em's boyz
by emily perry

On June 10th I uprooted my naïve Yankee self from New Hampshire and landed 500 miles south of the Mason Dixon line in the mountains of Western North Carolina.

My friend, (we’ll call him B.Shea) and I decided to enroll in internships this summer, and chose to be placed in the same area. After he found a job and housing in North Carolina, it was up to me to find an apartment, a roommate, an internship, and relocate down here in a matter of weeks. As the deadline for college graduation approached, I secured myself a (horribly overpriced) summer rental cottage, convinced my best friend from college (we’ll call him Howell) to be my roommate, and suckered the lovely ladies from WNC Woman into accepting me as an intern.

It took me three days and three beers to realize I was in trouble.
I was excited as I envisioned a summer free from stress and the high-maintenance lifestyle of women my age. I was only partly right. Boys bring about their own nuances to the lives of the women they live with. I imagined small adjustments—a dirty magazine collection and 24 hours of ESPN, while he dealt with a box of tampons and my obsession for Law and Order. It did not occur to me to think of our differences after a case of Miller High Life and the lingering scent of a strange perfume.

While former women roommates have left the apartment in the overnight presence of a significant other or midnight guest, and prefer to be told, but not hear the intimate details, men bring a woman home, give their roommate a high-five, and then hang a sock on the door. Although Howell is very respectful, (thank God) I am awaiting the day that I spend the night with my music on loud and my head under the pillow.

There has been one case where B.Shea and Howell have brought girls back to the cottage, but it was for the simple purpose of us hanging out (although the romance came later). Even then, I felt inclined to stay in my room, knowing that Howell was hoping something would come from the encounter. The romance and intrigue of “wanger radar, the aspect of the male psyche that sexually objectifies women,” (complements of Jett Black, WNC Woman;June 2005 issue) is prevalentin all ages, especially in twenty-something year old men, and most especially in B.Shea and Howell.

While roaming the streets and bars of Asheville during our first week, we soon discovered our favorite venues which were chosen based on the price of Pabst Blue Ribbon and the number of attractive girls. As we entered a bar, we bee-lined for the $2.00 beer, and then turned to scope out ‘the scene’. Sometimes the boys would look no further than the bartender, and spend the night analyzing her smiles, mannerisms, and the deep swell of her chest as she bent over to wipe off the bar. Other nights, the boys would comment on women slightly too old for them, but still gush with excitement when they’d turn around and glance their way. I, as the sisterly roommate figure, serve many functions in this charade of shadow bag wanger radar and their ploy to engorge their egos and/or libidos—whichever comes first.

My first role in the bar scene, according to B.Shea and Howell, is to help the guys seem attractive. There is something a little less creepy about guys who are with a girl at a bar. If a woman sees a man with an attractive woman, it tends to make the man more appealing. After all, people want what they think they can’t have. While I also serve as a barrier, or ‘cock-block’ in teenage vernacular, because the woman may see me as a significant other for one of the guys I’m with, it’s a risk they take to assure themselves as attractive and unattainable.

Another part I play is that of the judge. The guys will comment on a girl and then ask my opinion. I will look at the girl, and being a girl myself, assess her on her mannerisms, appearance, and apparent personality—as much as can be construed from my 30-second glance. Then I’ll raise my scorecards, 1-10, and give them a verdict. (No, I don’t really have scorecards.) I also thoroughly enjoy promoting or humiliating the boyz in chalk on the bathroom wall of the ladies room in Asheville’s own Jack of The Wood. If you see a comment about two boys in Red Sox hats, come find us—we’re by the bar.
I am also the girlfriend for whichever boy is being pursued by someone that they aren’t interested in talking to. If there are two women, and one is thought to be unattractive, whoever is pursuing the ‘attractive girl’ will say that the other guy is dating me. I ask you ladies, is lying an attractive quality when a guy is trying to pick you up at a bar? And yet for some reason I still go along with all of this…

My favorite role is that of the cynical and sarcastic female who criticizes the men and their quest to pick-up women at a bar. It is difficult to draw a line between being a friend who laughs at their game and supports them in their endeavors, and a woman who shares the frustration of being an Angus on the meat market. So, in my turmoil, I have chosen to be supportive of them picking up women, and then harass and criticize them every step of the way. It’s a happy medium for all three of us. The hardest part of it is trying to figure out, and deal with, what physically appeals to each of them as men.
What is the standard for physical and social attractiveness in my generation? One would expect that, due to the stereotypical attraction to large breasts and a shapely butt, men would prefer women who are voluptuous and shapely. So why are the flickers of men’s eyes cast towards the underweight, paper-thin models of today’s magazines? It is frustrating to think that the men in my life that I love and respect also fall into this trap. Is it just their bodies that men look at, or do women’s faces still count in this parade? I am starting to think that the younger men are, the more their eyes cast downward and avoid a woman’s face altogether.

Howell is attracted to the voluptuous women who have beautiful curves in all the right places. B.Shea, on the other hand, is more attracted to women who are either model thin and portray the classic ‘urban hippie’ ensemble, or women with short skirts and short shirts who make men ogle and women grimace. My first thought on B.Shea’s attraction was that he was shallow and typical among the social sheep. Yet he also avoids stereotypes for, say, the importance of really large breasts, which makes smaller chested women more appreciative of his longing stares. People can’t help whom they are attracted to, and I can’t judge the boys for that. However, I, as an hourglass woman myself, tend to lean more towards Howell’s point of view. It is difficult for me, as a friend or woman, to hear criticism of a girl who has a body type just like me.

