I See Dead Things

Every morning when I open my account to assess the damage I expect to see dead things. It might be the area of the world I live in or the Christian population from whence my matches are being pulled but it seems that these men feel it imperative to inform me in their photos that they can kill small animals and fish or in the extreme, wrestle a sedated tiger in Guam. I find this an interesting phenomena where Christian culture has deemed killing of small animals as a sign of manhood, while at the same time secular entertainment like Criminal Minds continually remind us that this is can be a pathological behaviour. Frankly I do not need any convincing that it is a pathological behaviour.

While yes we can joke, as my brother did, that this is a good sign, it means that if there is an apocalypse we'll survive. That does throw a little theological wrench in the system, as after all, should we really be so paranoid about the "end times" that we start living our lives out of that fear? Don't answer that - it will take you all sorts of places we do not have time for. So if we throw the end of the world to the side, I only have the massive evangelical conglomerate knows as gender roles via the Eldridge et al contingent to hold accountable.

Now I realise that there might be women out there swooning over the idea of a man perched behind the carcasses of a dozen birds or fish, or even smiling while play wrestling a tiger, but for myself I find it problematic. For one, yes while I do eat meat and I support the ethical treatment of animals in life and death, it is something that can easily altered for sport. Furthermore for myself, I worry when a man has certain activities so deeply integrated with his understanding of masculinity. A person is not a man because he kills things, drives a pickup truck or grunts at the TV, they are a man because of who they define themselves as and how they carry themselves. Which I realize places everything into shades of grey, but just as I do not want to conversely be held to a standard which sees women as barefoot and pregnant or just plain weak and meek.

But I do feel I must also confess that the undercurrent to my distaste is also while I appreciate the forest and the serenity that my male classmates claim they find when they're in a frigid Colorado river which a cigar in their mouth and a fly fishing rod in their hand, they would likely find that pole lodged elsewhere if one ever insisted I come along. I don't do the woods like that. I will happily glamp (glamour camping) with my martini and a good book, a little Bonhoeffer seems appropriate to the climate, but I draw, more so dig and erect a wall there.

This is probably not the last time we take a dance with this topic but that being said:

Is there something that you see on a profile and it causes the opposite response in you than intended?

Photo credit

So What is REALLY Going On...

The prodding question, "so what is really..." is quickly rising in the ranks of one of the most hated questions. It has already surpassed the questions about when are you going to graduate or how's the ex... 

But I should back things up just a small amount here. My father got remarried this weekend. He is now a father to six kids, all of them unmarried, ranging from 31-15. So being that I am that 31 year old, it seems only fair that I was the one bombarded with the most aggressive of questions about my life. I respect that I have opened myself to the questions as I have been posting my horror stories from my current dating site on Facebook in a combination of misery likes company/see, it is really hard.

Here in lies the issue, why is it difficult?

I am not sure.

I could blame my singleness on all the problems with the Evangelical dating gauntlet; however, in my moments of introspection I have my worries that the problems at the end remain within me. I want to blame the misogynist men - those threatened by my "calling" or just my extensive education (thanks subsidised education system) or my few apologies approach to how I have directed and conducted myself over the last few years.

It would be easier if I could find the blame in me.

If I could blame my choices, my love of high heels or reading choices...the list could go on and on and on for all the reasons from my education to my waist size, the former being a never ending problem, not made any easier by the surge in the "smokin' hot wife" dialogue in the Church, then my life would be easier.

The problem is in moments like this past Saturday it is hard to even in those moments to say well maybe it is me and have it be heard and understood, that what I am saying is not that I'm broken or that I'm a lesbian or that I as a feminist I hate men. It is not any of those, but rather the acknowledgement that may be despite my desire for there to be a simple reason, it is really complicated and thus why I'm writing these posts. It might be the covert misogyny or it might be an issue in me or it might just not be the right time.

It does not make the answer to the question any easier when your aunt leans over to ask you at dinner, with your tired looking satin bridesmaid dress on and Spanx peeking out the bottom edge, what is really, really going on. I normally oscillate between these two responses: