I find some other males to often do my head in, to the point at which I sometimes prefer female friends, as crazy as they might well be! Yes, I am straight—surprisingly?
With blokes (regretfully, I include myself here) it can be all that alpha/beta, macho, competitive, shallow bullcrap, and that seriously gets old when you just want to have a decent conversation with a mate that isn’t merely small-talk or about how big your … workbench is.
It’s wired into us, but I guess it varies just how much some of us act on it; variation in testosterone levels, or what I’d consider to be acceptable societal and parental conditioning, perhaps?
Then there’s all the “I’m too manly to actually have a meaningful conversation so all I’ll do is grunt and talk about boobs.” Meanwhile, the guys like me who actually have feelings—albeit often repressed—are left thumping our skulls against the wall, trying to deal with apes who like to refer to you as a vagina every other sentence in a desperate and disastrous attempt to sound cool or hard.
Yet we wonder why women get frustrated with us men?
I haven’t a clue how I came to be this way—maybe it’s my long-standing appreciation for neutrality—but I’m often glad to be such a “different” sort of guy, because I’d hate to be that type. I’m sorry to let the team down, but there’s plenty of us out there.
The thing is, there are times when I don’t even like being a male, because I want to be better than what makes us weak, but it’d be no different if I were a woman, for my view is that both genders are utterly whack.
I’m obsessed with trying to be better; to rise above our basic, ape-like urges. I’m fighting a losing battle, but I’ll for-sure keep trying.