Unleashing the Animal Within
Something about v-neck sweaters, neatly ironed plaid collars peeping from beneath, sends shivers up my spine. Add to that tasteful dress slacks, respectable shoes and a long wool coat (with or without scarf) and I'm an absolute goner. Most girls look at these types of men--the tall, quiet, conservative ones--and dismiss them as stuffy bores.
I look at them and see the animal within.
I'm not talking about sex here, more like a wild twin embedded deep within the soul of the cuffed-pants-wearing, briefcase-toting professional. A man like this spends most of his life on the steady journey of home-to-work-to-home, never breaking from routine or causing a stir. He doesn't shout or become angry with colleagues. He smiles and says "Good morning" to the women in the office as he refills the coffee mug never left dirty at 5 p.m. He thrives on schedules, in the office at 8:30 a.m., home by 6. Lather, rinse, repeat. Most who know him say, "Oh, him. He seems so nice. So professional. But I don't know much about him."
What those people don't realize, though (and what I have learned), is that the seemingly tame colleague who quietly wishes his officemates a good weekend as he cleans his cubicle in pre-departure preparation dreams of excitement and adventure. Part of him, the part he keeps neatly hidden under Lauren and Boss from dawn to dusk, wants to stand up on his desk and karaoke to "Born in the USA." He wants to trade in that SUV and briefcase for a fast convertible and an endless road to anywhere but here. He wants to shake things up, to make waves. He wants people to say, "That's Joe and he's CRAZY!" He wants to live like there's no tomorrow--no 401K, no life insurance updates, no clipping coupons on Sunday morning. Just him in his favorite weekend jeans and wrinkled t-shirts, cruising down the road with the stereo blasting 50 Cent or Bruce or Pink Floyd. Anything.
You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. Most calm, level-headed, responsible adults hide their adolescent desires to be crazy fools. I know, because I am one. I give all impressions of being a grown-up who enjoys her job (which I think I actually do) and is progressing nicely into adulthood by having nice dinners with friends and quiet evenings at home. And 99 percent of the time, the dinners and quiet nights with movies and books are enough. It's fun and I love it.
But every once in a while, it hits me. I need to DO something, to break out of the mold that has encapsulated my life. Just being Susie isn't enough. I need to be Exciting Susie, who dances too close to someone or says, "Screw the speed limit!" I have to put on the radio and pretend to be Sara Evans as I belt out every song on the radio at the top of my lungs (with the windows down). I have to trade in my predictability for a trip to Vegas with the girls or a wild night out looking for guys with my gay friend Scott.
I once let Exciting Susie out of her cage for three entire weeks in 1996, and she almost didn't want to go back in. She chugged beer from cans (!), flirted shamelessly with people out of her league and stumbled home at 3 or 4 in the morning. And briefly, ever so briefly, I felt like I really was exciting. But then it was gone. I graduated from college, got a job and became a full-time adult.
So when I see a guy who has been written off by other girls for being too neat and methodical, I have an advantage. You see, I know his dirtiest secret: that one day, possibly years from now, he's going to break. In ripped jeans and dirty Chuck Taylor All-Stars, he'll sound his barbaric yawp from the rooftop of his world. He'll trade in that wool coat for a beat-up sweatshirt, a baseball cap and season tickets to the Pirates. Sure, he'll still keep his day job, but he'll get out more, try to live more. Then he'll realize he'd like some company for the ride. With any luck, he'll turn to the sometimes quiet--yet often hilarious--girl who sits behind him in class and say, "I need to bust out of here. Are you with me?"
Exciting Susie will look back into his gleaming blue eyes and say, "What took you so long?"
I look at them and see the animal within.
I'm not talking about sex here, more like a wild twin embedded deep within the soul of the cuffed-pants-wearing, briefcase-toting professional. A man like this spends most of his life on the steady journey of home-to-work-to-home, never breaking from routine or causing a stir. He doesn't shout or become angry with colleagues. He smiles and says "Good morning" to the women in the office as he refills the coffee mug never left dirty at 5 p.m. He thrives on schedules, in the office at 8:30 a.m., home by 6. Lather, rinse, repeat. Most who know him say, "Oh, him. He seems so nice. So professional. But I don't know much about him."
What those people don't realize, though (and what I have learned), is that the seemingly tame colleague who quietly wishes his officemates a good weekend as he cleans his cubicle in pre-departure preparation dreams of excitement and adventure. Part of him, the part he keeps neatly hidden under Lauren and Boss from dawn to dusk, wants to stand up on his desk and karaoke to "Born in the USA." He wants to trade in that SUV and briefcase for a fast convertible and an endless road to anywhere but here. He wants to shake things up, to make waves. He wants people to say, "That's Joe and he's CRAZY!" He wants to live like there's no tomorrow--no 401K, no life insurance updates, no clipping coupons on Sunday morning. Just him in his favorite weekend jeans and wrinkled t-shirts, cruising down the road with the stereo blasting 50 Cent or Bruce or Pink Floyd. Anything.
You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. Most calm, level-headed, responsible adults hide their adolescent desires to be crazy fools. I know, because I am one. I give all impressions of being a grown-up who enjoys her job (which I think I actually do) and is progressing nicely into adulthood by having nice dinners with friends and quiet evenings at home. And 99 percent of the time, the dinners and quiet nights with movies and books are enough. It's fun and I love it.
But every once in a while, it hits me. I need to DO something, to break out of the mold that has encapsulated my life. Just being Susie isn't enough. I need to be Exciting Susie, who dances too close to someone or says, "Screw the speed limit!" I have to put on the radio and pretend to be Sara Evans as I belt out every song on the radio at the top of my lungs (with the windows down). I have to trade in my predictability for a trip to Vegas with the girls or a wild night out looking for guys with my gay friend Scott.
I once let Exciting Susie out of her cage for three entire weeks in 1996, and she almost didn't want to go back in. She chugged beer from cans (!), flirted shamelessly with people out of her league and stumbled home at 3 or 4 in the morning. And briefly, ever so briefly, I felt like I really was exciting. But then it was gone. I graduated from college, got a job and became a full-time adult.
So when I see a guy who has been written off by other girls for being too neat and methodical, I have an advantage. You see, I know his dirtiest secret: that one day, possibly years from now, he's going to break. In ripped jeans and dirty Chuck Taylor All-Stars, he'll sound his barbaric yawp from the rooftop of his world. He'll trade in that wool coat for a beat-up sweatshirt, a baseball cap and season tickets to the Pirates. Sure, he'll still keep his day job, but he'll get out more, try to live more. Then he'll realize he'd like some company for the ride. With any luck, he'll turn to the sometimes quiet--yet often hilarious--girl who sits behind him in class and say, "I need to bust out of here. Are you with me?"
Exciting Susie will look back into his gleaming blue eyes and say, "What took you so long?"
4 Comments:
Does Susie have a crush??? :) Don't wait for him.. go for it.
Was it that obvious? I need to work subtlety...
I'd love to go after him, but I barely know him!
hey Susie!
Howsabout a 50 year old guy with long balding grey hair, a collection of tyedye teeshirts to drool over, and a long walk on a beach in Bali.....
:^)
Very sweet site,kid. good luck in love.
peace
bodhi
(the psychedelic tourist)
Hey Bodhi,
Thanks for dropping in...I think I'll pass on the trip to Bali for now, but if things don't work out with Cute Class Boy, you'll be the first person I call :)
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