A Surprise Twist

The past few posts have been far too serious and actually kind of depressing so perhaps it’s time for a break. In the form of a humiliating tale about my complete inability to read guys. Doesn’t that sound like fun? I thought so.

It all began in the spring of 2011, that’s right kidlets this was months of complete obliviousness. I attended my lovely friend’s wedding and was taken by the tall, grinning groomsman. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you attend a wedding solo, fall in love with the wedding party. The only problem was he had a date who wasn’t really a date, but it seemed like enough of a date to make it difficult to make a move. That and I’m not smooth enough to make a move under even the most promising of circumstances, so the faux date was as good enough reason as any to be a complete pussy about it. I did manage to squeeze in a half dance, which was enough for me to decide that our wedding was undoubtedly going to be next.

Despite this undisputed conclusion, I departed that night with nothing to show for it. Not to fret, after I expressed my interest to the bride with a “squeeeeeeee” she assured me I would see him again at various gatherings she and her new husband would be hosting. There were housewarmings and holiday parties. But each time my efforts brought me no closer to my goal. Oh sure I’d flirt here and there and I’d get a flirt or two back. But no real progress was made.

I was about ready to throw in the towel when the perfect opportunity was presented. There would be a New Year’s party, hosted by the object of my affection (we’ll call him M to protect the innocent and disinterested). Where else would it be perfectly acceptable to kiss the object of your affection making your intentions fully known?

I had made plans to attend with the friend who made our love possible (L from this point forward) and a few others. But that was the one night Minnesota had decided she had been far too easy on us this winter and she would make up for it by spewing holiday-destroying flakes upon the roadways. This meant that L and her husband would not be making the trek to the party. I could see each layer of snow covering my visions of Jordan almonds and white doves.

But what good fortune! The others came through and agreed to accompany me to M’s party despite the fact that I would know only two people at what would amount to a high school class reunion for the others in attendance. We arrived and I immediately felt like Samantha Baker at the popular party. My friends and I mixed and mingled and it was all well and fine until Lauren (not the previously mentioned “L”) implored me to make a move on M, because what else was I here for?

Determined not to let Lauren down, I went for it. I flirted hard. It was a thing of beauty. He was reciprocating. It was magical like a ‘90s coming of age movie. I was Laney Boggs transformed…or something. There was one problem. He kept fracking disappearing. At first I thought it was because he was playing host. He would always return though, to flirt again. But eventually I was frustrated with the stalemate. So I sent L a text telling her that he was not succumbing to my womanly wiles and I was giving up.

On the way out the door I ran into a guy I never would have expected to see at this party. He had lived with an ex of mine in Mankato. I reintroduced myself and we bashed my ex for a bit before I asked how he had come to attend this event.

He replied simply “I’m dating M.”

It was a shock, but I kept my cool, because I am fly like that, “Oh? You are? That’s nice. He’s a good guy.”

“Yep he’s a keeper,” was his grinning reply and then I wanted to scratch his eyes out. Not really, but c’mon!

And then I bolted. I said goodbye to M, maintaining that suave demeanor until I was in my car. At that point I looked at Lauren and just said “SERIOUSLY!?” before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

This is not the first time I set my sights on someone with arguably ambiguous sexual orientation. But it was the first that I had put myself that far out there. I still hold he was knowingly giving me mixed signals. Playing with my fragile, nitwitted little heart. All just for kicks. Shame on you, M! But also shame on me, the next day I resolved to fine-tune my gaydar over the course of the next year. 

Things Boys Say

This is the look they usually give whilst
delivering their clever lines.

Over the years, a number of men/boys/manboys have attempted to entice me into the boudoir using a variety of tactics. This is because I am just so darn irresistible—wait that’s not it—it’s because I was born with two X chromosomes. Most of these pleas are fairly laughable, including bragging about their adult film star physicality (yeah that happened) and explaining how they always wanted to cross someone like me off their bucket list (Oh, are you a Make-A-Wish kid? Let’s do this!). But some are just plain hurtful, like the scare tactic.

I’ve been informed that if I don’t appease my man’s desires before my religious beliefs permit, I will get cheated on. Even when I didn’t think I was getting cheated on by past boyfriends, they were, most decidedly, hooking up with some other bint. Because they’re dudes. So they’re wired differently. Oh yes, that’s right, I forgot, because boys are “wired differently,” they get a free pass to act like lustful animals with absolutely no self control.

Guys are so classy aren’t they? Ok that’s not entirely fair. I’ve dated some wonderful guys who have sincerely respected my boundaries, but it’s no fun to be snarky about decent dudes. The individual who blessed me with this warning had been cheated on in nearly every one of his relationships. So it would seem his willingness to engage in the forbidden extra curricular activities didn’t exactly serve as the safeguard he believed it would. Plus he was cheated on by girls. So apparently they were wired like boys? Whatever. He’s an asshat. Obviously.

