Another brilliant excerpt from Ian Coburn’s memoir God Is a Woman: Dating Disasters. If I had a nickel every time I saw something like this happen…
Swoon
I PLAY A LOT OF SPORTS. THERE ARE A FEW PRIVATELY-OWNED SPORT LEAGUES
for adults in Chicago. They find different venues to host seven-week
seasons followed by two weeks of playoffs for all kinds of sports,
including basketball, floor hockey, softball, tennis, even kickball.
Chicago Sport and Social Club is one such league. The organization
is geared more toward the social aspects of sports, and focuses much
of its time on organizing events such as ski trips and European group
vacations. Players is another league. They tend to have the highest
level of competition but don’t offer refs for all their sports, which
can result in heated arguments during games. Another good league is
Sports Monster, which runs leagues in various cities throughout the
U.S. Sports Monster provides refs for all their sports and thus tends
to attract better athletes, allowing for better competition. I’ve met a
lot of women with similar interests in their leagues, some of which
I’ve dated.
Volleyball is one of the most popular sports, especially for women.
It is non-contact, the ball doesn’t hurt, and it offers many different
skill levels. In the summertime Chicago’s beaches are overrun
with volleyball leagues on weeknights. Although I prefer to play
competitive volleyball, for years I formed one social team every
summer. I had both male and female friends who wanted to meet
someone and get out socially. So I put a team of players together who
I thought would hit it off, either with each other or with players on
other teams.
A lot of the women I recruited were very pretty but of no interest to
me. I knew other guys would like them. I never set anyone up—I’m
not a chick for crying out loud. I just put people on the same team and
if something happened, so be it. A few years ago I stopped putting
the social team together because the women were always a hassle.
They weren’t serious about volleyball and it showed. They tended
to be either stupid or inconsiderate, I’m not sure which, perhaps a
combination of the two. They meant well and were nice people, but
they just weren’t used to having to think about others, so having them
on the team just wasn’t working.
The problem was, these women were so pretty they were used to
getting their every whim. Guys put up with their behavior because
they hoped to sleep with them. Women put up with it because these
girls always attracted guys to the group. The last season I formed a
social team was the one that broke the camel’s back. One of the girls
called me a few hours before a game one cloudy night, “Hi Ian. I’m
not going to make it to volleyball tonight.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks for calling. Is everything okay, I hope? Are you
sick or something?”
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just that it’s dreary outside and I don’t like to go
out when it’s dreary. It makes me feel dreary and I don’t like feeling
dreary.”
Was she fuckin’ kidding me? The team’s counting on her to show
and she thought this was a legitimate reason to miss?
“Okay…well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll get a sub.”
“Oh, don’t get a sub. It might clear up and get sunny; then I’ll
come.”
How stupid of me.
“Look, if you want to miss that’s fine, but I have to fill the slot or
we’ll be short. I can’t wait to see if you might show.”
There was no response. She was probably in shock. She did things
like this all the time and no one ever questioned her. Who did I think
I was? How dare I expect some common courtesy!
“Okay, well, don’t get a sub then. I’ll be there.”
Bullshit. She just said that in case it cleared up. I got a sub, counting
on the fact that Flaky Girl wouldn’t show. (She didn’t.) One of the
other women missed the following week’s match. When a player
missed without letting me know, I automatically feared something
tragic had happened. I left her a message to call me and let me know
if she was okay. She did not return my call. The next week she showed
up for the game. “How’d we do last week, Ian?”
“Actually, we didn’t have enough people to play and had to forfeit.
We just hit around with the other team.”
“Oh, bummer.”
“Were you sick or something? You didn’t return my call.”
“No, I wasn’t sick. I was on my way here when I walked by another
team and they asked me if I could play. So I played with them.”
I didn’t know what to say. I should have buried her in the sand
and left her there. One of the other guys on my team overheard and
interjected, “Oh, that’s okay; that was nice of you to sub for them.”
I came down on both of them, “No…no it wasn’t. You’re on a
team who’s counting on you to show up and play. If you can’t make
it, that’s fine, but let me know ahead of time.”
The other guy defended her. Typical. These women walk over a
lot of men because of some very nicely packaged T&A. Men swoon
in their presence. See why I had no interest in them? Imagine what
a nightmare it would be to date one of them. I didn’t swoon over
such women. I met tons of them after comedy shows and quickly
learned that most of them had little to offer. In the end, putting up
with their crap just wasn’t worth the payoff. Such women can wreak
havoc on a guy and set off a domino effect that can screw a lot of
people. I know. My older sister, Mary, is one of these women and I’ve
experienced firsthand what can happen when she digs her claws into
an unsuspecting guy.
