Missing Link

WOW. My glimpse into the blogger realm has given me a disconcerting reality check, which I suppose only another long married woman who mostly communes with long married men can relate to. I rarely encounter single men who can legally have sex with me, so my knowledge of them is, understandly, limited.

The way I think of them is largely determined by how they are woven into the fabric of my life: The handsome but effeminate school teacher; the slack jawed but admirably built weight instructor; the pierced and scowling yet scholarly looking bookstore clerk; the painstakingly professional yet inexplicably shady accountant/insurance salesman/grocery store manager who is reminiscent of Milton Waddams...these are all distinctly asexual manifestations of maledom who cross my path with frequency, but to whom I pay scant attention, since they do not belong to the core of my reality. They exist on the fringes of my life, but are not central to it.

Oh yes, there is the occasional exception; a distinctive male who, by virtue of transcendant beauty, brawn or brains, imprints himself upon one's consciousness and insinuates himself into one's thoughts despite repeated admonitions to one's self that one is a happily married woman, and that hasty, clandestine sex in a Little League dugout would not be as good as it sounds, or that relocating to Hollywood to accomodate a career based mostly upon the ability to mash other people into a pulp would be a lark, but ultimately grow stale. But these are momentary flights of fancy, which usually fade amid the hustle and bustle of domesticity and only occasionally rear up to remind one that the brain is indeed, the largest erogeneous zone.

But, as mentioned above, there is another breed of male afoot; a Missing Link of sorts, bridging the gap between adolescence and adulthood. A perplexing and tragic man-child lurking on the edges of chat rooms, blogs and RPGs everywhere; one whom I thought had been left behind in the "angst ridden social pariah occult dabbling uber geek" phase of my rebellious pseudo-punk teenage years. It seems he still exists in a weird sort of time warp...a twenty or thirty something nod to Peter Pan'dom.

This male still lives with one or both of his parents, which allows him to devote all of his income to his teal blue T-top Trans-Am, and support his D&D habit. It also gives him an out should he actually get farther than "I like D&D and I play in a band", because he is secretly afraid of women. He adorns his walls with posters of Christy Brinkley, Loni Anderson, and Justine Bateman. He wonders why he can't meet a girl like them. He works at a retail or fast food establishment. This gives him the flexibility he needs to go on Gigs with his REO Speedwagon Tribute band, and the freedom to wear his hair in a ponytail. He thinks he might like to be Manager someday, but isn't sure his busy schedule allows for that kind of commitment. His favorite movies are Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Tron, and Dune in that order. He thinks that The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy is the Great American Novel, and he considers Ponderosa 4 star dining.

Why this male has failed to evolve beyond adolescence is a mystery. Since these things are usually blamed on the mother, we could theorize that she couldn't bring herself to cut the apron strings and instead bound her offspring to her with fierce determination and a never ending supply of softdrinks, Doritos and MTV. Or, we could safely assume that he is simply lazy, immature, and shamelessly willing to take advantage of the guilt that kicking his freeloading ass out would cause his parents, who undoubtedly love him despite the fact that he is milking them dry and waiting around to inherit the old homestead which he can then sell to finance a move to Hollywood where he can pursue a record deal. But really, who knows?

What I do know, is that they can be found in shocking abundance on the World Wide Web. Ladies, take care that you do not fall prey to this wolf in sheep's clothing, or independant, well-adjusted adult's clothing, as the case may be. Know your enemy and gaurd yourself well. And above all, if you hear the phrase "I have a band" run screaming in the other direction as fast and as far as you possibly can.

(Dedicated to...well hell, you know who you are. And yes, you should repent, heavily. )