January 2009


“There’s only one dude in your grad program? How’s that going?”

“We’re friends, he’s probably my favorite in the class, we flirt over gchat during lecture. The other day he was mockingly calling me baby.”

“Of course. Sorry, forgot whom I was talking to. He have a chance?”

“Dunno. Maybe. He’s a good guy – physically my type: tall, skinny, dark hair. Went to [very religious undergrad university] and a pastor’s son.”

“Shit. And there are no other dudes to distract you in the program?”

“He’s a GOOD GUY and I am not Satan; this MIGHT BE OK.”

“Jesus Christ, Molly, just leave the poor bastard alone. Nothing will end up happening anyway.”

“What if I am bored with nothing ever happening?”

“So make something happen. But with someone else. You’ll get bored of this guy in three months, tops. Probably less than three weeks. And then you’ll be awkward around him. If you want a fling, go for an asshole – at least you won’t be bored. You don’t do well with bored.”

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To achieve equilibrium with the niceness The Nice One, I sometimes give him more grief than I would others – as I know he will laugh and counter with a fairly witty rebuttal. He balances my stress and reasons away my stressful drama with comments such as, “why are you wasting time upset when we could be flirting and having uncomfortable amounts of sexual tension between us?”

Since we rarely see each other anymore, we’ve started Internet dating (emailing), but our lighthearted banter is never overtly sexual. For example, when we were discussing the half-nude modeling of his swimwear collection and the possibilities for my matching wardrobe, he suggested, “and while I am modeling these speedos for you, will you be parading around in old prom dresses or some other sort of eye-catching loveliness?”

“Yes, with long white gloves and a parasol. I hope later we will go to dinner in our finery, me in my dress and you in your speedo.”

“We’ll be the hottest couple in town. No one will be able to challenge our pure sexuality. Parasols are so hot.”

Cute, right? He’s fun. Makes me smile. So what is wrong with me that I only want to keep this at the Internet-dating level? Why don’t I like the ones that could are good for me? Oh, also, after staying at the office until 9pm on a Friday night, he emailed the following message to my work account:

When you receive this it will be Monday morning and you will no doubt be crabby and stressed. Just remember that my speedo-clad body is just a short email away.

Have a great day! xoxo

Such a freaking nice guy. And not unattractive. What the hell is wrong with me? If he was an asshole, or even a little distant, I would be all over that. I think I need the dating scene needs to knock me to the ground a few more times to fully appreciate guys like him – for the most part, he’s wasted on someone like me.

Although I’ve never seen the movie, I’ve memorized the Steel Magnolias quote, probably from a sap-prone friend’s away message or facebook profile, as it seems to fit my dating approach:

” “I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”

The promise of thirty minutes of wonderful trips me up from settling for one that could keep me quietly content. I like those stomach-floppers, I search for them, even if their general wonderfulness only lasts thirty minutes. Not my lifetime perfect match –none of that soul-mate crap – but stomach-flop of wonderfulness.

Seems that I’ve grown tired of these guys whom I adore and, according to my friends, visibly adore me in return, but whom I can never have, not feasibly anyway. I might need a break from those guys and their allure of wonderful; whether I’m attracted to them because they are safe in that I can’t have them or because I only want what I can’t have, who knows, but my attachment to them is there, and has grown frustrating.

Question. What is the collective opinion on settling? In regards the dating scene? Not permanently. Just a temporary settle.

Wonderful is an addicting high, though. The smiles, the racing heart, the innuendos –gives me hope, makes me feel alive, even if the relationship never develops further than casual flirtation. It’s somehow worth it. But then again, maybe it’s overrated. I’m not saying I’m giving up on a search for a stomach-flipper, but what if I would chose someone safe that would bore me in say, three months. A three-month break. A steady, safe, NICE guy.

A route I’ve never really chosen before; I think I have a fear that the nice, safe choice would suck me in, eventually becoming a lifetime of nothing special.

And your opinion, my dear Internet: to settle or not to settle?

Chicago was great. Haven’t written about it mostly because I am still processing it. Certain jobs, certain guys, certain loves. I’m processing. Will let you know if/when I come up with any tangible conclusions.

Dear Boy I Used to Like,

I used to like you.

You used to make me smile and tease me that we would be good together. I used to believe it.

I don’t believe that anymore. We want different things. I want a guy that makes me smile and you, apparently, want someone so superficial that her Christmas presents include tanning sessions and hair extensions. Even though fake hair made her happy, the purchase enabled her superficiality and behavior. You supported fakeness. I don’t care if you did have the common sense to sound embarrassed when you confessed these details, you still are not the person whom I thought you were, nor someone with whom I could ever see myself. This tells me that you are the type of person that might “hint” at breast implants. If we would date, my confidence level would decline due to the influence of your vastly contrasting values.

Furthermore, I find it pathetic that your Facebook profile picture is now a couples shot with her face as three-fourths of the frame. And yes, I realize from the wall postings that you two are very much “in love” but I have learned it is possible to love someone while maintaining your own identity. Taking up more space than the picture’s northeast corner would illustrate a healthy start. Also, if your amour is so all-consuming, then stop asking me to make-out. Even though you’re bluffing, it is still inappropriate. Learn how to be friends with a girl or stop the communication.

I am happy to know these details about you, however, as I find it a redeeming sort of closure.

I hope you two have a thoroughly insecure life together.

Sincerely Unlike Truly,

Molly

PS: Also, please stop inviting me to hang out with you and your girlfriend. I am not interested and would find it awkward as all hell. You should have the decency to realize that.

“Did you know that [mutual friend from high school] is getting married in Vegas?”

“Really? Can I be your date?”

“… Seriously?”

“Yeah, I like attending weddings of friends when not invited. I find it fun in a slightly awkward sense.”

“But you have a girlfriend and by March, it’ll be that much more serious …”

“She trusts me. I work that weekend but there’s a slight chance that I might be able to get out of it. I’ll let you know.”

My credit cards are disastrous. I’ve already spent The Sister’s rent (that was supposed to go towards this month’s mortgage payment). Tuition is due in less than six weeks. I have not been scheduled for serving shifts. Due to the economy, my place of employment is not giving annual raises. At all. Money, or lack thereof, is my primary cause of stress. Unfortunately I am unable to isolate the problem to purely financial woes –because I am slightly prone to overreaction –and have elevated the freaking out to all areas in life where I am failing (read that: all areas).

Fuck it. Being a failure can eat at my ulcer next week.

This weekend, I’m taking a spontaneous roadtrip to Chicago. Drinking, shopping, my favorite college roommate, and Work Boyfriend. I effing love that town. Itinerary suggestions, anyone?

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