Mary is one of the sweetest people on the planet. She has a very
good heart and is always willing to believe the best about people.
Unfortunately, she isn’t honest with herself about who she is and has
low self-esteem, making her horrible dating material. At the same
time, according to other guys (I’m her brother so I don’t see it), she is
very pretty. I’ve seen this deadly combination damage lives repeatedly.
I could recount countless stories such as the following.
In her late twenties Mary got a whim to become a truck driver. She
wanted to drive eighteen wheelers cross-country. While the vocation
was surprising, the call of the open road wasn’t. My father had the
traveling bug; until he married my mother, he had not stayed in the
same place or kept a job for more than a year. I enjoyed the traveling
aspect of comedy; getting paid to see all of the U.S. and Canada was
a great perk of the business. My mom traveled across Europe in her
early twenties.
Mary’s arrival at a trucking school in Iowa created instant chaos.
The other women truckers tended to be big and enjoyed hobbies such
as arm wrestling. Mary was 5’6″, slender and blonde, whose primary
hobby at the time was belly dancing. She brought her belly dancing
outfit with her and practiced outside. The men fell over themselves
wooing Mary. The other women were jealous of the attention she
received. Fights and arguments broke out everywhere. The instructors
were accused of giving Mary better grades than she deserved because
of her looks. One instructor took it upon himself to provide Mary with
previous Iowa State trucking exams, which she studied to prepare for
the licensing exam. It was against Iowa law for instructors to show
previous exams to students.
The day my sister took the state exam she brought her study
guides with her because she didn’t know about the law. The tester
confiscated them and reported the school. Their training program was
temporarily suspended and they had to send their students home. The
funny thing is my sister still got her license that day; even the tester
was affected by her beauty.
None of these things were my sister’s fault and she could hardly
be held accountable. She did, however, notice that she was getting
special treatment and she knew why. She could have stopped it by
making it clear that she was not interested in anyone at the school,
that she was there only to become a trucker. She liked the attention,
though, so she let things continue. She led some of the guys on by
being ambiguous in regard to her feelings about them.
Mary’s first trucking job was in Texas. She was hired as an
assistant to a more experienced driver to haul cattle to various parts
of the state. She lasted a month before she returned to my mom’s
in Chicago. While she was in Texas, she met another trucker, Gary,
on the job. Gary was a nice guy, but not too attractive. He was 5’5″,
nearly 300 lbs, and had horrible acne scars. How do I know? He was
so smitten with my sister, he talked his co-driver into traveling 300
miles out of their way to visit her in Indiana at one of my comedy
shows. I liked Gary. I could see he had a good heart. I could also see
that he was completely enthralled with Mary. He hadn’t seen her in
months and they had never had a date, but that didn’t stop him from
bringing her flowers and other gifts. I warned him.
“Dude, stay away from my sister. I’m telling you right now, she’s
my sister and I love her to death, but she’s trouble for guys. She
doesn’t have her life together or a clue as to who she is, and that
makes her no good for dating. Once she gets that stuff figured out,
she’ll be a catch, but until then she’ll bring you nothing but trouble.”
“Thanks for the warning but I know what I’m doing.”
Yeah, right. Gary was a few days older than me, making him twenty-
two. He had never had a woman like my sister give him the time of
day. He was in way over his head. His partner, thirty-something, saw
it, too, and tried to warn him as well. Gary hounded my sister for the
next six months. He called her six times a day. He sent her flowers.
He mailed her long letters. She showed him little interest but she did
keep in touch. She knew she had a big fish on the line and that he
could come in handy one day. She wasn’t malicious, she just wanted
to leave herself options.
My mom got fed up with my sister living at home. She didn’t have
a job and when I wasn’t on the road, I lived at home, too. (It made
little sense for me to rent my own place when I was gone an average
of two months at a time.) My sister would do stupid things like steal
all of my socks, which led to some terrible fights.
One night I was packing for a long trip. I couldn’t find any of
my socks and I had just bought several new pairs that afternoon. I
confronted Mary. She denied knowing about the socks, so I searched
her belongings, constantly shoving her aside as she intervened. Sure
enough, I found all my new socks. I took the socks and started to
leave when she jumped me. My mom came into the room to see what
all the commotion was. I tossed Mary onto her bed and told my mom
what was going on, while showing her the socks. Just then my sister
kicked me as hard as she could in the back. My mom had it. She
threw Mary out of the house. I still feel guilty about it, even though
it was all Mary’s fault. She’s my sister, though, and I will always feel
bad about that night, that’s simply how things work.
