Chickenheadish

More and more, I feel like I meet the same girl over and over again. Brown-Blond-headed, short-tall, exotically plain, preppy, slutty, rich, middle-class, poor, smart-dumb; every other weekend, it seems, I meet these otherwise beautiful girls and women who share a common trait - their unmistakable chickenheadishness.

Chickenhead (noun) - A girl who talks without ever saying anything. She fashions every part of her life in accordance with her mass-media influenced self-created mold of what is expected of a girl (or woman) of her age, in her geographical location, and within her socio-economic means. She is the plastic persona of the should-be.

Dressed in her fake face, sitting at the bar sipping something that looks far too delicious for me to drink in public, she looks good. Damn good, in fact. I approach her with a fifty-percent-of-the-time clever line. She bites. I play along.

I call. We either meet up or I pick her up. Either at dinner or in the car or on the phone, the weather-talk eventually runs out. The game, the banter between us, gets old. Where do the good times go from that awkward silence but horizontal? Nowhere but there.

Her, in her thong high heels, nice butt, and perfectly still boobs. Me, the hypocrite that loves to hate her for her chickenheadedishness. Me, in my Chickenhead solution disguise; I've learned that I must act like an asshole in order to get anywhere with this girl. Looking down at her with a half cocked head and a slick, asshole line. She snaps. I snap. That is the game we play amidst this outer layer of getting to know one another. True conversation is like an onion as we must peal past the crust before anything worth consuming can be found. And I'm cool with this. It's natural. While the getting-to-know-you is going on, we each silently look for subtle clues as to each other's real you. This is natural and so it is healthy. In this sense, guys have a little bit of chickenheadishness in us too. It is a fearless facade that allows us to approach and be approached. It is a comfort blanket that keeps us until we can go on without it.

What I don't like is what is not natural and is not healthy. I don't like the fake face that she puts on because she thinks it is what is needed to impress. Whom? I'm not sure. Maybe me. Probably the other chickens. Either way, it's not a good fit for me. I also hate what it does to me; the reaction her chicken headdress invokes. I, in order to compete, must use this asshole tough guy guise and act like all I want is some easy action. And I do it because I am a guy with a natural urge to do it.

The bar seen is full of this dilemma, but there is a simple solution; and girls, it starts with you because it is beyond us to give up the pursuit of you (or it). To borrow a line from Andre 3000, "... take off your cool." Listen to the song. It is just that simple. I believe that ninety percent of you chickenheads are not that at all. Deep down, you are kind and funny and daring. At home, when you are by yourself, you like to read and think and humbly laugh at yourself for going to the fridge, getting there, and realizing that you forgot what you came for. Deep down, you like compliments and opened doors. Deep down, you are good people.

Chickenheadish (adjective) - a figurative layer of the female persona that manifests itself as vanity that is worn to conceal the insecurities associated with an inherent 'good person' that lies hidden within.

So, here's the deal for all of the could-be-Chickenheaded-Women. You've gotta stop all of your pouting, Beamer-crazed, vanity-shrilled-extra-high-pitched-fake-"hello's". Quit acting like you were the product of a three-way between Joy from My Name is Earl, that chick from Clueless, and New York from "I Love New York". Quit emulating Britney Montana. That shit's not cute. Brittany Montana is a dumb slut. Sure, I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers. But she is empty and uninterested. Underneath it all, she is plain-jane-ugly with no more to talk about than her own miserable life. She is a collectible barbie in a box that is wrapped in plastic and on a shelf.

REAL woman: figure out what you want; who you are; act like you have a little class. Be yourself. Respect yourself.

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Butt-Ass-Naked

Have you ever felt like you were completely exposed?

In my experience, while it is somewhat disconcerting at first, it is quite liberating.

The last time I felt like that was about a month ago while giving a presentation to four big-whig execs inside a small conference room of the manufacturing facility of the largest industrial manufacturer in Jacksonville. "This is my account," I thought. "This is the first step to the rest of my career. Don't blow it!" (Don't we always do this in these situations. Blow them up in our minds like balloons that are bound to burst at any second.) Nervous, yet prepared and confident, I did great.

I remember the turning point. It came just after I stuttered and stammered my way through a defensive explanation of our position in the face of a ridiculing question from the Largest man in the room. He was short, he spoke with an accent, and he didn't exactly look like a "Man with the Plan." He was smooth though. His game was like Billy from White Men Can't Jump; disguised and sudden enough that you didn't know he 'got you' until it was too late. As I spoke, he stared me down as if to weigh my composure with each of his now very aware eyes. When I finished, full of myself on adrenaline, I directed a deliberate glance with a quarter-cocky smile toward him. He smiled back approvingly and I felt about thirty times better. Better, not because I felt "clothed", but better, because I now felt comfortable in my own skin.

I guess it has been a necessary skill for me to acquire in my 26 years as a red-headed, freckle-faced, allergic-to-air ginger with mild astigmatism. At a certain point, a Man must shrug his shoulders, laugh at himself a little bit, confidently slap the court hard with both hands, look those whom you fear dead in the eyes, and do whatever it is that you do.

"This is me, Butt-Ass-Naked."

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