Do Nice Guys Really Finish Last?

Today, I was watching one of the the few male members of my Gender Comm. class out of sheer social interest when I realized there was something going on with him that I doubted few other people ever got tipped off about: He's running a tighter game than Mick Vick was this past season, and as an Eagles girl, let me tell you, the only thing tighter than Vick's game is his ass. But back to what was so interesting about my classmate-- He's got a few very good things going for him: He's attractive, fun, extremely easy to talk to, outgoing, bright, and taking a class on gender communications, which, you know, isn't a bad sign at all for someone who worries about being able to clearly communicate and be understood in a relationship. He's also unassuming and self-depreciating-- he knows he's not the "ideal man" type that girls are programmed to go for-- you know, tall, dark and handsome, with suavity like James Bond and an ass like Vick's (oh, wait, I mentioned that already...oh well,)-- but the fact that he's so vocal about this makes you want to prove him wrong. Girls gravitate to him because of all this, so he probably works to further cultivate it. He is, in short, no dumb bunny. "Cause and effect" theory at work, here, as in, "If I play the friendly, slightly geeky guy, girls aren't intimidated by me and want to be friends with me." I've watched his M.O for the past few weeks and seen it at work; I bet he's always got a lot of girls around him, but I also bet he gets friend-zoned a lot when girls meet and then go for a bad-boy type instead. There's the flaw in his game-- I know it, but I wonder, does he?

Take, for example, one of TGIS's best friends. I adore the kid and am very vocal about it-- TGIS knows it; my roommate agrees with me about the fact he's utterly lovable; and I'll talk about how great his friend is equally as much as I talk about how great TGIS is (if not his friend more). He's just the kind of guy who instantly puts women at ease, is really quiet and unassuming, yet knows how to have fun and will make sure to include you in conversation or anything he and the guys are doing. In fact, he's so nice that I often (somewhat) joke around that I'd leave TGIS for his friend in a hot minute just due to niceness, and TGIS is a pretty nice guy of his own accord, too. But one thing makes this a joke, and not something I would ever in a million years actually ever act on: He lacks the je-ne-sais-quoi bad-boy factor that TGIS does have that keeps women (myself included,) enthralled and guessing. And that's the flaw in Gen. Comm. Boy's little scheme-- nice guys never factor in the bad boys. But oh, how they should.

After dating for roughly the last three million years (give or take a century or so), I've dated a lot of guys. Short guys, lots of tall guys, fat guys, thin guys, muscular guys, athletic guys, nerdy guys, smart guys, dumb guys, sweet guys, but the majority of them have been one kind of guy in particular: bad boys. They're kind of a specialty of mine-- slightly fractured, emotionally needy, a little fucked up, and emotionally unattached. After all these eons of observation and the emotional train wrecks they leave behind them, I have come to one conclusion: There is only one kind of guy really worth dating who will ever really keep a woman's attention, especially if she has as short of a dating attention span as I do-- the nice guy with an edge, or, in less flowery terms, a reformed bad boy. Does this mean that he's entirely house- and relationship-trained and won't leave you broken and bleeding at the end? No, but it does mean that he might actually date you properly and take you out instead of just sending you packing the next morning and wait a little bit to have sex with you until he's sure he actually likes you, unlike his previous incarnation. See, he used to be a bad boy, but just like I used to be much more of a maneater than I am now, he too was burned by some of his past choices and reached a higher state of being, mainly called "Nirv-NotBeingACompleteAssholeAnymore," thus making him just about the most illusive and perfect creature a woman could ever track down and wrestle into bed and into dating.

So, in theory, while Gen. Comm. Boy may have his game (mostly) worked out, it's a shame that it really doesn't pay out for him, because when all the chips are down, he's a really nice guy, but we ladies are eternally preoccupied in less green, more shady pastures. We would be smarter if we chose men who liked us more than we liked them, like him, but that's never how it works. And the questioning and the emotional torment that comes with the bad boys, or even with the reformed bad boys sometimes, is the price that we pay for craving a bit of mystery and drama in our love-lives. That's really what it comes down to-- we'd rather not be bored, not that these men are boring, but a little bit of intrigue as toward how someone feels about you is the engine that seems to power our relationships. It's the butterflies-- we always want to have the butterflies. So I guess we have no one to blame but ourselves for our relationship drama and eternal questioning. Go figure. Do I win a Pulitzer for that stunning reveal now?