Mary had nowhere to go. Before she left, she called Gary. I don’t
know what she said but he quit his job and moved to Chicago the
next day. Mary and Gary moved into a dive motel. I visited her there
a few times; it was pretty scary. The desk clerk sat behind thick bullet
proof glass. I had to leave an ID with him to go up to her room. It
wasn’t long before Gary had two jobs to Mary’s none. She had him
in the 70s. Oak Park is very serious about its trees. The tree Gary hit
was an old one valued at $500,000!
Gary was fired. The truck company he worked for lost their
insurance and went out of business, displacing a dozen workers. The
Jetta was totaled. Thank God no one was injured outside a few bruises
and scrapes. Mom and I were grateful we were not involved in the
accident and thought the entire ridiculous affair was over. Wow, we
really were naive. Twenty minutes after I got home from the police
station, my mom called. She screamed through tears, “He got her off
the train! He got her off the train!”
Gary had called the police in Battle Creek, Michigan. He told
them he was in a terrible car accident. When the train pulled into
the station, the police scoured each car looking for Mary. They told
her what happened and she got off the train. Luckily Mary made the
mistake of calling Mom. My car was in the shop but I implored her
to let me take her car, pick up Mary, and drive my sister’s sorry ass to
Toronto. She was hesitant, “I don’t know.”
“You know Gary’s heading up to get her. He’s probably bugging
everyone he knows right now, looking for a car.”
My mom decided to lend me her car and I zipped the few hours
to Battle Creek to get my sister. (Mary wasn’t good with math. It
didn’t occur to her that she could swap her ticket to Toronto for a
cheaper ticket to get back to Chicago.) I beat Gary to her. She was
very surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Get your bag, get in the car, or the rest of the family will be
coming here for your funeral.”
She could see I meant business. We drove most of the way to Toronto
in silence, although I did assure her that Gary had not been injured
and lectured her about her poor treatment of him. I also explained that
she did not live in a vacuum, that there were serious consequences to
her actions and lies. I drove the twelve hours straight, dropped Mary
off at two in the morning, and returned home, for a total of twenty-
four hours of straight driving. I was supposed to fill in for my dad at
his security job the day after I left to take Mary to Canada. Instead, I
was driving back to Chicago. Dad ended up working a sixteen-hour
shift and was sick for the next week. My mom’s boyfriend had to cut
a trip short, so that he could drive my mom to and from work until I
returned with her car.
The mission was accomplished. We got Mary safely to my
grandma’s. We also had the added bonus of not getting killed by her
boyfriend en route. Yeah for us!
I learned three things from my sister the day I drove her to
Toronto:
• The definition of a trixie.
• Do not fall for a trixie.
• Don’t let a woman lead you on.
My sister is a trixie. A trixie is a woman who meets several criteria:
The most important person in her life is herself, often unbeknownst
to her. She gets caught up in the latest fashion fads. Her appearance
is tremendously important. She pursues money and the good life. Her
biggest goal is to have lots of money without working. She has low
self-esteem. She is manipulative. Notice that trixies don’t always have
lots of money. Notice they don’t always have the most fashionable
clothes. They simply pursue these things, sometimes successfully,
sometimes unsuccessfully.
Mary doesn’t have lots of money, but she does have dozens of
how-to books on meeting rich men and becoming a millionaire. She
can’t afford the latest fashions but she does have the latest magazines
depicting these fashions. She is extremely absorbed with her looks.
She spends hours every day doing her makeup and hair. She won’t go
out if she has a zit, often canceling plans. It is ridiculous.
Notice that my sister was not affected in the least by what happened
the day she left for Grandma’s, as is often the case with trixies. Gary
was affected, the trucking company and its employees were affected,
the family in the other Jetta was affected, my mom was affected, I
was affected, my uncle was affected (he had to get up at two in the
morning to let my sister into his house), my mom’s boyfriend was
affected, and my dad was affected. Fall for a trixie and this is what
the cards hold. She often gets her way without lifting a finger. There
are rarely consequences in her life, so she is very unfamiliar with
them. She simply does not understand the correlation between action
and reaction because she is often protected from the latter by other
people, or they ignore her behavior because of her looks.
Trixies need to understand that they are doomed to a life of grief.
If they meet the rich men of their dreams, the men often could care
less about them. They are trophy wives. Their husbands almost
always cheat on them and pay them little attention. When they lose
their looks, they are often kicked to the curb for a younger trixie.
