Monday, March 2, 1998
Freak magnet tries to uncover love in world
of psycho guys
COLUMN: Attracting sane men easy for some; rest get stuck dating
weirdos
Larry and Jen left our table at the restaurant/bar/night club to
smoke a cigarette. Larry came back alone.
"Where’s Jen?" I innocently inquired, hoping she’d been
discovered by one of the many cute, young male specimens
circulating with beers.
"Oh, she’s talking to some 40-year-old," he answered, as though
this were a common occurrence for my 19-year-old suburban-raised
roommate. "She’s fine."
But I knew she was not fine. And I knew there was nothing I
could do to save her. Because I, too, suffer from the same terrible
social disease that Jen had succumbed to.
We are freak magnets.
Somehow, we exude a certain aura that has every lunatic crawling
out from beneath their rocks and caves to pick up on us. Dirty,
old, drunken men seem to be attracted to a friendly quality in us
that others, luckily for them, fail to emit. Is it my multi-colored
hair that they find so inviting or Jen’s double-eyebrow piercings
that has these lonely mad men so enamored with our presence?
But before we begin the analyzation of what creates a freak
magnet, let us begin by clarifying what we mean by "freak." For
starters, we will relate the tale of twistedness which poor, sweet
Jen was subjected to on the night in question. The night which had
unsuspecting Larry, unaccustomed to the world of freak magnetdom,
refusing to intrude on Jen’s conversation.
According to Jen, said freak explained in detail how a radio
antenna had been implanted on his neck at birth in order to track
him and read his thoughts. Apparently, a woman named Mary was then
created by "them" to be his mother, but he knew she really wasn’t.
At some point not too long ago, he was taken to the East coast to
have his antenna updated.
Then it gets interesting. You see, a tube runs through his
digestive system that regulates his body. But the funny thing is,
he still needs vitamins and gets people to buy them for him at
Thrifty. Yet he doesn’t understand why it is that the Christian
engineers, for these are the "they" that have been maneuvering his
life since day one, aren’t able to regulate his system so that he
doesn’t need vitamins.
At some point they "shrunk his manhood," and he is currently
sleeping on a psychiatric couch in the psychiatric ward of the
engineering building on campus. He awaits the day when he will be
used to interact with female extra-terrestrials, because he is the
only specimen capable of the job. Which makes sense, when you think
of all of the regulating the Christian engineers have been doing on
his body.
He then, appropriately, asked Jen, as he slapped his hands
together, if she liked to be "fucked" or, melding his hands
together more softly, "Fu-ck-ed." At that point, Jen left the
conversation and returned inside. She realized just then that her
friends needed to talk to her.
But this was not Jen’s first experience with her body’s natural
tendency to lure in weirdos. After all, just two weeks ago a guy at
a party asked her if she enjoyed the taste of her own body fluids.
It seems he found the experience erotic.
Then, there was the toothless man up in Humboldt County who
acknowledged her as his "soul sista." He expressed a desire to
dance the jambalya with her so that their "auras would meld." And
then he warned her to stay away from crack because it will "fuck up
your life."
My own tendency to collect lovable loonies began at an early
age. Back home, my best friends would always get young,
intelligent, extremely hot men to fall irresistibly in love with
their dreamy eyes. I got Eddy the child molester.
He was a nice enough old, homeless man who imparted wisdom from
the streets in the outdoor cafe we frequented. You could usually
smell liquor on his breath, but he did no harm, and once in a while
liked to rub my hand and give me hugs. And then one time he told me
how he left his wife and kids years ago without a word of goodbye
because he had an urge to touch his children that he couldn’t fight
any longer.
When I think about it, I guess he did the right thing. And I
appreciated that he felt he could tell me. But I’d rather have had
the cute guy with the shaved head who worked at the ale house next
door to talk to, like my best friend Enion did.
And then this past summer, when I frequented the taverns in
Seattle, every barfly within 20 miles could pick up my scent. One
guy told me and my brother that he met the Doors – the year after
Jim Morrison died, of course. And there was the blind, old drunk
with a rat-furred mutt, "Toto," who used to come around when we’d
be drinking beers on the porch, giving me hugs and saying he had
"no friends in this town."
And there was the 40-year-old Fox-executive coke dealer who kept
calling me when he wasn’t overseas, and the construction worker
across the street who had a 2-year-old kid, wanting to take me
camping. And let’s not forget Eric, the homeless man whom I let
take a shower at our place and sleep on our lawn one night. Another
guy I met at the Jimi Hendrix memorial told me how he sleeps in a
tent with only his puppet to talk to.
I just felt bad for all those lonely people. Maybe I shouldn’t
have given them the time of day, but I always want to be a nice
person. Some people need someone to be nice to them.
But sometimes, I know my bounds. Like the guy Kym and I met
outside of the Goodwill thrift store in September, who introduced
himself and then asked us if he could make us dinner. We declined
the invitation, but bouncing alongside us, he assured us he wasn’t
crazy and added, "but we know each other now. We’re friends."
But this wasn’t enough to twist our arms.
Liz, my other roommate, also knows her powers as freak magnet
and attempts to wield her force with courage. Just a few months
ago, an old man whom she met at the airport during a layover said
he found them a cozy spot where they could sleep. It was in the
corner, just big enough for two of them.
He then told her how he had just broken up with his girlfriend,
which was sad because "Men need women, and women need men." He then
asked her to travel with him to Vegas.
After a brief consideration, Liz opted to return to Los Angeles
instead. We feel she made the right decision.
For myself, I am proud to say that within the past few years, I
have acquired the ability to attract some less than freaky guys as
well as the strange ones. However, my skill at enticing nuts and
screwballs still far exceeds my talent at attracting decent young
men. In fact, even the decent young men I manage to attract seem to
be just a bunch of weirdos once I get to know them.
I guess the bottom line, though I hate to admit it, is that like
attracts like. I would hate to be so normal that only normal people
talk to me. My freak-magnet power sometimes seems so strong that I
often forget what "normal" is.
But I still look forward to that day when Mr. Tall, Dark and
Handsome will approach me from across the room. I still have faith
that my non-judgmental mindset, like that of fellow freak magnets
Jen, Liz and all of you out there that feel our pain, will one day
work in my favor. Maybe I will even find a male freak-magnet with
whom I can share my burden.
VanderZanden is a third-year English student.
Vanessa Vanderzanden