sabato, settembre 25, 2010

I'll be your knight in shining armour, riding to your relocative rescue

I wonder if other women's fantasies tend to be wrapped up in someone coming (heh) and taking them away from all this. In fact, I wonder if some women fantasize about men coming (heh) and taking them away from all this, or otherwise solving their problems, as the fantastical moneyshot, rather than sexual congress. The question is on my mind because I am fantasizing about being taken away from all this like crazy right now.

Charles Bronson chucking me over the saddle and riding away from this fucking apartment over the steppes. Lord Peter Wimsey sending in Bunter to take care of business while we go get fed and sloshed at Brussels' finest restaurants and then steal policemen's hats. Magnum PI evacuating the building charmingly while Nick Cave sets it on fire; watching the glow of all my burdnesome possessions and contracts conflagrating in the rear-view mirror while we drive off squeezed into the Ferrari. This one stinking hot South Asian CEO I deal with buying Belgium and making me the queen so that I can formally instruct everybody to get fucked. Jake Gyllenhaal showing up at my door and cleaning up this fucking pigsty, barking angrily in American-accented French down the phone at all the institutional pains in my ass while I smoke a joint on the sofa and just watch. Holy fuck, that would be so awesome.

I mean, I can hardly express how fucking hot these fantasies are for me at the moment, and yet how asexual they are (though obviously it's not the stick-shift I'm sitting on when we're all squeezed into the Ferrari. I'm not made of stone).

In fact, in form if not in specifics, I'm fantasizing about men the way the television, from memory, does. Not as irresistably competent sex-gods, but as fixers. And that begs the question: is this how a lot women actually fantasize? I know I don't usually lead a frightfully stressful life; I don't have to worry about money, I don't usually even have to worry about cooking and cleaning - but right now with the move and with the F-word having fucked off to Rome I am fucking stressed in a way that I suspect most adult women, especially those juggling children and work and incompetent partners, are pretty much all the time.

And it doesn't take fucking Jung to work out that may be why the idea of the Prince of Persia bursting into my apartment, embracing me passionately, and then grabbing a mop instead of my titties, etc, is really awesome. And maybe that's why television hero-men have so few boners and so much general competence. It's a strange thought, and I don't know whether it's frightening or not. I think I would have thought it was frightening before I started having these fantasies myself, because they're - well, I'm not sure why, actually. It's not as though many sexual fantasies are any less unrealistic and potentially damaging in terms of expectations for most Real Life men than knight-in-shining-armour fantasies; in fact I suspect a decent quantity of men would prefer to fail or be replaced as fixers than as congressional partners. I guess it's frightening because I really don't like the idea of television getting me, because I'm a snob.

Anyways, I'm getting enormous comfort out of these fantasies at the moment, so that's something; and I'm reaching a point today - even if I'm procrastinating with a big old weekend blog - where there will not be anything else to be done by the end of the day until other people (not knights in shining armor, sadly; none of those on these fucking rainy Belgian horizons) start playing their roles. And I guess the lesson in all this is that men should make sure women are less stressed so that women have more time to think about sex, and that way we'll all get laid more, and in more creative and exciting ways.

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