Typically, only two types of men waste time with trixies: losers and
guys looking only to get laid.
Losers don’t get good-looking women—typically because of low
self-esteem—so when one shows them even the smallest amount of
interest, they fall all over themselves in an effort to keep that attention.
Losers can end up with trixies because the trixies need them to fulfill
a purpose. Such a relationship rarely lasts; once the trixie gets what
she wants, it ends.
Trixies are easy to fuck, then kick to the curb. Their antics are
completely undesirable, so it’s easy for guys to remain emotionally
detached from them. At the same time, they tend to be hot, which
affects men’s hormones. In other words, we want to be with their
bodies, not with them. Once we’ve had the body, we’re done with the
trixie. Yup, trixies make perfect targets for men just looking to scratch
an itch. Interested in a trixie? Stop being interested, forget about her.
Can’t do it? Sigh. There are two ways to hook-up with her.
Be a sap. Bug her endlessly for months. She’ll need something
eventually and break down. It could be something as simple as a ride.
Use the opportunity to make a move for repayment.
Don’t want to take months? Treat her like crap. What? That’s
right, like crap. Trixies are used to being treated like princesses. Treat
them badly and they will feel a need to prove they are worthy of
princess treatment. They’ll argue and moan about the poor treatment
but they’ll keep coming back for more. Push the envelope further and
further. Make her prove her worth. Challenge her and make it sexual.
“I’ve been watching guys buy you drinks all night. I don’t get it;
you’re not that hot. I bet you’re a bad kisser, too.”
“I am not a bad kisser.”
“Prove it.”
“No! I’m not going to kiss you.”
“Yeah, because you’re a bad kisser.”
“I am not.”
“Then prove it… Okay, you’re not a bad kisser, but your butt
doesn’t look that firm.”
“My butt is firm!”
Smack her on the ass, “Okay, your ass is firm. But I bet it loses its
round shape when your pants come off.”
Get the idea? Push, push, then push some more. Most trixies can
be landed in a night. We’ve all witnessed conversations like this one,
been shocked when the girl lets the guy go further and further, and
then watched as she leaves the bar with him only a few minutes after
they met. How did he do that? Why did she let him practically grope
her in public? She’s a trixie, that’s why it worked. It also helps to be
very attractive, dress fashionably, or have something shiny, in order
to catch a trixie’s eye. Remember, looks are very important to her, she
likes fashion, and she wants to land a guy with lots of money.
I used to have a friend who cracked me up every time we went
out to the bars. He dressed in the latest fashion and owned a cool car.
He’d push a trixie—the dialogue above is clipped from one of his
actual conversations—into leaving the bar to see his car. The guy had
no money, he just looked like he did. His apartment was a dump but
it was of little consequence. He usually fucked the trixie in the car,
then drove away when she got out. I stopped hanging out with him
because he became too big a jerk, and the women I liked to meet were
completely put off by him. He chased one after another away.
Where do trixies come from? All different walks of life. They can
be poor, rich, from the big city, from the country, it doesn’t matter.
What does matter is the way they were raised. Most trixies come to
believe at some point in their lives that the only thing they have of
value are their looks. They are taught that these looks are so good,
they deserve to be treated better than other people. They work to keep
these looks pristine, which is why they become engrossed in makeup
and fashion. A lot of this special attention comes from their fathers.
How do trixies come to the misconception that all they have to offer
are good looks? Many times it starts early in life. Ever see people fall
all over a cute baby with praise?
“You are so cute.”
“You are just the sweetest little thing.”
“You are so pretty. Pretty like a princess.”
Told that repeatedly the first couple years of her life, it’s no
wonder a girl becomes a trixie. Boy babies can be made into male
trixies (more commonly called preppies), in the same way, but it’s
rarer, because boy babies typically receive more balanced praise.
“You are so cute.”
“You are so strong.”
“You are so fast.”
“You are so smart.”
Most girls who are late bloomers don’t become trixies because
they didn’t receive such praise earlier in life. Instead, they received
praise for being smart, having talent, and so forth. They know they
have value beyond their looks.
My older sister was praised continually as a child for her luxurious
hair and her silky skin; by teachers, friends, and family alike. She
works hard to maintain these features for erroneous fear she doesn’t
have any worth without them. Give babies and children balanced
praise to avoid making them trixies or preppies.
One final word on trixies for those who want to pick them up:
Make sure the woman targeted is really a trixie. If she isn’t, insulting
her will not get her to drop her panties; it will, however, get her to
throw one hellacious right cross.