XOXO

And Lead Us Not Into Temptation.

As I may have stated previously, I am an extremely monogamous and loyal person. And though I'm currently not in any committed relationships, it genuinely makes me question my morals when feelings for two disparate people are happening at the same time. To me, the girl who always has a favorite of everything, and a firm opinion on why it's the best one, it feels like...emotional cheating.

The problem is, when things aren't "new" and "fresh" anymore, or, if you aren't getting what you need from someone, you're susceptible to anyone else who comes along and can offer you what's missing. This is where things start to get sticky. I have an incredibly fine line between "happiness" and "being kept occupied." It's hard for me to differentiate between the two, because, for me, being kept occupied makes me happy. What is always shocking is when I finally do separate if I'm happy from if I'm just spinning my wheels to be convinced that I am happy. Am I being kept occupied right now? Yes. Am I actually happy? No. Because I'm a big fan of the human connection. I like to be able to talk about random things, life plans, or share music, movies, or news with the people I think will enjoy them. In a functional relationship, this is great, because it means there's always something to talk about. But, when it's been awhile and the lines of communication are stunted for one reason or another, that's what I miss the most. And then along came an answer, and it sat down beside her.

What did I say? What did I say? Every time Juggernaut Ex comes into town, my current relationships are in for a change, either progressing, ending, or introducing someone new. Jeeesus. I'm getting too busy and too ambivalent for this shit.

Let me count the ways that women fall for looking elsewhere for what they're not getting:

All the women I know prefer to be pursued. All my bullshit about not wanting to be taken out is exactly that-- bullshit. I can't wait until some guy sees through it and just DOES it. Let's face it, if you looked at me and said, "Let's go get something for breakfast," or "Let me buy you a few dollar drafts," I'm not going to stop you. I am, after all, human, and therefore, need to eat and drink. And if I can eat and drink while casually talking without someone I am genuinely interested in, that sounds kind of like a win-win situation for all. And I do think that the definition of that example is a "date." And if you're clever enough to not say the word "date," and instead, ask me to "do something" or "see something" with you, well then...all the more power to you.

Though I was about 15 minutes of conversation, or one day (whichever came first) away from asking him out for coffee to get to know him better, he beat me to the punch when he suggested watching a highly contentious football game together. (I'm an Eagles girl who considers Michael Vick in his second-coming as the Jesus of football, and he's a Giants fan.) I knew that my love of football and Star Wars would eventually pay off with men. I mean, jesus, it took this long for someone to ask me to watch a game. What sort of inherent no-brainer is that? While I was perfectly comfortable and confident in asking him to grab a cup of joe, the fact that he put an offer out on the table first showed initiative and self-confidence. Both sexy traits.

They compliment you. Seriously. When was the last time that you said something legitimately sweet or complimentary, straight-out, to someone you've known or been with forever? You don't. That's the issue. At first, you're all about letting someone know that you're into them, and vice-versa. After awhile, you think it goes without saying that you think that they're the bee's knees, but we all still need to hear it sometimes.

Help. He asked about my writing program, and then went on to offer help facilitating contact with professionals in the food industry if I ever needed quotes or ideas for an article. Women, even if they say they don't need it-- and I'm a huuuge example of this-- still like to be offered help. It's like having a safety net behind us; if we fall, we know that someone's got our back.

Scintillating conversation. He had my interest at "microcosm." Once I find out that a guy has an over fourth-grade reading comprehension, yet is still kind and unpretentious, then he actually has a chance with me.

But how many players are you allowed to have on the field at once?
As my oldest friend Caiti said, "It's just ingrained in society that the man makes the first move. But girl, this is 2010. Welcome to the 21st century. I say if we can vote a man into office, we can ask him to be the only man between our legs."

What do you think? Where do you draw the lines of loyalty? Can you juggle being attracted to two or more people at once? What is your personal cut-off point when it comes to acting on it? How do you avoid temptation?