B.Shea, someone whom I have been intimate with on many occasions, likes really skinny girls. Does that mean that I’m not attractive to him because I am curvy? What does that say about former indiscretions of intimacy? If one of the guys makes a rude comment on a girl’s body, and I share that same feature, it is horrifying to think that they may think the same of me. Does this make me unattractive to my own friends, or am I not afforded the luxury of their sexual attraction because I am just the friend? Talk about capitalizing on a woman’s most sensitive insecurity!

It is really an art, watching a guy attempt to pick up a woman. Each guy has his own mannerisms, and it’s either hilariously amusing, or ridiculously pathetic. When B.Shea and Howell finally decide to go talk someone, they tend to choose two women sitting together, and Howell is sent in to do the preliminary talking. We will plan his pickup line, usually consisting of “Hey, can I bum a cigarette from you?” (Even though Howell is trying to quit smoking and I frequently call his mother to turn him in.) Once he is introduced and they have begun talking, Howell turns to B.Shea and summons him over. This normally leaves me alone at a table in a bar for a matter of 10 minutes to 2 hours, which gives me time to report my findings on the male flirting tactics.
This also gives me time to become enraged and upset for being left alone at a table for an extended period of time. It is also difficult, romantic or platonic emotions aside, to sit and watch someone you’re intimate with try to pick up a girl when you know that if he fails, he will most often be coming back to your bed to softly embrace you while thinking of the woman who overturned his advances. I am not only a Yankee, but a schmuck as well. But I digress…

To get the attention of a woman my age, a guy must be somewhat attractive (sad but true), funny, and must exert confidence. Howell and B.Shea are both very attractive men, although Howell is very confident and B.Shea is not—although he should be. Howell is also very smooth with women—he is genuine, relaxed, and very interested in what the girl has to say. He has a softened expression that makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world for the time that he’s talking to you. He has a natural way with women, and it still baffles me how he does it.

B.Shea’s tactic is that of sheer innocence and interest. Out of nervousness and a lack of place to put his hands, he shoves them into his back jeans pockets and stands straight up to not act offensively. He leans forward slightly every so often to show specific interest in a comment or topic, and smiles like nobody could make him happier at that particular moment. With Howell, a woman has to have a good sense of humor and interest in the suave nature of a commonplace pickup line. For B.Shea, a woman has to appreciate the sincerity and intrigue in someone so happy to be talking to a hot girl. For me, I find more interest in the latter, which is why the former is my best friend.

After the guys have a solid foundation with the two women, then they call in the ‘sister’. I surface from my pint of Guinness and come to meet the prospective morning-after girls. I smile curtly and begin to hear their life stories, nodding with explicit interest while my two MENSA candidate male friends smile and nudge each other with hearty expectation. I find myself engaged in conversation for the simple purpose of being supportive and knowing that if they end up back at the cottage, we may find ourselves spending some significant time together. Although many of the women thus far have been tourists from out-of-state, there isn’t anything stopping a previous indiscretion from becoming attached and frequenting our abode in the wee hours of morning.

Men scan incessantly for a woman they find attractive. According to Jett Black, more sex is always better for men, and women tend to be more sexually discriminating. Women look for someone special that they could have a relationship with. Men look for someone short term and attractive—if it turns into more, great, but many endeavors don’t begin with that intention.
Most women will become attached to a man’s smile, humor, or the way he sticks his hands in his back pockets. In the bar light afterglow, men stay the same and move on, while women change, replaying the night over and over in their head hoping something will come of it.

In one case, after a twilight interlude at a campground where Howell and his chosen lady became friendly with a picnic table and a car hood, she called him every day for a week after she returned to Michigan. Howell doesn’t understand why she continues to call him when it was ‘just one night’. Men think short term, women think long term, and at this stage of the game, neither the two shall meet. Men have to respect it, and women have to expect it.

Each time we grace a bar, the guys offer up suggestions of men for me to make a pass at. While I may actually consider it, I scoff at their enthusiasm, remembering one time at a bar in Connecticut where a guy came up to talk to me. Howell and B.Shea watched from afar and, after ten minutes or so, decided that it was time to ‘save me’. That in mind, B.Shea walked up, put his arm around me and said “Honey, why don’t you ever wear your wedding ring when we’re out at a bar?” That is exactly what I don't need when talking to a guy, and exactly why I keep my distance when the boys are working their barstool magic.

I often wonder what guys look for other than physical attractiveness. Jet Black offers his words: explaining that men sometimes lock on to women who pattern pain from the past. Men have an idea of what they want emotionally from a woman, and yet they lust after the trophy to hang on their arm. Is that fulfilling? Often we can search a lifetime for what has been staring us in the face for months, and what we know is tugging at our heartstrings but still choose to ignore. People deny themselves happiness in pursuit of ‘something better’, believing that something better to be a wanger radar betrayal. “Wanger radar can often serve more than our libidos”. Thanks, Jett. So who am I? I’m a girl who can be found at Jack of The Wood three nights a week sitting at a table by myself observing the crude and amusing art of twenty-something sexual frustration. I am the girl holding the shadow bag and desperately trying to keep it closed, while trying hard to understand the need to let it all loose.

I still prefer living with two horny men to living with a high- maintenance inflatable Barbie doll.I have a dirty sense of humor, and I love drinking beer. We are three Red Sox lovin’ Yankees in the Bible Belt, trying to advance our independence and yet drowning in the process. It’s a culture shock for me down here in North Carolina, but not for the reasons I’d first expected. The differences I’ve discovered between my own convictions and those of the people closest to me have only served to make life more fruitful. Amongst the Pabst Blue Ribbon and the Sweet Tea, I’ve somehow found a balance. It only took three days and three beers. And this article.