Friday, 2/28/97
Sexy or Psycho?
A handy reference guideBY KATHERINE TOM
I find it kind of funny that on Valentine's Day, Ahh's ran a full page ad in The Bruin depicting various sexual aids. And I don't mean "funny, ha ha," like my column tries to be, I mean "funny, strange," like my column actually is.
What I find intriguing is that if you pay The Bruin enough money, they will run a full page of photographs of assorted lubricants and flavored lotions with captions like,"licking up afterwards is a must - yum yum!" If you only happen to be a lowly columnist like myself however, your humorous article on shopping for sex toys won't even get published. Instead they'll run something from The Associated Press. Has anyone besides me noticed the striking similarities between The Bruin and the Los Angeles Times? For instance, they're both using the same writers.
People have been asking me about my brush with censorship. In fact, there are those who have expressed great interest in my opinions on the subject of sex toys. The fact that these people are usually callers on my 900 line (1-900-2-MIDGET) is unimportant. The people have spoken. They deserve to know. So here, for the first time ever, is a section from the lost manuscript of Katherine Tom's Jan. 17 column on sex toys:
My old vibrator disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Mysterious enough to warrant, say, an FBI investigation. But alas, David Duchovny won't accept my calls. He told his secretary that I'm a deranged psycho, and he's never met me before. I don't think that's a very nice thing for him to say about his spiritual soul mate, but I forgive him. His despondency over our long separation has clearly driven him to repress the oh-so-bittersweet memories of our all consuming passion, which has rocked the entire known universe to its very foundations.
Incidentally, in the X-Files, Scully is always withholding information from her superiors in order to protect Mulder's safety. Just once, I want her to say to Congress when they tell her she is obligated to reveal her partner's whereabouts: "I answer to a higher law ... the code for the preservation of hotties." If I ever became a writer for that show, believe you me, I would make better use of David's many talents as an actor. (Next week on the X-Files, Mulder is abducted by aliens and forced to perform as a male exotic dancer in their human cabaret!!!).
There you have it, pretty hilarious, right? Am I not funny? If you read me, do you not laugh? If you tickle me, do I not kick you in the shins in a desperate attempt to escape the exquisite torture of your fiendish fingers? If you buy me a drink, do I not sleep with you? Actually, I do not ... but you're welcome to think so if it means you'll buy me the drink.
You could say that my method for getting drinks is pretty straightforward. Boys are simple creatures - easily confused. The last thing they're expecting is a full-frontal, close-range assault. That's where I come in. I put boys the on the defensive right from the get go. Favorite lines of mine include, "So, are you going to buy me a drink or what?" "Which one of you is going to buy me a drink now?" "Is this the part of the conversation where you buy me a drink? Or is it the part of the conversation where I leave?" And, if all else fails, I'll point into the crowd, shout, "Look, it's Elvis!" and quickly chug the drink of whatever feeble-minded sap falls for my diversionary tactics. This has earned me the reputation of being slightly insane, which, in all fairness, I probably am.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret about boys. A large number of my guy friends foster this theory: If a girl is good in bed, she has to be a little bit crazy - psycho women are better lovers. All you girls who, up until this point, only imagined that boys are perpetually clueless, there is your proof. It's like that thing where men tell themselves that all women go for assholes, because, as far as they're concerned, any guy that gets to have sex with that hot blonde who shot them down is automatically an asshole. Except that my theory is actually true: Guys love psycho women. They go out of their way to date them.
Here's how it works. All men, even the most liberal ones (bless their hearts), secretly believe that a woman can't possibly enjoy sex as much as they do. And if she does, there must be something wrong with her. If a boy likes sex, he's normal, but if a girl likes sex, she's a nymphomaniac.
Back in the day, in colonial, Puritan New England, those women who were considered to be promiscuous or sexually threatening were labeled "witches" and burned at the stake. Today the same sort of code suggests that if a woman accepts money for her favors, she is a "whore," but if she declines to share her "belle chose" with a guy who has just paid for an expensive dinner, she is a "cocktease."
Women are expected to live up to an impossible standard of behavior - to be sexy and uninhibited and chaste and sweet, all at the same time. It's the whole madonna/whore syndrome (or, alternately, the madonna/Madonna syndrome). With all the contradictions in boys' expectations of us, no wonder some of us are a little loopy. Society requires girls to be demure and passive, while boys are expected to be bold and aggressive. This puts an incredible amount of pressure on boys to perform and display sexual prowess. Therefore, nothing is more frightening (yet tantalizing) to your average guy than a girl who is more experienced than he is. Her expectations are higher, his chances of "failure" are greater, and she has a large store of information, knowledge, and skills at her disposal. This is as intimidating as it is intriguing. So it becomes easy to label this woman wanton, unintelligent, or even crazy. I've seen boys ensnared in the tangled webs of these Jezebels, and trust me, if anyone is acting stupid, it's not the girls.
In fact, you have to feel a little sorry for the boys. Boys, you try hard, I know you really do. There are a few bad apples out there, and they've given the lot of you a bad reputation, but I know you're good at heart. So I'm going to help you out. Because there's a line between sexy and psycho, and just because I cross that line all the time, doesn't mean I don't know where it is. You need to be able to tell the difference, because you really don't want to date an actual psycho by accident. Trust me. If your date looks around nervously every time she hears sirens, buckle up - you've got a psycho on your hands. A psycho will dump drinks on your head in public. She'll have sex with your brother and tell him about all your shortcomings in bed. She'll have sex with your father and tell him about you and your brother. Don't let this happen to you.
Sexy: Takes the cherry stem from her drink and ties it into a knot with her mouth.
Psycho: Takes a fistful of cherries from behind the bar, stuffs it into her mouth, then spits them out at passersby.
Sexy: Laughs at all of your jokes.
Psycho: Laughs at any of the "jokes" on "Suddenly Susan."
Sexy: Slips off her shoes and slides her foot into your lap, under the table.
Psycho: Slides under the table, takes off your shoes, and runs off with them, yelling "Catch me if you can!"
Sexy: Makes lots of eye contact.
Psycho: Makes lots of eye contact with the guys at table 3.
Sexy: Sends out the signals: wait, go, wait, go.
Psycho: Sends out the signals: go, go, go, stop!
Sexy: Drinks a shot of vodka straight up.
Psycho: Drinks 10 shots of vodka straight up.
Sexy: Wears your old sweatshirt to go to sleep.
Psycho: Fashions a makeshift "cocoon" from a pile of your dirty laundry and refuses to emerge until she has finished "metamorphosizing."
Sexy: Leaves cute little notes for you (around your house, in your wallet, etc.) that say things like, "Thinking about you," and "Have a nice day."
Psycho: Leaves cryptic little notes to her imaginary friend "Floyd" that say things like "buy carpet cleaner" and "row, row, row your boat."
My real point in all this? Unless your date is a full-fledged psycho, she's probably just out for a good time. Don't be one of those narrow-minded puritans who cringes at the subject of (gasp) sex toys and dismisses the girl in the scandalous outfit (i.e me) as a tramp. (I'm the one at the bar, wearing a scarlet "A", for "alcoholic.") Remember, just because my column is "dressed up" all sexy with phrases like "rampant alcoholism," "nymphomania," and "illegal in 49 states," doesn't mean there isn't a real message underneath. Then again, there probably isn't.
Tom is a high priestess of love who has taken a long vow of celibacy in order to replenish her mystical powers.