XOXO

A Crisis of Fidelity

My roommate and I recently decided to co-opt a cat together. It wasn’t long before we came across the ethics of responsible ownership in regards to the cat’s desire for freedom in the outside world, and our own over-protective tendencies. “Do you just open the door and hope it comes back?” I wondered aloud, a little horrified by this idea, having grown up in the sticks and my only memory of the “In versus Out” cat debate being me throwing my monstrous tom outside for my own safety as a small 10 year old when he got large enough to bring down small game.

“It’s kind of like men,” my roommate said. “You hope it remembers where it gets fed.”

“But look at my track record,” I argued. “And you expect me to have faith in a cat?”

Upon further thought, we agreed that I actually may have better luck retaining an un-run-over cat in the city than an un-committed man. Which is just sad. But I really feel, deep down, that it’s kind of like sharks and blood—if a man can smell the fact that you’re not sure if you really want to be committed or in a serious relationship, what’s to stop them from having the same proclivities, too? When I came home, I was pretty sure of what I wanted. I quickly realized, in fact, that what I thought I had wanted and what I quickly found out I really needed were two completely different things. Which resulted in what was roughly the emotional equivalent of leaning over a galvanized barrel while throwing dynamite in to kill the fish swimming around inside. Shrapnel flew, and what remained wasn’t even enough to make sushi anymore. Life picks up the little scaly pieces of the debacle and shrugs.

Watching SATC2, I spent a good deal of time wondering if I liked it or not. Ok, so the clothing, yes-- I think the overwhelming reason for making that movie had to do with that fact that there has been so much gorgeous fashion lately and the public needs to see it on SOMEONE, so hey, 4 women we spent over 6 years staring at isn't a bad choice. In fact, it's a pretty shrewd one. Speaking of shrewdness, the other predictable part of the movie was the relationship drama. But, in this case, I'm not sure it brought up the right questions or fell flat of the mark.

Maybe I sympathized with Carrie too much on this one. In one scene, like many in the movie that star her and Big together, she stands in front of the TV, their clichéd instigator, and asks, "Is this because I'm a bitch wife who nags you all the time?" To which Big replies, "No. I feel like I'm disappointing you."

As Carrie found out, with any disappointment in life, there's only so much one can take before you start to think, "Well, fuck." Exactly that-- fuck. Or kiss. Or look elsewhere for what's missing at home. While her (SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!) kiss with Aidan didn't quite warrant a massive freak-out of transcontinental proportions, though, yes, I do agree she did the right thing in telling Big about her indiscretion. I always prefer when I'm told about matters like that, as I'm sure you are, as well. No one likes being in the dark. No one likes being left fuming and guessing and jumping to horrible conclusion after horrible conclusion. Believe me. I lived it for a number of months.

Speaking of jumping to conclusions, now that I'm back from Italy, everyone is looking at my left hand and the same diamond that's been there for the past 3 years and saying, "You're engaged, I see," like I took the opportunity to run away and madly seduce some rich Italian count with a charming villa somewhere on Lake Como. How do I respond to this? Half of me-- the half that believes that childbirth is a totally unnecessary pain to go through when there are already millions of other children who need families on our already over-populated Earth, and would never, ever drop her last name for matrimonial bliss-- wants to say, "No, and hopefully never," and but the new blasted biological tick-tick-tick-bitch wants to reply with a sigh and a "I wish." I'm settling for a nervous giggle instead as of late. When I get scared, I giggle. I can't help it. Just the idea confounds and terrifies me. What man would want to put a ring on me, anyway? I feel like that's a huge investment risk. Beyonce may preach “If you like it, than you shoulda put a ring on it,” but as the authors of “The Ethical Slut” argue, "A ring around the finger does not cause a nerve block to the genitals" (15).

Hindsight being 20/20, the problem is that running away to Italy to seduce a count (or a pro soccer player) and live foodily ever after would not be so unlike me. My attention span with men has been likened to that of a crack-addled Rhesus monkey. I also have legendary "man-dar"-- if there's a good-looking one within a two-block radius, I know about it. I literally will go on point. I've got a nose for these things, and it's good because I'm like a kid in a very grown-up candy store. I figure, you can look; you may even touch-- just don't let it melt in your hands.

