Misinterpretations, Methodical, Men...

I've come to realize over the course of my very brief dating career, that I haven't dated all that much, or all that well...


Ever since 6th grade...that fateful ill-fated puppy love with a boy who truly liked me, and to whom I squashed mercilessly by failing to understand his feelings... I've had possibly the ultimate shitty luck where this tangled web of business is concerned.


For example, my first "serious" boyfriend was a stint with a biker, he was eighteen, and I sixteen. I marveled in true and utter wonderment of him until he dumped me faster than a hot tamale on the 4th of July for a big-breasted short shirt in a Mustang GT.


I hadn't yet gotten to second-base, and already I was krill to the dating scene as we know it.


My second serious boyfriend was a year and a half younger than I but oh, who am i kidding? Age is but a number- right? No need to be ageist when you have this smashing fellow who's on your level, meets your needs, and appears to have himself on the level, correct?


Wrong.


So wrong.


Mr. Level left this old bag of horse feed after a little over a year of tumultuous canoodling, promises of college live-in situations, and eventual marriage on a little island in the south pacific by a Haitian spirit healer...and why? Oh, there was some hot young thing with synthetic weave and eyeliner thicker than tar.


So here I've been since.


Only two serious situations down under my belt, and I couldn't be more confused or disoriented by the very IDEA of being with someone for an extended period of time.


Sometimes I like to wonder what's the point of it all... I mean, is that all there is in life? Women, being told from the earliest age that we're princesses that need to be treated as such by men who don't exist? That marriage is the ultimate form of euphoria, and if you don't find someone to marry eventually then you're a lesbian, a feminist, or just plain weird?


Don't get me wrong! I've had my fair share of guys pining for my hand...(not all at once- but you get my picture)...


A.) There was "S." from orientation, who gladly bought me anything I wished and whined and dined me until I wanted to gag for lack of independence (or breathing room, for that matter).
B.) There was "D." from a fraternity, who, though witty and amusingly charming, failed to clarify what it was that was happening between us, and therefore lost my regard.
C.) There was "C." from a mutual acquaintance, who took me to a rock concert and proceeded to be extremely awkward about his lack of financial and emotional stability.
D.) There was "P.", whom I met while in a college course, who I convinced to go on a date with me only to discover that, after locking lips, he was only meant to be a very best friend/brother sort.
E.) There was "R.", a foreigner who swept me off my feet with a sneak-kiss and intellectual conversation before I realized he was stringing me along (in true Scandinavian fashion).


Sigh.


It is a history that I look over and could truly laugh at.


Perhaps I'm picky.
Perhaps I think too much.
Perhaps it's my own special combination of neurotic and insane.
I've been told all of this before.


But I'm a modern, assertive, independent woman... you know, I've convinced myself I don't need a man.
Sure, it'd be nice if he takes you out, brings you home, canoodles and wants to spoon after. That's a winning combo! It'd be even better if it wouldn't be weird after, and he'd look at you and smile and just tell you it's official. There's no room for inhibitions here, people, we're young! There's time!
But if we're young, why are we so damn afraid of commitment?
You know, I'm might be scared, but I'm not stupid... I know a good thing when I have it.

Or I thought I did.

I thought I had two good things, before they walked.
And I'm sure one of those poor guys I was involved with after the fact thought they had a good one too...
before I walked.