Today’s post is brought to you by Male Gaze and Carrie…and also by the colors blue and purple. Please join us as we dialog on the awesome world of being Mormon, single, and over 30! Carrie’s blog, twocatsandawindchime.blogspot.com, features the musings of a social leper along with totally irreverent commentary from a youth Sunday School teacher.
Alright, look, I admit it, I’m a creeper sometimes. When the Victoria’s Secret commercial comes on, I’m glued to the TV. When I drive by a sexy billboard, I almost get in a wreck. But I think that’s pretty normal…you know, hormones and all that. That’s not what makes me a creeper.
I first recognized I was a creeper in the fall of 2007. My second daughter was born, and I was just finishing up my MS degree. I remember it distinctly…you know that new-ish waterfall sort of kitty-corner to the MOA parking lot on Campus Dr at BYU? I was walking right by that waterfall and saw some hot girl (clearly a freshman) and I checked her out. Then it hit me…holy sh*t (errr crap) that girl’s like 18, and I’m 26 with two daughters! I’m a creeper! And it only went downhill from there.
Now here I am…32 years old, living in a big college town surrounded by young coeds walking around in nothing more than spandex (is the term “leggings”?) and see-through tops. Do I take the long way home from work just so I can go through central campus? Yep. At Halloween do I weave my way through the streets with all the sorority houses? Yep. When I’m on my motorcycle do I nearly crash because I’m too busy breaking my neck just to catch a glimpse of some skin I saw on a cute blonde? Yep. Am I creeper? Probably.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a pornstache, long shoulder-length hair, or anything like that. And I’m not really the other kind of creeper who drives around in a cherry red Porsche Boxster in a suit either. I’m just a semi-creepy guy living in a college town where there’s an abundance of young college coeds and a dearth of women my age interested in me!
You are not a creeper. You may wish you were a creeper (and awesome enough to rock a pornstache) but the evidence just isn’t there. First, what living creature, male or female, doesn’t stop and stare when a Victoria’s Secret commercial comes on? Those girls are hot. Perfect hair, perky boobs, legs that never end…you don’t have to be addicted to porn to wish you were, or were dating a VS model. They are art. You are allowed to appreciate art. And unless you’re touching yourself while driving and looking at the billboards, you still wouldn’t be entering creeper territory.
Last time I checked the Mall of America is in Minneapolis, not even close to BYU’s campus, so I have no idea where you were when you checked out a PERFECTLY LEGAL AGED girl on campus, but that was far from creeper activity.
And weaving your way through campus to check out the scantily clad coeds? That’s just cost effective driving, you’re saving gas money by not driving the perimeter of the city to avoid seeing a bit of flesh.
So far the only thing you’ve managed to establish is that you’re a normal heterosexual male.
Congratulations on being average.
However, if you want pointers on how to become a creeper let me offer up a few suggestions…
Text girls pictures of your 1/2 naked self flexing in the bathroom mirror
Use any aspect of the gospel as a pick up line.
Make it obvious that you’re mentally undressing a girl every time you look at her. First, make solid eye contact. Then move your gaze slowly down her body, pausing at her breasts, then down to her navel, lower still pausing at her love triangle, take a deep breath, then trace her legs with the path of your eyes. Once you reach her feet, reverse the process, end with more solid eye contact followed by a raise of an eyebrow and a breathy “wowza”.
Be unnaturally awkward. Avoid all eye contact. Stammer your words. Ask her what her favorite scripture is and then tell her you can feel her testimony and you want to take her out for ice cream. After that make all conversations focus around her desire to become a mother.
Find out everything you can about a girl before you ever interact with her. Then wow her with the facts you’ve gleaned off of Facebook, Google, Pinterest, and Instagram.
Pick up on girls young enough that you could have helped create them. For those who need help with math that’s your current age – 13 = too young to date.
Hover. Avoid starting an actual conversation, just stand uncomfortably close and stare. Stare a lot. You can never stare enough.
Use the phrase “you’re so pretty” mercilessly. Never comment about anything but her beauty.
Don’t take no for an answer. If you ask her out and she says no, ask her out at least 50 more times.
Leave notes on girls’ cars that say something like this, “Hi, my name is xxx. I live in the same apartment building as you do and I’ve been watching you for several months now. Would you like to come over for a drink and maybe some dinner?”
Need I go on? See the difference between your healthy sexuality and real creeper activity is the fact that healthy sexuality does not step into the bounds of stalking, lack of personal boundaries, or cross over into a**hole territory. I suggest you either keep trying to cultivate your creeper skills or just relax and embrace the fact that women find you attractive.
Hmmm, let’s see, I have been known to hover uncomfortably close, and well let’s face it, even my monicker for this post reveals I stare a lot and only care about beauty from the male perspective. But I can see that I have a lot of room for improvement, particularly if I’m gonna be a Mormon creeper. So if you’ll indulge my confessions and questions a bit more, suppose you really wanted to impress a 30-something year old woman, but you’re really self-conscious about a few…errr…shortcomings (mostly emotional obviously). How might you go about compensating appropriately for your inadequacies?
Whew…creeper tendencies AND shortcomings? We could be here awhile. You could do what the general male population does when it comes to their “shortcomings”…stuff a sock in it and call it good. Alas, another post for another day…