"We may not always know what fits without trying it on, so we tend to be curious and adventurous. When we see someone who intrigues us, we like to feel free to respond" (The Ethical Slut, 5-6). As a flirt, I agree with this sentiment. But as someone who is often a half of a relationship, I can tell you that I am not complacent with being “one of.” I am the sort of person who deserves to be “the one.” Just like you deserve to be “the one” to someone else, and not “one who sometimes comes around.”

This thinking puts me highly at odds with my actions at times. I am highly monogamous as a rule, right up until the point I’m just not anymore, which is what makes it so unexpected or dangerous. There have been times I have found myself in someone else’s bed while not quite out of a relationship with another. There’s no simple flip-switch for this kind of thing, and yet, it can be instantaneous. No one ever can prepare for the connection. Which renders us as helpless as fish in that dynamited barrel. Not flattering when you’re trying to maintain a mysterious, independent persona.

So have I been cheated on? More than twice. Have I been shattered by it? Yes. But have I also been a cheater? Yes. Have I be a co-partner in other’s infidelity? Yes. Does this make me the same wicked bitch of the North-east like I have imagined other women to be? No. It just makes me human, with questionable taste in men. The difference, to me, is that I always ask myself, what are the risks being taken for all involved? Is anyone being purposefully hurt by these actions? Empathy is a huge part in maintaining what is an honest lifestyle. If you wouldn’t want to put in the situation in a reverse role, than my feeling is, don’t do it. But my definitions of some things might be a little skewed. And the problem with my "problem" and my logic is this-- the same men I hunt out have a tendency to be just like me, too. It's one big, dangerous, flammable ball of trouble. Like Carrie found with Aidan, playing with fire can get too hot to handle sometimes. Problems at home-- be it differences in living habits; differences in desires and personalities that get in the way of the partnership; a feeling of constantly needing to "mother" or be "mothered"; miscommunication, or NO communication-- can lead to problems outside of the home.

"Hollywood tells us that 'love means never having to say you're sorry,' and we, fools that we are, believe it. The myth has it that if you're really in love with someone, you never have to argue, disagree, communicate, negotiate, or do any other kind of work" (The Ethical Slut, 18-19). But anyone who has ever partnered with another person for any period of time can tell you, it doesn’t work like that. There will be times when nothing someone is doing seems to be right. You will get annoyed, and frustrated, and brow-beaten, and more than a little convinced that the grass is greener over on that other person’s lawn. Tapping out is an option, but actually putting in the time and effort is the higher road. That’s the beauty of relationships—in the best ones, both you and your S.O should be working for the common goal not only of fulfilling desires, but also of stretching each other while trying to help the other be the best person they can possibly be. That’s what relationships are—challenging.

There’s no perfect code to this; no Rosetta’s Stone to dealing with monogamy or your partner. As Carrie said, "Can you ever expect anyone on the outside to understand what goes on between two people?" No, I don't think you can. I think that every relationship is a tiny little universe in and of itself, and that no matter how long we talk about it with our confidants; no matter how many times we play the movie reels of memory and conversations over and over and over inside our minds; no matter how much we write about it and expand on it; and no matter how enlightened or entitled we think we really are, we will never understand our own relationships, let alone those of the people around us.

XOXO

Some Like It Hot: How Curiosity Killed The Cat, And The Relationship.

A long, long time ago, some poor schmuck in the prehistoric era discovered fire. I'm willing to bet it was a man, and the vestigial love for grilling that you still find today in modern Joes is proof of that. But secretly, or not so secretly, depending on their actions, I think it's women who like playing with fire.

Maybe it's the elevated heart rate that gets us going, the feeling of "what's gonna happen, what's gonna happen, what's gonna happen?" Because I can not make a good relationship decision to save my life (I am convinced I am going to die at the hands of a lover choking me to death for saying "Would. You. Just. DECIDE!" for the last and final time that broke the man's already tenuous at best grip on sanity [if you doubt me or my taste in men, please refer back to my track record]), I doom myself to routinely playing Russian Relationship Roulette, especially during early morning drunken hours. Most women can blame it on the same thing: It was 1/4th honest emotion, 1/4th Mr. Boston Virgin Islands white rum, and a full 1/2 a desire to know what would happen. Curiosity killed the cat-- it's also been known to kill the mood. I'll admit to it-- sometimes, women can be known to test something out just to see if they'll get burned or not. Que diabolical snickering, and the ringmaster's entrance. Things are about to get hot.

