Don’t be THAT Girl…Who Dates THAT Guy

“Well, I woke up, thought about going to the gym, but was kinda tired, so I just made breakfast.  Then I sat at the computer and did some stuff and took a nap.  I woke up, thought about going to the gym again, but just took a walk.  Then I came home and watched some TV.  What’d you do today?”

Who knew a surfer could be so dull?  I thought they were fraught with excitement and muscles (well, they do have muscles – note: obsession with the gym).  Was I wrong to be bored with this conversation?  Life isn’t always a thrill.  Even at an amusement park you have to drive to the lot, walk to the gate, wait to get in, walk to the ride, wait in line (a long long time), and then do it all again for another 60 second thrill.

So I wait, and I date, and I wait…for the thrill.  But it never seems to come.

A new one came, in the form or a very cute Auzzie.  The accent from down-under, swath of carefree sandy hair and lack of ties to the entertainment industry were merely perks to his sweet disposition, nice bod and his lively interest in me.  He took me out, and proceeded to bore me to tears.  He had nothing to say and nothing to ask.  Now, I know I can be a bit intimidating (with my anger issues and amazing legs), so I give allowances to bad first dates.  We went out again, then back to my place.  And maybe a minute into our bland first kiss, I drifted into sleep on his shoulder.  And that aforementioned sweet disposition of his allowed me to sleep – apparently a good 20 minutes.  I woke baffled and embarrassed.  And realized although I was done seeing him socially, I knew who to call when I was battling insomnia.

Two dates and not even a 30 second thrill between them.  My heart should flutter, not sink, when a guy I’m dating calls.  I’ve always ended it politely, “Gee, you’re great, and really, it’s not you, it’s me.”  Secretly knowing the truth: DUH!  It is him, not me!  But dull dates kept drifting through my life like lifeless, useless tumbleweeds.  And their dust seemed to settle around my feet.  And date after date I began to wonder, gee…is it me?

For curiosities sake only slightly more than for desperation, I attended a free Speed Dating event hosted by none other than Whole Foods.  Apparently Wal-Mart had been doing “Tie a red ribbon on your cart Friday nights if you’re single” and Whole Foods wanted to get in the market.  I thought, at least these singles would have an interest in health and an income (Whole Foods ain’t cheap).

Anyway, I gave it a shot.  I met 20 guys in 60 minutes.

There was “man who messed up rotation”: he started with me, came back 5 people later, and tried to end with me.  When it came his 3^rd time to be seated with me, my dismissive eyes scared him away for 15 seconds, until he popped up behind the wall, outside of the event, by my head to again attempt an awkward and invasive conversation.

There was “man who wore a magnet around his neck to ward off evil spirits”: It was given to him as a gift from a friend who was abducted from an alien space ship, so logically it warded off evil spirits.  Seemed to be working for him – I was warded off, big time.

There was “younger guy who tried to be edgy by confessing he attempted suicide regularly”, also: “my girlfriend just died,” “I’ve been living on the streets since I was 12,” “I sell drugs.  Wanna buy some?”

There was “tech guy who was too scared to talk,” “man who was too big to fit down the isle,” “eager guy with a list of routine, boring questions,” “the copious note-taker” and or course “Mr. Marketing his business at a social event.”  It was a regular romper room of losers.

And I came to the conclusion: It ISN’T them, it IS me.  They are who they are, and some woman somewhere will find their quirks charming and livable.  And although strange, I was never bored; I found great amusement in this park of weary wonderers.

The lesson in this: we have a choice – wait an hour for a minute of a thrill, or find the thrill within the hour, within each minute, within each moment.  Somebody once said “only boring people get bored.”  So while I wait for my big thrill to come, I’ll enjoy the drive to the lot, the walk to the gate, the wait to get in, the walk to the ride, the wait in line (the long long time), and even if my big 60 second thrill never comes, I’ll have enjoyed the ride.

And to all those guys I said “it isn’t you, it’s me” too – I guess I wasn’t lying…

When did vacation sex come home?  What was once a quickie with a hottie and lack of a date or commitment or STD test has now become a regular dating life.  They all wanna “be spontaneous,” have “no rules,” and be able to shut it off when a “line is crossed.”  Men fear the “rules” of women, but why don’t we as women fear the hidden and socially accepted “rules” of men? 

My friend travels, so he has several quickies across the country.  When one of his regulars asked “so, what are we?” he said, simply, “over.”  She had broken his number one rule: don’t tie me down, bitch!  She had proposed a clarification, or a rule.  Which he don’t play by.  But he never realized HE was the one imposing the rules; and when she wanted to see the rule book, he snapped it shut.  His rule was this: I want my relationships – or lack thereof – to be of my choosing, I want to come (and cum) and go as I please, I want to fuck whomever I wanna fuck, I don’t care what you want, and if you don’t agree – we terminate.  He made HER abide by HIS rules.  Yes, rules. 

And we, as women, kowtow.  We agree out of fear, for we don’t wanna break their rules.  We’re afraid to have something real for ourselves, because we’d rather have a little bit of something than nothing. 

I have a birthday looming on the horizon.  Every morning, the birthday shines brighter, blinding my sight and my reason.  I fear age, I fear illness, I fear being alone.  And every morning and every night my birthday rises and sets and creeps quickly towards me. 

