Posts Tagged 'Dating'

Reissue: I attract assholes.

Since I haven’t had a chance to write anything lately, (mostly because of finals) I figured I would bring back an oldie, but a goodie from a little (now defunct) blog ya’ll might remember–ITSSOJ?! This was the very first post I have written for that blog, before it became a video blog.

Enjoy!

Tuesday, November 28, 2008

On more than one occasion in very recent past weeks I have attracted douche bags on my outings in the city. I don’t know why this would be, considering I’ve taken to scowling on a constant basis and apparently don’t look very friendly (according to my friends–thank you very much). This particular night had previously been a school day, and on school days, I wake up, brush my teeth, throw some jeans on and I’m out the door. That’s right– no change of shirt, no shower (which equals dirty hair), no new make up and occasionally, no undies. This is my Monday, Wednesday, Friday routine. So, when Kiss and I ended up at 111 Minna on a Wednesday night, I can guarantee you that I looked like trash…but I must wear it well because as soon as I got my beer and sat down some idiot came up to me with his cup out in a “cheers” gesture. I don’t even know where he came from. Rarely do I notice the men in Minna because I’m usually focused on the art, which was what I was trying to enjoy when the idiot came up.
This man was not at all my “type”.  And even though I barely know what my “type” is, he definitely was not it. As soon as he sat down he did not stop talking about his “rough” Buddhist upbringing and how his overt confidence sometimes makes people uncomfortable–Gee, go figure! I didn’t even have to actually pay attention; but I did listen enough to know that he was an actor, a psychology major and annoying as fuck. The rest of the conversation consisted of me throwing in a “Hm”, “Yeah” and “Oh”. If he happened to ask me a question, I just pretended like I couldn’t hear well and had him repeat (the music was pretty loud, so I easily got away with it).

I guess he took my short answers and stink faces in his direction as a sign of silent genius and decided that I was a psychological case that needed to be cracked because he then proceeded to psychoanalyze me. He proceeded to make me feel as if I had no artistic outlet, (“You have a blog, ha, who doesn’t!?) and apparently I “sandbag myself“. So, I’m lazy and worthless, but hey! I am sexy! Which is what he told me next…at a bar (slash art gallery), how cliché, I mean creative! And this coming from an “actor”. Someone, please give this man an Oscar. It took every ounce of willpower to not tell him about my Wednesday morning regiment, and to reveal just how “sexy” I truly am. If only…

So he kept blabbing, blabbing, blabbing and not actually listening to my answers to his questions (some psychologist), while I tried desparately to think of an exit plan, getting zero help from my friends (whom I kept giving the “HELP!” look to, to no avail). I finally decided that I was going to go check out the art in the adjacent room in Minna and Kiss said she would come along. Thank you sweet, baby Jesus!

As I was about to escape, the idiot asked for my phone number! Are you kidding me? Did I seriously seem remotely interested? Is this some sort of JOKE?! I, of course gave him a fake number. What else could I do? He apparently thought I was interested? Ugh.

I guess I need to develope a stinky attitude to go with my infamous stink eye, ’cause the eye alone just isn’t cutting it.

Loving is fine if you have plenty of time for walking on stilts at the edge of your mind.

Relationships and dating often come up as a topic of conversation for my close girlfriends and myself–give us a break, we’re single, twenty-somethings who can’t seem to figure out why we’re still single. On one hand I’m OK with being single, in fact, I don’t even want to date– but this doesn’t mean I’m completely OK with it. And to manage with this sentiment, I often joke about it because it’s not fun to deal with if there is no humor. Whatevs. It works. We all tell ourselves silly things at one point or another to make ourselves feel better. Right? Anyway. When we start talking about this stuff–the games that are played, the men in our lives (or lack there of), the crushes, etc. my mind wanders to past relationships and the major lessons I’ve learned–the real reasons I’m not so down to date anymore. I’ve narrowed it down to two reasons:

1. I don’t want to lose myself in a relationship. I don’t want to give myself up for someone else. I’m selfish;  it took me a long to figure this out and I’m not ready to compromise. And I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.

2. I refuse to play games–especially with matters of the heart. Give me honesty, or get the hell out of my way. The end.

And that’s it, really. I’d say those are pretty valid reasons. I’d just rather be single. And until I meet someone that just completely blows me away and takes me for who I am and gives me that feeling–you know, that nervous-excited, butterflies in the stomach, tingly feeling– this is just the way it’s going to be.

And with that, I leave you with the words of Alanis Morissette, whose song I believe conveys my sentiments on this matter exactly. Enjoy!

I don’t want to be the filler if the void is solely yours
I don’t want to be your glass of single malt whiskey
Hidden in the bottom drawer
I don’t want to be the bandage if the wound is not mine
Lend me some fresh air
I don’t want to be adored for what I merely represent to you
I don’t want to be to be your babysitter
You’re a very big boy now
I don’t want to be you mother
I didn’t carry you in my womb for nine months
Show me the back door
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at half past six
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in and oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for and I’m not the doctor
I don’t want to be the sweeper of the eggshells that you walk upon
I don’t want to be your other half I believe that 1 and 1 make 2
I don’t want to be your food or the light from the fridge
on your face at midnight
Hey what are you hungry for
I don’t want to be the glue that holds your pieces together
I don’t want to be your idol
See this pedestal is high and I’m afraid of heights
I don’t want to be lived through
A vicarious occasion
Please open the window

I rode a fixie for the first time on Sunday.

