by JATON ZULUETA

Discussed: Growing up Girly, Phone Transcripts, a 1990s Tom Hanks

Some important disclaimers:

1. Let there be no confusion: I’m attracted to women, so attracted to women that manly women intrigue me: how is it that some girls wear Mexican moustaches or have muscles for necks, or look exactly like Shrek and not Fiona?
2. I wasn’t raised as a girl. My childhood was sponsored by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I played basketball until I caught a bounce pass with my face (that dark), and played wrestling until the inevitable too-real-it’s-now-real sharpshooter. Sort of related tangent: regrettably wrestling always went with racism in our playground. Whenever we’d wrestle with the Indian kids, we’d always assign them ethnic roles. Like: “Ganesh, anong Undertaker? Ikaw si Papa Shango! Papa. Shango. How the fuck could the Undertaker be Indian!” Fun, but largely ignorant times.

I grew up half-girl. Because my parents were separated, I lived with my three older sisters, and my mom, and Oprah, who was on all the time (to this day, I think the intensity level of a competitive NBA finals is only matched by the latest “Big Give-away”).

My taste in art were all rooted in well-loved chick classics: The first book I read was “Are you there God, it’s me, Margaret”, my first favorite movie was “Notting Hill”, and the first song of the first mixtape I gave to a girl was the R&B slowdown classic “6, 8, 12” (there was a time when I thought Brian McKnight had a gift and was one).

Tom in the '90s: the Micheal Jordan of Meg Ryans

In high school, I was popular with girls because I treated women the way Tom Hanks treated Meg Ryan (WWTHD? He ran to her. Always). The girls liked me mostly because they saw me as one.

A prime example is the following transcript of a recovered phone conversation between myself and Marcee Moran, “You Changed my Life in a Moment,” girl version 2.0, circa 2004:

Jaton, internalizing Dr. Phil: Leave him. You’re a beautiful girl, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.

Marcee Moran: Really Jates? Fuck that means a lot coming from a guy like you.

Jaton, in his head, “a guy like me…”: You can forgive a guy like that, but you can’t forgive me for this little thing… running you out of business?

(Note: line lifted from You’ve Got Mail (1998). One of the very rare WWTHD fail.)

Marcee: Jaton? What? Hello?

Jaton: Nothing. Maybe we can talk about this tom? We can see 50 first dates. It could be our first date.

(Note: sadly, I really said this.)

Marcee: Yeah why not! I’ll call Grace and Maggie.

Oh Ducky, you know they're going to crop you out of that photo right?

For the better part half of the last decade, I kept falling in love with these Marcee Morans who always decided that I had a vagina. And as the friendship with these girls grew stronger, the less of my advice they heard, and the more assholes they saw.

“Aren’t there any good guys out there?” the Marcee Morans said.

I never knew what to answer so I’d just freeze, nod in all the right places, and try to be helpful, even if part of me wanted to answer, “if by sensitive you mean, sexy,” as I telepathically tuck her hair behind her ears.

I’ve become better since then. I’ve fallen in love a couple of times, and been the kind of boyfriend that makes mixtapes, and plans surprises, a man the 1990s version of Tom Hanks would approve of.

But now I’m single, and I find myself retreating back to a familiar mold. Single women of all shapes and sizes are starting to flock again. They call me in the middle of the night and recount the latest stunt their boyfriends did or didn’t do (awww shiiiit), and we have coffee often enough for people to think we’re dating. We laugh in reply. Hiiiim? Heeer? But she laughs too hard, and too long, and when she’s over, I see myself in her eyes, and I see ovaries.

When those looks were never meant for you

To be honest, I’ve gotten so used to this that I don’t mind it one bit. I enjoy hanging out with the girls, we talk too much, and drink a little less, and unlike my guy friends, there are hardly any awkward pauses, no that’s-fucked-up-bro (which just makes a safe place, seem less safe), no apologies needed for oversharing.

As fun as having a lot of sex appeal sounds, that just doesn’t seem like me.

Being with my girl friends (yes, I have enough to claim ownership of this term) feels more like family, an extended version of my original female tribe.

And I guess that’s what’s different between Friend Zone 2005 and Friend Zone 2010, back then this felt like a curse, whereas now, this just feels more like a choice.

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Jaton is a managing editor of New Slang. He enjoys red hotdogs, all you can eat buffets, and writing to his future self. He tumbles here.