Guy Behavior 101
proudly copied & paste ~ taken from Redbook – Sex & Love Section.
A guide to understand the androgens – for the same gender friends or opposite gender relationships.
”As long as you know men are like children,” Coco Chanel once observed, “you know everything.”
Old Coco didn’t know how right she was. Men are often like kids: adorable, inscrutable and difficult to keep clean. But while children have an excuse for their puzzling behavior — they’re young, naive and unschooled in social decorum — we guys — well, we aren’t young, anyway. Even the most thoughtful and sensitive of us sometimes do things so baffling that you just can’t help folding your arms, shaking your head and wondering, “Why?”
Wonder no more. Here is an insider’s guide to the ridiculous things he does — and why.
Why he complains about what you spend, and then buys useless gadgets.
In the crude calculator inside a guy’s head, all dollars are not created equal. Basically, any purchase he deems insufficiently fun or needlessly extravagant (dish soap, socks, penicillin for Junior) represents an unfavorable cost-benefit ratio. The drugs merely kill Junior’s strep, which is just as likely to return next week, after the kid French-kisses the family dog; gadgets, on the other hand, are material rewards for trudging to work every day and are critical to maintaining a man’s feeling that he is achieving something and has something to show for it. The fact that most of the gadgets are useless only reinforces this point: It proves he’s got money to spend. Finally, there’s our competitive nature: No man could face himself in the shaving mirror (no doubt a pricey fog-free model from Sharper Image) if he ended up the only one among his buddies who didn’t own a golf-ball steam cleaner or a trimmer that turns nose-hair clippings into yard mulch.
Why He Plays Air Guitar.
For the same reason he strains a hamstring trying to take that extra base during beer-league softball: Deep down he wants to list either “rock star” or “shortstop” in the occupation box of his 1040. Air guitar is cheap fantasy fulfillment. While our regular jobs keep the kids in Pokémon trinkets and Hamburger Helper (and we’re thrilled to have all three), playing air guitar is the quickest route back to the Road Not Taken: the “what if?” life we always wonder about. While in your case that may be dreaming of what it would be like to be Julia Roberts walking down the red carpet in a designer gown, for us it’s tearing through a cover of “Highway to Hell” in front of 10,000 screaming teenage girls and then retiring to our hotel suite to — well, to do things Julia Roberts probably wouldn’t.
Why He Never Asks for Sexual Feedback.
Men’s assessment of their own merits falls somewhere between the solemn certitude of the Creator (“Be still and know that I am God” — Psalm 46) and the ceaseless braggadocio of a rapper (“I swim under water and don’t get wet” — Snoop Dogg). A guy requesting a sexual scorecard is like Michelangelo asking for painting advice from the guy whitewashing the fence outside the Sistine Chapel.
Body image also plays a big part. A woman gains half a pound and sees Delta Burke staring back in every mirror; a guy packs on love handles the size of flood sandbags and still thinks he’s Charles Atlas. Not asking for reviews doesn’t mean we’re unconcerned with your satisfaction; it just never occurs to us that we may not be satisfying you. (Hint: Speak up.)
Why He Refuses to Turn Off ESPN, Even When You’re Having Sex.
ESPN fills many primal needs for men: It’s a hearth, a community message board and a security blanket all in one. So don’t take offense when we say we think the missionary position (with us facing the TV) would be greatly enhanced by Yankees highlights and college basketball. ESPN soothes us. It calms our nerves and grounds us, and therefore helps us perform optimally, unaided by drugs or Swedish pornography. Plus, its programming keeps us from thinking about Cindy Crawford or that woman we work with who goes braless on casual Fridays — with SportsCenter on the tube, you’re the only woman we’re thinking about.
Why He Acts Uncomfortable Around Your Gay Male Friends but Remains Fascinated by Lesbians.
Most straight guys have a seemingly contradictory opinion about homosexuality that, in fact, makes perfect sense: Men who like men are a biological oddity (we are men, so we know our own most unappealing aspects); women who like women, though, engage in a real-life fantasy of getting naked with a busty harlot who looks like Miss July (hey, we can relate!).
Men have an unquenchable interest in everything lesbian. Everything. Two lesbians composing a grocery list will send a man into spasms of erotic bliss. Sigmund Freud would claim it’s all about a latent need for female affection; in his lesser-known monograph, Wow! Lesbians!, Freud wrote, “The male-male urge is aberrant. Female-female desire merits close study, preferably as a spectator at a ‘Chocolate Love’ wrestling match or, at the very least, via an interactive DVD purchased from that seedy video store down by the bus station.” Or maybe that was Hugh Hefner. Or the fellow who writes those Chicken Soup for the Soul books. Some guy, anyway. On this topic we’re indistinguishable.
Why he eats everything in sight yet glances at your hips if you order dessert.
This sort of thing may seem to reflect a double standard, but we’re operating with the noblest of intentions (honest!). We don’t usually do a very good job of looking after our own physical well-being: In a brief frenzy of health consciousness, we’ll go to the gym and ask for broccoli on our pizza but soon slide right back to bean dip and Mountain Dew for breakfast. Let us fret about your physique! Any dime-store psychologist will tell you that women spend far too much time concerned with their body image. To help out we’ll gladly eat the whipped cream right off your frozen yogurt. Think of it as assisted dieting.
At least that’s what we tell ourselves. The truth is a little harsher: When it comes to beauty, men are shallower than women. You truly can look at a man and see his intelligence or his wit; we look at a woman and instantly guesstimate her cup size. So, while we feel no shame about letting our own bodies go to pot, we are a little more, ahem, protective of yours.
Why he takes so much reading material into the bathroom.
A guy’s mental capacity is a mile wide and an inch deep. His interests are varied, but dominated by trivia: What does Alyssa Milano think about foreplay? Will the Dodgers win it all? Why does the local daily still carry Family Circus? After carting all these cultural effluvia into the one place he’s guaranteed some privacy, a man is able to mull his most probing questions. It’s an intellectual exercise, really; only when he’s satisfied with the results of such mental gymnastics can he complete his business.
Why he never shares intimate details about his love life with friends (while you tell yours every detail).
The Nielsen ratings offer some clues: Women love Sex and the City, in which four urban hotties discuss fellatio techniques over brunch. Men prefer the Golf Channel or, failing that, shows like The Sopranos, with lots of guns and swearing. (That Tony Soprano is as apt to discuss sexual dysfunction with his shrink as unload six bullets into some poor schmuck’s head is immaterial.)
From birth, guys are trained to tuck away any embarrassing fondness for Celine Dion or Hello Kitty. Such things are never to be spoken of. And that goes double for our sex lives. We’ll be crudely vague but never intimately specific. While women are under no such societal strictures and will let the sauciest details fly under any circumstances, men stick to telling Monica Lewinsky jokes, reading the letters to Penthouse Forum and engaging in idle speculation about lesbianism in the WNBA.
Why he sucks in his stomach when a good-looking woman walks by.
Because it’s easier than doing the 500 sit-ups a day it would take to undo the years of beer and nachos that have turned our once rigid six-packs into distended down pillows. Men aren’t used to our physical attributes (or lack thereof) being readily discernible: We can spot 36Ds at 50 paces, yet our privates are safely stowed in our chinos, our Olive Oyl biceps shrouded in our sleeves. A pudgy stomach is tougher to hide. We could drink less and work out more often, but inhaling deeply and pretending we’re buff is much more efficient.