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No more Catholics. No more guitar players. No more poets. No more video game freaks, role-playing game freaks, or anime freaks. No more men from Korea, Thailand, or New Hampshire. No more long-distance relationships. No more fans of classic rock, or wrestling. No more guys who look a bit like horses. No more millionaires or dirt-poor sons-of-ministers. No more cheating. No more drinkers.
With the exception of drinking and cheating, I’m sure that if the ideal guy came along with one of these traits, I’d still consider him. Surely if a decent guy from Korea had all the other qualifications down pat, he could still float my boat. But generally, I’m trying not to repeat the same mistakes again.
And gee, I make a lot of mistakes.
I dated a guy once who told me: "You’re like an anime character: you have big eyes and you eat a lot." (He was disappointed when my body wasn’t quite that of an anime girl’s.)
That was the same guy who told me I was going to Hell and ripped on my art in order to make me feel better that he was going back to Thailand. "Amen Reverend!" one of my fellow Hell-bound friends screamed at him over the internet.
I once tried to date a guy from Korea. I got him alone and almost kissed him – was going for the lips – but chickened out and tried to go for the cheek at the last millisecond and missed everything altogether. I sort of got some space next to his mouth. It wasn’t anything. I don’t know what I was thinking.
The guy didn’t talk to me for a week.
I once dated a guy who wouldn’t stop playing the guitar. Not only this, but he was into Led Zepplin, and that was all he played. I, for one, didn’t like Led Zepplin even when it was Led Zepplin playing, and I certainly didn’t appreciate it when my boyfriend was attempting to impersonate the sound.
Me: "You’re going to have to stop playing the guitar while we’re
talking on
the phone. It’s really driving me nuts."
Him: "Okay…"
(ten minutes later)
Me: "Is that the guitar?"
Him: "Oh yeah! Sorry."
(ten minutes later)
Me: "Put the guitar down!"
Him: "I was playing it quietly!"
Me: "You’re not paying attention!"
Him: "Yes I am!" (recites back some of what I’ve been saying)
Me: "… Maybe."
I think that was a good part of the reason that he and I broke up. Seriously.
I dated a millionaire. He and I went to the mall; he spent hundreds of dollars then went to his father to ask for more money. His dad opened his wallet and all I could see were hundred-dollar bills.
The millionaire had a large nose and loved to watch wrestling. Once, he and I were lying down, having a romantic-ish moment, and looking at the stars. "Wow, there sure are a lot of stars," he commented. No, this is not romance fare. He and I broke up a week later then argued over who really did the dumping (we now agree it’s mutual). Then he got in a hot tub with some neighbor of his who supposedly looked like Twiggy from Marilyn Manson who had zits on her (admittedly large) chest, according to people who know her. ("She’s bag over the head ugly," said this one kid who was maybe 11 at the time.)
I went out with a guy who liked video games to the point of obsession. He didn’t sleep in his bed; he slept on a sleeping bag on his bed. I dumped him after two weeks, claiming insanity. "I don’t think I can handle a relationship right now," I said, or something like it. The highlight of that brief little thing was the time when I bitched about my small breasts and he commented: "Well, they’re bigger than mine." It felt good; I don’t know why.
I went out with a person who stayed up all night playing role-playing games. That was really, really brief. Then I couldn’t get rid of the person.
The person from Thailand (also the anime guy mentioned first) told me that he liked my body 100 percent but my personality 60 percent. "Are you aware," I asked him, "that this means you only like my personality less than 2/3 of the time?" What a mishap! But at least I corrupted his Roman Catholicism. He also lied about his love of porn and cigarettes. What strange, strange things to lie about.
This latest guy watched spoof movies that turned blockbusters into half-hour segments starring thumbs. At Wal-Mart, he bought a silver dog bone and had "From Mother’s Womb" engraved on it. He worried about his appearance more than I did. You could never get him out of the bathroom. His friends were human black holes and bringing his IQ down. His dad was mean to me.
He, too, played the guitar, but the worst thing about him was that he wrote me love poetry. Did I mention that I hated poetry? Well, some of it’s okay, but this wasn’t. This was really sappy gross love poetry that would make a regular girl melt… but I live on a little planet I like to call Earth in THIS dimension and sappy words in free verse just aren’t doing it for me. This gets an eyeroll and a "not in this universe, buddy" that I cannot say dare say out loud because then he’d go on a self-righteous mope.
I’m going to give up on men altogether. They’re quirky, but in all the wrong ways at all the wrong times.
At least now I know what to avoid in the future.