And the thought of settling comes a knocking. 

Hot Pot Head emailed me literally the day after I erased his email from my address book.  A few months had passed, and he was out of my head, so I took him out of my contacts.  And up popped the weasel.  I had moved on by the time I read his probing email, so I thought, well, why not?  A week passed and I wrote back, still not sure what I wanted from him if anything.  A quick response from him let me know…well, I don’t know what it let me know.  I didn’t write back, so days later a text from him confirmed his dogged interest. 

I can do this, I thought.  I can separate my heart from my body – for it had been some time since I let my body be touched, and an orgasm is always better than Tylenol PM.  So I went to see him.  And I couldn’t cum.  Two weeks later he asked for more, and still I couldn’t cum.  And now here I am, with a birthday looming, living by his rules, panicked, unfulfilled and wanting to cum. 

I can’t do it.  I can’t settle.  I can’t live by someone else’s rules.  My heart is part of my body and that’s the gift I’m given as a woman.  Rules aren’t made to be broken, they’re made to protect us and guide us.  My rule is this: I love with my heart and mind and soul first, and only then second with my body.  My rule, not his rule.  And if he don’t like it, it’s time to close the book. 

A lesson hard learned: a little bit of something is nothing.  A “little bit” clouds our judgment and makes us settle for really, nothing; but embracing “nothing” keeps us open for the real something. 

And my message to vacation sex: stay on vacation!

“He’s got a great personality!”  Number 1 trait women want in men: humor.  So every guy’s a comedian, especially in LA.  Wonder why Seinfeld got the big bucks?  Humor’s hard.  It’s a gift few were given, fewer developed, and fewer still hold as a skill.  Yet, we still want a guy with humor, personality and the ability to make us laugh. 

So when I met Pun Guy at a popular Mexican Restaurant, I was thrilled this reasonably attractive guy – with a great sense of humor - was my waiter, and was flirting with me.  With a shared smile and a margarita on the house, my girlfriend and I were giggling at our dumb luck – not only was he the only straight waiter, he was FUNNY!  Yippie!

He took me to a movie and along the way, we passed a pretzel shop.  “Hmm,” said Pun Guy, “Let me see if I have any DOUGH.”  Oh, ha ha ha, I politely giggled.  “Well,” he continued, “maybe we don’t KNEED it.”  Ooh, he he he, I politely stammered.  “I’ll get you one…if you’re KNOTty!”  Hmm, aahhh…I politely trailed off. 

The puns came in waves, drowning me with the sheer force of volume – for every 3 sentences he would utter, 1 would be a pun.  1 of 3.  33%.  Just like my income, a third of this date I wanted a refund.  I could have confessed to him; a close relative just died.  To which he would have responded, what, her hair?  Died / dyed, get it?  Dear god. 

The movie began and he fought with the actors on the screen – trying to out-joke them.  I don’t recall the movie, but I’ll never forget the happy joke man next to me who received an hour and a half’s worth of angry glares, stares and shushes.  That did not stop him, no; it only stirred up the tide pool where jokes go to die.  The wilting looks were fodder for his amusement – he thought he had an audience and played it to the hilt: a bag of goobers = “call me nuts!”  Popcorn = “is this corny?”  Coca-cola = “Coke?  I don’t do drugs!” 

I politely stopped all polite laughs, sunk into my seat, and waited for the movie – and the comedy set – to end.  Ready to go home, but guilted into dinner, we were again at a Mexican Restaurant.  Trying to make the best of this worst situation, he offered, “Can I tell you a joke?”  I felt a snap in my brain, and he continued “I made it up and it’s my favorite joke.”  My brain was numb, I didn’t protest.  “Ok.  What does a Spanish Cow say?”  My mouth moved, “I don’t know, what?”  “Mooey.”  What?  “Mooey.  Get it?  Cows say Moo & Spanish people say Muey, so…Mooey!  Get it?  I made it up!!” 

What on earth could’ve been worse than this date?  You got it, running into Pun Guy at a second job interview.  In the room, with two other hopefuls, Pun Guy started his set.  And the room was his – his high energy and excitement were contagious.  But I’d previously caught the virus and thankfully was Pun Guy resistant.  Then the inevitable turn of the tide…Pun Guy went from humorous, to hokey to horrible.  And he pulled me down with his sinking ship – he told the interviewers we had dated.  “Once!”  I screamed in protest, “we only went out once!’  Too late, guilty by association.  And down into the murky waters I sank, Pun Guy and me, two fish in the sea.   

Why do we want a guy who can make us laugh?  Well, it’s fun to laugh and you can burn a few calories, but really?  A guy who can make me laugh knows me; he listens to me, he’s smart and can see the smart in me, he can take me from a place of pain and not just pull me out of it, but relate to it.  A guy with a “personality” is simply a guy who listens. 

So the lesson today is to the men, not the women: Men; when women say we want a man with a sense of humor, don’t audition for The Last Comic Standing, don’t ask us “Does your face hurt…cause it’s killing me!” (dad’s signature joke), don’t get your personality from Mad Libs – just listen to us, respond to us, and if the mood’s right; tickle us. 

And don’t talk about the damn pretzel, just buy it.