He's My Cousin

The dog's owner was not too impressed with the whole “He's my cousin” move. One might go so far as to say he was a bit irritated.

“What? Couldn't you just say that we're friends?”

I tried to explain to him that friends don't usually rush friends’ dogs to the Doggie ER and generally freak out over the animal's well-being. Those activities are reserved for girlfriends. He still didn't get it. He's usually not so slow on the uptake. He's also one of those over-30-mature men, so it could be a hazard of the age. He seems to have let his playa genes wither, and replaced them with nurturing nerve endings that think friends don't let friends’ dogs die. Which is not to say I would let any of my friends’ dogs die. I would just save them under the guise that I'm a family member.

And really, what does he care if Hot Vet thinks he's my cousin? Where's the harm? There's no harm there. What's a new cousin here and there? Everybody loves cousins. This is what happens when a man stops thinking like a playa. He starts caring if you tell lies about him to further your own agenda.

Before anybody starts flinging shit, let me backpedal and say I'm not advocating for playas here and I'm not a playa myself. I've tried to make various plays in one form or another at various times in my life and foul out every time. I'm a complete failure as a playa, for the same reasons I would be a failure as a CIA agent. I just can't keep shit to myself. I'm always like, “Hey, let me be honest with you, I totally dig you,” after about 24 hours or so, in the same way I would be like, “Hey, I really feel like I have a bond with you, let me tell you about these top-secret maneuvers the U.S. government is about to pull down,” to some random person sitting next to me on a plane.

Complete failure. Later, when the entire world is in shambles as a result of my own handiwork, I would be like, “What! How could he? We really had a connection!” and then I would swear to never fall for that shit again. But it wouldn't matter because the world would be in shambles, and that's when I would need to start seeking out a ninja-boyfriend, or become a ninja myself, which is totally out of the question, because I bet they make you do sit-ups in Ninja School.

So no, no, there's no playa advocacy going on here. But let's be real here, the dog owner has clearly stopped thinking like one, and as a result, he's freed himself from the paranoia that comes along with playa-dom. When you're not constantly worrying about outsmarting your opponent, you forget that you need to cover all your vulnerable spots and stay at least one move ahead of everyone else. You lose the paranoia that is part of being, or being exposed to, a playa.

A playa can make a girl go from relatively normal to psycho-bitch-Glenn-Close crazy at the speed of sound. Mother Mary forbid that any man, even the bus driver, do so much as say good morning to her after a playa's had his hands on her:

Good morning? She thinks. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? Oh hell nah, he will not pull this shit over on me, I am not going to fall for that shit. Like hell if I'm going to say good morning back, that'll teach him. He'll be begging for me to say good morning tomorrow.

Bless his little soul; all he did was say good morning. He had no idea he just tripped the alarm.

The playa is never safe, not even as a mere friend. One look into his little world and you're ruined. Not only will you start ignoring the bus driver, you'll start wearing a helmet during the bus ride—because that is when you know the truth. When a playa is your friend, and you peek into his little head, you know—you've got no idea what you're dealing with here.

You know that if you guess he's dating another girl while simultaneously dating you, you've grossly underestimated his harem. You know that when he doesn't e-mail you back, it's because he's tending to the rest of the flock. You know that when you are spending the evening flipping out because he hasn't called, he's spending the evening in bed with someone else.

Arguably, it is better to never befriend a playa—the paranoia will ruin you. We say we are beyond these things—oh yes, we are tougher than this, we are more mature than this, we are too secure for these little games—but it is amazing how all that resolve melts when all you really want is his attention. Isn't it?

2:14 PM | E-mail a friend  | Read 6 comments |