A while back ago the celebrity gossip world was abuzz that Katy Perry and John Mayer were a thing. Then, more recently, everyone was talking again, this time about how John dumped Katy.
I was less surprised that John Mayer dumped Katy Perry (isn’t that sort of his thing) than I was that she dated him in the first place. The guy's a jerk. And while I ‘m still not sure if sexual napalm is a compliment or an insult, I’m damn sure I don’t want any guy I’ve slept with to say it about me in a national magazine.
Though, in fairness, it might be nice to have a guy write a song comparing my body to a wonderland.
Still, as I do with almost all celebrity gossip I can quite fathom, I chalked it up to some anomaly inherent in the DNA of otherwise perfect people.
That is until I learned of a similar phenomenon plaguing a group of my friends.
My friend Bob called me the other day, asking if we could get together to catch-up. As I have been sort of MIA from my social group lately due mostly to this stupid marathon I signed up to run, I agreed without thinking much of it. It didn’t even raise an eyebrow when Bob immediately pressed for a time and a place because Bob is used to my agreeing to casual plans and then either not finalizing said plans or cancelling them at the last minute.
But I knew this was no typical wine and whine night when he sat down and said, “I need your advice.”
It turned out since I’d been gone a new dude had entered our social stratosphere and was making his way through our female friends – loving them and then, according to Bob, leaving them heartbroken.
Now, Bob is a bit sentimental when it comes to women, and so I was skeptical. Sometimes a lady just wants to get laid and, as I have recently hypothesized, a douche bag is just the guy to get the job done.
Then Bob started giving me specifics and sure enough, this guy was leaving a wake of heartbreak and Bob wanted to know what to do about it.
Unfortunately for Bob there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t approach the guy without looking petty. And he didn’t need to bother “warning” the women because they already knew.
After all, women talk, or at least my friends do.
So the only thing left was to understand why a woman would allow a guy to do this.
And yes, I said allow. Because that is exactly what was happening. This wasn’t your typical case of a woman lying to herself. This wasn’t a guy saying he wasn’t looking for anything serious, but then behaving in every way as if they were destined for forever and ever.
P.J. (Philly John, or Philly Jawn as the local kids might say) was wooing them with promises of love everlasting and then splitting as soon as the condom came off.
It wasn’t a bad boy thing: That I get. But, a) bad boys never promise forever and ever, and b) neither Philly Jawn nor John Mayer could ever be mistaken as bad boys.
Could it be a form of trophy sex? Not the standard, sighing of friends as they ask “you’ve seen him naked?” but an uglier, more competitive, manically laughing and wringing your hands as you gloat, “he broke all the hearts of my friends, but he didn’t break mine. He left them, but he didn’t leave me.”
I have a problem with this on many levels beyond just the icky factor; first being the absolute bitchiness of it. Where is the sisterhood here, ladies? This bro mistreated one of your girls. If ever there was a time for the ladies to form a wall and protest this penis’s party, this would be it.
Also, I’m not sure what kind of trophy PJ makes. After all, all of your friends have seen him naked. Let’s play this out to its logical conclusion (if you manage to tame the wild beast) when you two are standing in front of all of your friends and family, swearing before god and loved ones to stay true to each other forever and ever. Do you know what the gallery is talking about? Not your flowers or dress or even the vows you labored over for months and months. They are talking about how the groom banged all your bridesmaids.
Hopefully, this isn’t what’s happening and it turns out to be just another case of women chasing after the exact sort of love life they want (subconsciously of course). After all, if they dated good, decent guys, what would they complain to their friends about?
Which might also explain why Katy chose John. My favorite female singer-songwriters are always better when they are angry and bitter as opposed to when they are happy and in love. But, please, Katy, for all that is good on this earth, don’t write a song about John. The world already has enough (I’m looking at you Taylor).