This is probably the most risky thing I will ever write. And I have written about masturbating daily, anal sex, BDSM, my fantasies about paraplegics, going to sex clubs, and sport-fucking women, black men and twenty-year-old boys. And yet, I feel I am about to write the most dangerous, hateworthy and trollable words ever expressed on the Internet, so taboo that when other women write them, they feel a need to do it anonymously. So here it is, please brace yourselves because this is earth shattering; I KNOW I’M ATTRACTIVE.
Even as I have aged and I have some lines and wrinkles, and pockets of fat, and some other nasty shit that happens as you get older and children ruin both your life and your looks, I know I’m generally good looking (#humblebrag.) And this is… not an advantage exactly, but a “thing.” It’s a thing because of the way men respond, and it’s a thing because sometimes women act kind of bitchy and competitive even though I don’t want their basic husbands, but usually it is simply a background condition I try to be grateful for, at least one upside to a life I sometimes don’t want.
Truthfully I get intimidated by women and men who are “more attractive” than I am, especially because this is Los Angeles, and there are usually way, way more attractive people than you in any setting, especially when you live in Malibu, no matter who you are. Megan Fox probably went to a party recently and saw a younger, hotter Megan Fox. When I was in my twenties and believed I was a “ten” I had an acting agent tell me I was only a nine and a half. The fact that at the time I thought this was only tells you the extent to which youth is wasted on the young. I don’t even want to think about what my rating is now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know yours.
There are guys who I think are BEYOND A 10 who don’t find me attractive. They might hit it if they’re single and horny, but they’re not taking me to breakfast, let alone committing to anything. That hurts, but it’s just an ego hurt, and I get over it. Someone loved me once, and my looks were part of that love, and I was madly attracted to him too for well over a decade, and the next someone I meet needs to be someone I am attracted to, and get this: some guys I think are complete dickheads, but I will fuck them anyway just because they are physically attractive and I can (#confusing #WomensLib #FuckAHotGuyForALS.)
And yet… I seem to have the kind of looks that are not intimidating enough to unattractive men. You know the gorgeous blonde sitting in the corner, hard up for dates because men are too afraid to ask her out? Yeah, that’s not me. I have always been the antithesis to that, and maybe it means I am getting less attractive, but there is an increasing phenomena of how many inappropriate guys will TAKE A SHOT. I have had short, hairy Armenian overnight gas station attendants, obese men, unemployed old guys with no home and no car make overtures at me and then seem genuinely surprised when I am not interested. Not to mention the ones that think they have a shot at fucking me because I write about sex. That’s me, the slutty Florence Nightingale, just indiscriminately doling out fucks to all those poor souls who need them the most…
One of the reasons I don’t do Tinder anymore (and there are many) is that a few guys have found me on Facebook after I swiped left on Tinder (not even remembering doing so) meaning “not interested.” One of them then trolled me when I responded that I wasn’t interested in “romance” but perhaps he might enjoy my writing? I should have blocked him without responding, like I normally do, perhaps because I came of age in the 90’s, when humans still believed that if someone spoke to you, you didn’t just pretend you hadn’t heard anything, like an elementary school prankster who’s pissed off at their friends, “Did you hear anything? I didn’t hear anything, did you?”
Recently, I was sexually harassed in a guy’s apartment after appearing on his podcast, when he felt like as a fellow comedian and professional, he was nevertheless entitled to make a pass at me. Should I not have worn lipstick that day? Believe me, the incident made me nostalgic for marriage; nothing like that ever happened in fourteen years that I was in a relationship, no matter how dewy I looked that day. Marriage affords an attractive female a kind of protection I got so used to, I forgot what life was like without it. I forgot about being single and pretty (even at forty) and how defenseless that makes you as the male ego wants to believe that you must think they’re cute just because they think you are. Saying “I’m married,” is just so much easier than “I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, but have a nice day.”
When I was growing up in Australia, I was not allowed to know I was pretty. It was considered “too big for your boots” to acknowledge such things, even as I was paid to look beautiful as a model or in commercials. I still had to pretend I didn’t know, and so did all my model friends. Then when I did stand-up comedy I had no idea what to do with the glaring elephant of my hotness, so I simply wanted you to pretend you didn’t know, and I wouldn’t mention it if you didn’t, deal? Now that I am forty, and society wants to tell me I’m too fat and too old to be pretty, so they can sell me shit to make me prettier and thinner, now am I allowed to know? At what point can a woman actually stand in front of a mirror and say “I’m beautiful” and have that be okay, whether or not she is the media definition of attractiveness. Can we just be beautiful because we say we are?
I never learned the art of letting a guy down gently. A simple “no thank you” is often badly received, and I suspect it doesn’t matter how pretty a woman is for this to be true. Then I become a “bitch” or a “cunt” or I think I’m “better” because I don’t find you attractive. Guess what? I am better. And I am a cunt. It’s one of the few things I actually respect about myself. In the scheme of the superficial dating world, I will statistically have an easier time finding someone to date, or at least sleep with for one night (LOLz, smiley wink face, #OMGWhyAreAllTheCuteGuysAssholes?)
If I want to date assholes who don’t return my calls or texts, that’s my G-d given right as an American (or an Australian Russian American whatever, I live here.) And guess what? I would rather fuck a hot guy who has put time and effort into learning how to be a good lay and not hear back from him, than sit through ten boring dates with a “nice” guy who doesn’t have the self-confidence to try and figure out how to get inside my brain and turn me on. I don’t need you to be a young Brad Pitt, but for G-d’s sake, be creative. If you’re interested, then try to figure out what makes me tick by getting inside my head (good luck in there, don’t trip on the brambles or misery.) I don’t need to be saved, and I would like to believe that if you are male, and you read my writing, it’s not because in the back of your mind you believe that someday we might actually fuck. Because guess what? We probably won’t. But please keep reading, because I seek to entertain, inform and inspire you, and have no problem with you jerking off thinking about me (#BitchesBeCrazyAmIRite?)