Them's Fighting Words!

Dear Dategirl,

Sex is a challenging subject with infinite variables. I am sorry to say, Judy, lately your thought processes probing this have been wanting. Take your last column about being confident and not cocky. Rather than testing and probing all the vicissitudes of sex, you increasingly see as interesting the low-IQ queries you get from e-mails and letters. Now, this column was more interesting than the others because you actually put some thought into what you had to say. But it said more about you than it said about sex.

One must overcome a lifetime of pervasive social pressures in order to open one's mind to the many variables of sex. It's time to get away from the limited curiosity and intellectualism of your readers and begin probing.

Take the word "lust." Those pervasive pressures I mentioned have made it carry a long heritage as one of the "deadly sins." But it is what makes the juices flow, and the variations of stimulus-response are endless. And generally the more of it there is, the more explosive and satisfying a sexual experience will be.

You are (1) smart, and (2) have a capability to see what others miss, especially when it comes to the joy of lust. Exploring this will get you out of the rut of bemoaning too many personal issues.

Understanding the complexity of what stirs such strong emotions and

Sorry pal, I'm cutting you off right there. Do you know how many people would read my column if I nattered on like you just did, throwing around 10-dollar words like lead confetti and wringing the fun out of all that is naked and sweaty and good? Zero. Nada. Zip. I'll bet most peeps quit reading this column after your second sentence!

Your letter reminds me why I quit academia. See, academicians butter their bread by taking fascinating research on the most prurient of topics (in my case, ethnographic studies of heroin users and dealers) and cloaking all the cool bits in arcane smarty-pants lingo indecipherable to anyone outside of the same rarefied field. Normal folks can't understand what in the hell they're on aboutand that's the point. It's all done to preserve the academy's illusion that they are smarter than us. I suffer no such delusion. I fully realize I'm just as big a jackass (if not bigger) than the funny little nutter who sent me a proposition scribbled on a brown paper bag (btw, thanks!). Which is exactly why I ramble on about myself sometimes (OK, all the time). I'm performing a public service here; learn from my emotional retardation.

You bemoan the "low-IQ queries" I run, but I see things a bit differently. Who's to say that a young guy earnestly wondering what he might be doing wrong with the ladies is an idiot? Not I. I wonder what I'm doing wrong constantly. His question is the kind of thing that most people wonder about. Who gives a shit about "the complexities of what stirs such strong emotions"? "What happens if I'm out and it looks like I'm gonna get laid, but I know for a fact that my underpants are not fit to be seen by other humans?"* is a far more pressing concern.

Believe me, nobody wants to hear me wax philosophic on lust or any other topic. I assure you, I'm not that girl.

Another thing these aforementioned professorial types do is employ thousands of words to explain things that could easily be broken down into a couple concise sentences. Dude, the entirety of your dreary letter ran 614 words; I only get about 700 total!

You can temper your critique by blowing smoke up my ass, telling me I'm smart, till the mad cows come home, but my head remains unturned. You might be a clever lad, but you're also pedantic, long-winded, and seem to be sorely lacking in the funny-bone department.

*Answer: Excuse yourself to the can, remove and dispose of offending undergarments, and return to the table bare-ass (under your clothing, of course). Freebird is far preferable to poo-streaked. The next time you're home, purge your underwear drawer of the gnarled and nasty and buy yourself some new boxers, for chrissakes.

Expose yourself. Write Dategirl at dategirl@seattleweekly.com or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

 
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