reaction. I mean... no matter how insane Whorebag got, I never thought of doing physical harm to her. Ever. I always considered myself to be a very non-violent person. Especially when it came to violence against women; not hurting women was a principle that transcended all my thoughts. I mean... the thought of a guy beating his wife really used to turn my stomach. Seriously, the thought of hitting a woman was anathema to me. It was abhorrent and it really bothered me deeply whenever I heard about it happening. But now..." I sigh and shake my head. "This is some kind of 180-degree reverse-course in my sanity isn't it?"
"It sounds like this is an extension of your other frustrations with women."
"I really wanted to do serious harm to this Monica chick. I really, really did. It bugs me that the thought of it made me smile." I run my fingers through my hair. "But... I buy her a drink because I was hoping that she might talk to me, and she leaves without saying anything to me. That's just rude. I had to try to talk to her as she was leaving in order to get any kind of response- and then... and THEN she scoffs at my attempts to be polite! She totally tries to mess with my head! That Monica chick was trying to be as big a bitch as possible to someone who was trying to treat her kindly! Whatever happened to common courtesy? What sort of dysfunctional, sociopath..." I slapped my forehead. "I'm totally positive she said her name was Monica! Does a woman ever not lie!?"
"Some women can be rude and some women can be liars, just like some men can lie and be rude. She was probably playing a trick on you, and it wasn't nice of her."
"But... when I say to a guy 'what's your name?', I tend to think he might actually tell me his name! Why the hell would he lie about something so basic?! What possible, tangible good does it do him to tell me that his name is 'Bob' when it's actually 'Fred'?! If a person lies habitually like that, one would assume he's got some kind of mental issue. Do I really have to disbelieve what a woman says when she tells me her name?!? Are women incapable of participating at even the most basic levels of human communication, for Petes' sake!?! Are women so dishonest that I can never accept anything they ever say at face-value? I'm really starting to think this is true!"
"No, not all women are like that, just some."
"No, 'just some'? That seriously gets harder and harder for me to swallow each day! I'm starting to think it's all a big lie! Seriously, I want to believe that women aren't like that but... it's something that just doesn't get demonstrated very often in real life! It's not because I want to believe that women are insane... I don't want to be angry at women, but something... some force is inexorably dragging me in that direction! It's almost as if the simple act of interaction with women is somehow making me dislike them! It's like... I'm starting to think that women habitually do every low-down, dishonest, backstabbing, scummy thing as part of their normal-life... except they don't do the low-down things that would require them to have actual courage!" I sighed. "Am I turning-in to a misogynist?"
"No, no. I really wouldn't call you a misogynist. Not yet, at least." She shook her head. "No, you're just very frustrated and you're reacting to the frustration. You've been coming to me for a year, and I think you have a very good intrinsic sense of fairness and you reflect quite a lot on your own behavior. And obviously, you do have an attraction to women. Your relationship with Whorebag... it was obvious to me that you're a deeply loving person. You are a loving person!"
"Would you say that a person's affection is valuable? That an affectionate person is preferable to a non-affectionate person?" I asked.
"Of course!" She replied.
"I think that my affection has at least some value to it. I mean, I'm actually egocentric enough to think-- brace yourself, now-- my affection is actually a good thing! Isn't that crazy??" I laughed dryly. "Don't I have such a massively-swollen ego to so much as imagine that my affection is actually worth something?! But the thing is, I feel that my affection has been so devalued by women to the point where they act like it's totally worthless. I know my affection isn't worthless! Why does genuine male affection seem to be so worthless to women? I mean, women say they want an affectionate guy in their lives, but the instant they're actually confronted by a male who is warm and affectionate, they act like he's the most unnatural and unwanted thing on the planet! They want to kick him in the groin, almost! It's like, half the time, they're driven by some kind of collective pathological madness to actively discourage males from being affectionate! They seem to pursue the assholes and ignore the non-assholes! If they're really going to punish me for being kind and respectful, then obliging them by not treating them with any respect or kindness is the only reasonable way I can be expected to react in the long-run!"
Dr. Lipsitz spoke-up.
"You have to understand, some women don't lead their lives in a rational fashion. Basically, they'll make poor decisions due to their own emotional issues or poor planning. And that's linked to another part of your frustration: you're very angry because you feel you don't run-into many women who are fair and reasonable in how they conduct their general lives. Sadly, that's not an unreasonable conclusion to reach based on how some people behave. Some women are visibly irrational, but not all of them are. But the ones who are irrational sometimes make it easy to feel like all women are irrational and ignore the ones who aren't."
"I don't feel that all women are irrational... just the ones in America. I mean, I really liked being with the women in Taiwan! They were so wonderful they were addictive, almost! They didn't kick me in the damn shins for buying them drinks. And when I bought them drinks, they said 'thank you' while actually seeming as if they were conveying actual gratitude instead of using a stuck-up way of telling me to go away. I mean... is it bad that I seem to prefer non-American women? Am I being prejudiced?"
"Well, some men prefer blondes and some men like redheads. Some women like an exotic accent..." She replied. "So no. I don't think it really is a prejudiced preference for you to have at all."
"But getting back to what you were saying about some women not behaving rationally, yeah I have to agree." I shrugged. "I guess what you said sums-up things perfectly and it's a real relief to hear someone else actually say it. I really want to believe that women are rational, but... so many of them just don't act like it. And, as time goes on, it gets harder and harder for me to disbelieve that women suck. You know, I had this dream the other night-"
Ding! Dr. Lipsitz's clock went-off.
"Sorry about this, but we're out of time. Try to relax more in daily life, that would be my advice to you. But before you go, answer one question: do you ever think you'd act-out these urges you had in the past week?"
I paused and asked myself that question. Then, I answered it as honestly as I could.
"No, I don't." I looked at the ground and looked-back at her. "I have a very good sense of what is acceptable conduct and what isn't, and I'm very certain I'd never cross the line." I sighed. "I mean... if I had less self-control, and I wasn't sure of my ability to control myself, I'd be honest and say so. But... I know that I'll never actually act violent. It's just unthinkable for me to do that kind of thing. I might think it or want to do it, but I'd never actually do it because I know it's just not right."
That was a good-enough answer for her. And rest assured, readers: I never intend to do that kind of foul stuff. And I certainly haven't felt that way since moving to Japan.
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"Tyranny of woman is the history of the worst tyranny the world has ever known. The tyranny of the weak over the strong. It is the only tyranny that ever lasts." -- Oscar Wilde.
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