I understand that it is difficult. Believe me do I ever understand. And I know that it must be even more trying if the decision to wait is not yours entirely, but a decision you inherit. Regardless of how it happens, it is never forced upon the other person. They can choose to be in a relationship with me or they can walk. They’ve bolted before and I’ve understood. But, as I said, it has also happened where they’ve stayed and we’ve gone on to have healthy, fulfilling relationships. For years at a time. Imagine that.

I’ve often struggled with what my choice means for my relationship path. I have known from the very beginning that it would cut my prospects drastically. And the older I get, the truer that becomes. But I’ve always come back to the conclusion that the guy I’m meant to be with will actually care about me as a whole person more than getting an all-access pass to my pants, skirt, leggings, or other bottom-wear. I’d even like to believe that my commitment to this decision is something they learn to love and respect about me.  

A Mistake I Have to Make

As growing and evolving human beings our lives are strung together by a series of lessons we’ve learned from mistakes we’ve made and sworn never to repeat again. But for some of us (hopefully there is an “us” and I’m not completely alone in my shame) there are mistakes we knowingly repeat and can never explain our motives to the satisfaction of anyone with half an ounce of common sense. The routinely revisited error is a difficult one to comprehend. There are a slew of quotes floating around the universe pontificating on the absurdity of reverting back to old missteps.

One of the most popular, beautifully illustrated by a myriad of self-proclaimed graphic designers throughout all of Pinterest, is “you can’t make the same mistake twice, the second time you make it it’s no longer a mistake, it’s a choice.”

[Side bar: I can’t find actual attribution to that quote anywhere because it seems to be bastardized by the Internet like so many other quotes before it. If I’m to trust a Google search, at least 73 teenage girls from the Midwest said it first on Twitter. So for all I know some cast member of the Hills said it and I’ve completely discredited anything further that comes onto the page.]

And if there is any area of my life where I knowingly make bad choices it’s in the male relational department. I’m a complete moron when it comes to a pair of dimples and a resonant voice that seems was created just to say things that make me feel pretty and special. Especially after months of being made to feel unpretty (that definitely comes from TLC so don’t you even try to steal it, Midwestern teeny boppers). I know, I know, my codependent insecurities are showing. But I got ‘em. So deal.

I have a list of deal breakers designed to keep my heart logical and out of relationships with boys who are no good. And those deal breakers have rescued the sappy, brainless organ that beats within my chest a number of times. But, I’m ashamed to say, sometimes the right combination of jawline perfection, mischievous eyes, five o’clock shadow and charm without a hint of irony will take my brain completely out of the equation. Because who needs logic when the flawless marriage of Adam Levine and Cecil Otter is dying to see you again? (Ok that combination won’t float everyone’s boat, but it will end me.) In particular when this gorgeous dude can make you feel like the sole bird in the lounge (I had to go British with that to make it less clichéd, did it work?).

I’ve been down this road and know what waits at the end of it. Those deal breakers are there for a reason. I’m not suddenly going to become extremely accepting of the fact that he smokes copious amounts of weed, can’t afford gas for his car and has trouble defining a single major life goal beyond buying that Camaro he’s always wanted. And eventually he’s going to realize I’m an uptight Jesus freak whose no-sex rule isn’t just me playing hard to get. Despite being fully aware of these realities, I’m going to travel down that road slowly becoming attached to an empty prospect as I approach a dead end that can’t get here soon enough. And when it does, it will sting. But I will live.

Ugh. This whole thing is so painfully emo. I’m sorry. It’s probably because I’ve been listening to Green or Blue for two weeks and their music, while spectacular, turns the 15-year-old girl in me into a sniveling twit.

I’m not sure where I am going with this. I obviously have no real wisdom on the matter. If I did, I would smack the stupid girl who wittingly took my life in the wrong direction when the misadventure began. So maybe this is an admission of guilt. I know you’re all shocked to hear that I do stupid things at an age when I can no longer blame them on innocent naiveté. Maybe the moral of the story is we must allow ourselves to make mistakes so we can put them to rest. Conveniently, I watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother wherein Lily eloquently explained this phenomenon for me:

There are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it is a mistake is to make that mistake and look back and say, "Yup, that was a mistake". So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake because then you'll go your whole life not really knowing if something is a mistake or not. 

So perhaps that is all this vague situation I’m alluding to was. A mistake I had to make if only so I can look back on it now that it’s over and say, “Yup, that was a mistake.”