There is a sick fascination with the things in our lives that cannot be changed-- things out of our control, things we wish weren't quite so cut-and-dried, things that we really think would be perfect a different way. Playing with proverbial (or tangible) fire is one of the ways that we know we can spice up what is our usual 9-to-5. How many times have you caught yourself engaging in behavior that you know, deep down, is wrong and petty and base and destructive, just because you can? How many times have you bemoaned certain character traits or situations in life, while secretly getting off on them because, hey, isn't life more interesting when you're pretty damn sure it's about to fall down on your head at any given second? This is why, for better or for worse, I can't really point fingers, make accusations, or demand certain things from other people. Despite being ravenously curious about most things in life and a consummate player of fire myself, I have been known to occasionally (often) take the ostrich approach to my own life. Not only do I like to bury my head and pretend things aren't happening, but I also procrastinate like I get paid full-time with benefits for it. At the moment, I am:

-Putting off calling my landlord to inquire as to if I get a cut on June's rent as I can't move in nearly 10 days into the month due to building issues (I hate asking monetary-relevant questions; maybe a hold-over from a middle-class family, but it just seems so rude);

-Deciding if I should/want/will make any changes to what could be called both my stagnant and frenetic love-life (a game I like to call, "Have I Finally Had Enough, Is It Time To Move On, Or Am I A Helpless Masochistic Idiot?");

-Going to the barn to ride my sadly neglected pony because, after crossing the New York state border and walking through the front door of the barn, I swear a rift in the space/time continuum opens up, and you NEVER get out of there by the time you want to, too pulled in by girl gossip, a good ride, and the existential ravenous search after a hard ride for something tastier than slightly liquefied carrots in the barn's fridge;

-And texting a friend as to inquire as to the state, livability, and happiness with his new apartment after moving in yesterday. (Yes. I even drag my feet when it comes to my friends and people who have shown that they certifiably love me. I cannot, A.) ask for favors, B.) ask for a place to stay, or C.) ask for some clarity concerning plans without feeling like a huge, huge imposition, and a massive, massive inconvenience. One aspect in which my confidence needs vast improvement.)

It's possible I put things off because I want to pretend they don't exist, just like how women will play like fire to avoid the reality of a situation. If you're worrying about getting burned, you're not thinking about deadlines or buying more toilet paper.

Part of it probably also comes from the daredevil aspect of it. There's something so convincing in thinking of yourself as a fire-juggler that you can't help but feel as if the very act of it makes your helplessly enticing and attractive to the opposite sex. If you're so close to the heat, you've got to be so alive, so engrossing, so un-mundane. You must have, by now, heard the song "Bad Girlfriend" by Theory of a Deadman. It's on every pop radio station, and sounds kind of like a poor man's version of Nickelback, if there is such a thing and you can get any cheaper than Nickelback. But guaranteed, almost every woman reading this right now knows that song. We know the words. We sing along to, "Dirty girl, gettin' down, dance with guy from out of town. Grab her ass, actin' tough, mess with her, she'll fuck you up. No one really knows if she's drunk or if she's stoned, but she's coming back to my place tonight. She likes to shake her ass; she grinds it to the beat-- she likes to pull my hair while I make her grind her teeth. I like to strip her down; she's naughty to the end, you know what she is, no doubt about it, she's a bad, bad girlfriend."

Women like that song because it reminds us that there are aspects to our personalities or the things that we've done that drive men as crazy as we drive them; hence, the playing with fire. Sometimes you end up doing things that you know are wrong just because they feel so right. But what do you do with the guilt afterwards? After washing it down with two deep pulls straight from the bottle, I lay there…and I could still taste it. Maybe that's why we like it. Maybe it's what reminds me that I am, in fact, not great girlfriend material. Some of us are just always bound to want to rock the boat. Or the bed frame. Maybe that's why I'm single. Single? Singlish? Single with a chance of it's-raining-men showers? Single and stuck? Like I said-- eternally curious.

XOXO