Tuesday, May 11, 2010

what an almost-year of being noncommittal has taught me

I don't like needy. The more you leave me alone the better. I hate strings attached. Emotionally unavailable? That's a plus. Oh and if you have a girlfriend that's even better. I like texting but I don't want to have a continuous twelve-hour text dialog with you. Though I appreciate and enjoy the kind gesture, I don't want to be treated like a princess or placed on a pedestal. I'd rather that energy be put into a collective effort of training for a marathon together or volunteering at a soup kitchen (which, if a boy ever suggested any of those two activities, I would automatically be in love with him for life). I like pretty clothes and my nails are always painted but I'm not afraid to get dirty. Paying for my own burrito at dinner turns me on, as does driving my own car and not being chauffeured everywhere.
This knowledge, these preferences have been gained through experience with four males in particular. And yes, it's occurred simultaneously but unlike one of my best friends, I had no intention of "committing" in 2010. I hoped that singledom, or my liberation, so to speak, after three years of being dedicated would allow me to discover myself and whatever else those self-help books teach one about love, loss and moving on. I wanted to explore new activities, new people, redefine what is important in my life (yeah, I admit I read those self-help books). So this is what I've discovered.
I've currently reunited with a boy who six months ago hated my guts (for trivial reasons) and never wanted to speak to me again (though we spoke though friends of friends?). We click because we share mutual fondness for Mario Kart, daytime drinking, Panera, music and books. He smokes enough to either support Marlboro single handedly or spread lung cancer to an entire African village (take your pick) and has humor dry enough to leave my skin itchy and cracking for days (he also appreciates my lame puns and analogies). Bottom line: he's badass and treats me like relative shit.
I've been talking to another guy who either has no friends, has no life, or is completely in love with me though we met just a month ago. He is needy in every sense of the term and treats me like his personal Twitter account with updates on his meal choices and what he learned in class, complete with good night/morning texts EVERY SINGLE DAY (curse unlimited texting plans). He's sweet, funny and charming but my god dude, I also have homework, friends, attend social functions, talk to my mom, and eat food...every day. You do too? That's so cool.
There's another guy who, if possible, would give me the world. He comes up with the most far-fetched, yet amazing date ideas that I'm sort of a bitch to complain. He insists on driving an hour to see me and won't let me pay for anything (even if I'm playing the fake reaching for my wallet situation). When I was a budding feminist in eighth grade, and how this contradiction functions I'll never know, all I wanted in a boyfriend was a guy who would open doors for me, pay for my meals, etc. yet I believed in and supported the solidarity of womanhood by hanging a poster of Rosie the Riveter and defending Hillary Clinton's pantsuits. The somewhat wiser and more educated fourteenth grade me still believes in these ideals (to an extent) but for some reason I find this knight in shining armor's chivalry completely obnoxious.
The fourth gentleman in this situation falls under the unavailability phenomenon. There was a strong attraction upon first meeting him and when I learned that he was in a relationship, I was even more determined. Determined in what, one asks? I'm not really sure. Flirting? Breaking up his relationship? Whatever the case, (here's where Ives would refer to Aubrey Logic/Aubrey Games) I devoted the first three months of my life at a new university to hanging out with him whenever possible, taking up his free time and reveling in the fact that he would never be mine. Granted, he and Her (the other woman is always referred to as "Her") didn't work out. When this happened I generally lost interest. I pretended to comfort him on an In-n-Out run at one in the morning but I wasn't really feeling sorry for him, I was more pissed off that he was no longer my unattainable token. Since then, we've remained friends and see each other frequently. I called him one night last week to see if he'd like to see a movie but he denied. He's preparing for the MCATs. So the new woman is MCAT? I'm in, let the games begin.
So by now I probably seem like a selfish psychotic bitch. That's arguable but I remain firm in my half-joking motto of "too young for morals." I'm twenty now; I've entered what they call the 20s, a decade of celebrated one-night stands, drunken bar fests, and complete self denial of the fact that once one enters her 30s she's officially old and better have her shit together, get married, pop out a couple youngins, and exercise eight hours a day so her sugar daddy won't leave her for a twenty-something. And I guess the point of this really is a narcissistic, completely absurd shout out to my future lover saying, please ditch me every now and then for your friends, acknowledge my ability to drive a car and pay for a meal, respect my sense and love for freedom but don't take it as me not needing you, indulge my bro tendencies but also know that I'm kind of archaic and would love nothing more than to throw an apron on and bake for you and that my ideal routine activity involves picnics at the park and reading you passages from The Sun Also Rises.
Furthermore, I'm enjoying myself, my life and gaining experience that reinforces my promise of never marrying. Of course sometimes I get lonely and want that male counterpart to wake up with in the morning but I have Best Friend to get drunk with/get high with/take aimless drives with/eat with/study with/be a weirdo with or whatever else I'm missing. And if he happens to ditch me for another friend (god willing) I know I have like five other bests, the Parisians, who have and will cheer me up.

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