Thursday, May 05, 2005

Good vs. Evil

Gloria Estefan understands:

Always gettin' so restless, nothin' but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
Get me feelin' breathless, nothin' but trouble
Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy
I like to think I'm a fairly functional human being. I don't keep human body parts in my freezer. I venture out of my house every day to my job, which I've managed to hold for almost two years. I don't have any odor issues, nor do I compulsively steal, gamble or lie. But when it comes to men, my psychoses know no bounds.
Dating is not my forte. Not because I hate men, nor because I am a player. I've just always gone for the guys I can't have. Significantly older, significantly immature, significantly incapable of saying "my girlfriend Amy." Perfectly capable of fucking with my head, perfectly capable of sleeping with me, but unable to suck it up and listen to my grandmother nag them to impregnate me before she dies. In fact, after my first ex-whatever he was, I didn't go on a date for two years. Let that sink in. Two. Years. And when I started dating Yankees Hat Guy, I knew I was dating just to date. He was a nice guy, but the fact he didn't read for pleasure, didn't have any passion for anything and started nagging me to be exclusive on our second time meeting, ever. I didn't want him calling me so much. I ignored his calls. I dumped him.
I think my problem is I don't like when it's easy. I love the torture of not knowing what a boy is going to do. My most recent ex-WHW drove me insane with this (and Kristen, who I am forever karmically indebted to for listening to me rant for a month, pausing only to sleep, eat and make out) and I loved it. Is he going to call? Is he going to ask me out again? Will he come to dinner and submit to a DNA screen as my grandmother wants? Nope. Didn't make it to a family event. Drove me to the brink of insanity for a month, then dumped me. And I missed the lack of drama. Oh, and the making out.
I feel like a walking chick-com or episode of Sex and the City. I went on a date last weekend with a Nice Boy. Adorable brown hair, nice brown eyes. Listened to me when I spoke. Paid for my drinks and was upset when he found out I paid to park. Listened to me prattle on about baseball even though he doesn't know much about it. A perfect gentleman, who would probably smile and nod if my grandmother asked him what his SAT scores were. But it's so easy. I know if I call him, he'll go out again. I should be exited that my feminine wiles have worked so effectively, but instead I'm just "meh." There's no danger, no drama.
Some of my friends say they understand. There has to be an edge to a guy, a certain amount of chase to make dating exciting for the first month or so. Other friends, who are far better girlfriend material than me, say I'm an idiot for potentially passing up a good thing. I do want to see the Nice Boy again if only to determine if he has a douchy streak in him that will make him more attractive. Or perhaps I'll use my time to send myself into therapy which I apparently need. Perhaps it's not long before I start keeping pudgy girls in the basement of my building and "working from home" a lot.

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