While living in San Francisco for the past two years, I went through four semesters of school. For the most part, I did well in school. But there was one particular class that I ended up flunking every single semester (including Summer semesters that I wasn’t even enrolled in!)– Guy 101: Dating and Men (or boys, depending on the situation and maturity level–it was an umbrella course).

This became a joke in my San Francisco household between my roommates and myself…only, it wasn’t really a joke. No matter how hard I studied, the important information just didn’t sink in and I just couldn’t comprehend; resulting in a big, fat F every time I had a test, thus flunking Guy 101 again and again and again! I could go through every scenario and give examples of said flunked exams, but it would be exhausting and embarrassing–the bright, red flags (that were up right in front of my face) that I missed, the misinterpretations of words and actions, the drunkenness that ensued. And there were so many failed experiments– Fat Head, Dead Fish, Fresh Fish, Minn Mac…all of them, fail, fail and epic fail.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I just don’t know how to date. I know how to be in a relationship–be a girlfriend–I did it once for many years and I like to think I did it well. I just don’t know at what point you go from “dating” to being in an exclusive relationship (you know, the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing).

I didn’t come away completely empty-handed though. Here are a few of the lessons I did actually “learn” along the way:

1. Men do not take woman on dates anymore–at least not in San Francisco.

2. I am a terrible judge of  the male character–they’re usually only that nice in the beginning because they want something, duh.

3. Commitment is often a bad word in the male dictionary.

4. I should not always be honest and say what I am thinking– this one didn’t actually sink in; I’m going to be honest, say what I really think about something and ask questions whether you like it or not! But I did notice that it would get me in a lot of trouble. Hah.

5. Generally speaking, men are selfish and unapologetic creatures.

So there you have it. Having now been relocated to Southern California, I don’t really plan on taking Guy 101 again…I think I’ve hit my limit in retaking the course anyway (thank you sweet, baby Jesus–I don’t think my delicate psyche could handle another F).

There was only one man worth my time in San Francisco anyway, and that man–was not you! So don’t even try and flatter yourself.

Please note that I used words such as “usually” and “generally” when describing what I’ve learned about the male behavior; which is to say, despite my constant failing, I don’t think every man is as described above. Thank you.

Baby doll I recognize, you’re a hideous thing inside.

So, I recently had this idea, and as most of my ideas often do, there are a few holes and parts that probably won’t make sense, but I’ll do my best to explain myself anyway. The other day, I was thinking about boyfriends, the few I’ve dated, etc. and the good and bad about them when it dawned on me–sure it would be nice to have a boyfriend, and yes Kiss and I talk of and agonize over the topic often, but really, they’re just distractions and I would like a boyfriend without the distraction–a “part time boyfriend” (so-to-speak)!

And what is a part time boyfriend, you ask? Well! I will do my best to explain: A part time boyfriend is there when you need him to be and not when you don’t. You need to get a paper done?  Don’t worry, he’s only part time, he’s not going to be around to distract. You want to go out and get a few drinks, smooches, whatevs; he’ll be there in 15. Basically, you’ve got a boyfriend without all of the emotional bullshit there to distract you from more important obligations. No disappointments, no waiting around, and you really only have to like him half-assedly. Part time boyfriend means I only have to be partially into him which means he only needs to be semi-attractive, so I won’t get attached and it all works out. And maybe, if he’s lucky and everything does (surprisingly) work out, one day he can be moved to full time status. Sounds like a deal, right? Or did I just describe the entire dating game? Something’s a little off…

A major point to remember–and what’s easier said than done–is that fact that I too would then be part time; which is probably pretty impossible because I would have to remain detached or just be dating douche bags all the time…and that doesn’t sound very fun now that I think about it…When I told a male friend this brilliant idea, he responded with, “Sounds selfish, wicked, and darn right cruel to the sensitive male soul.” I wasn’t entirely sure what “sensitive male soul” he was referring to and therefore prompted him to further explain himself, “There are more than enough men out there that aren’t so preoccupied with getting laid and the thrill of one night stands and random hook ups. It’ll happen, but women should be careful, nothing hits a man harder in his gut than to think that he’s purposely part time.” To which I replied, “You’re so young and naive.”

OK, I admit that this whole part time thing is a terrible idea. Honestly, I’m just jaded and I’m sick of talking about boyfriends/dating. I hate dating. It’s a game and I don’t enjoy playing games with matters of the heart. I’d rather be set up in an arranged marriage than have to go play the dating game again. The fact that I’m even putting any kind of time and effort into writing this now makes me a little disgusted with myself. Boyfriend or not, I’ll still be happy. However, please don’t read into this as, “I just want to hook up when it’s convenient” because that’s certainly not what I’m tying to say either. I just refuse to be the type of girl who defines herself by whether or not she has a boyfriend. I’m better than that, and so are you!