Last night I went out with some of my geeky friends. I had a great time, and probably could have stayed out later, enveloped in fascinating conversations about religion and science fiction and Shaun of the Dead, but instead I came home around midnight to be a boring old adult. At some point in the last five to seven years, I’ve become a semi-responsible adult who doesn’t like to stay out drinking until the wee hours of the morning. I don’t go dancing, especially not with what might very well be a fractured ankle (longish story). I don’t bar hop.
Basically, I don’t party like I used to.
On my way home, for the hour or so long commute to get to my place from the event (a Shaun of the Dead Quote-a-long), I found myself wondering what all the recent guys in my life would be up to at that moment. The Artist was signed up to go to the event, but was a no show, and the Boy I knew was out of town for work purposes, but what about Superman? Was he out partying like a rockstar with his new little girlfriend?
Remember, two weeks in a row he slept through what was supposed to have been our time because he’d partied too hard the night before on a Saturday. It helped me realize something I hadn’t been prepared to admit to myself at the time: he really was too young for me. While financially he may have his ducks more in a row than I do, emotionally he’s still a frat boy who likes to drink and party hard on the weekends.
No wonder I couldn’t keep his attention! That lifestyle isn’t what I want anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the youth and vitality he showed. I liked that he could go and go and go for hours (not like that… unfortunately), movies here, late dinner there, maybe a club and more drinking and a little dancing, followed by some making out…
I liked that he wanted to take me out and do things, but the things he wanted to do were not compatible with who I am. I want someone who is comfortable going to the museum with me, or the theater, or the symphony (which he brought up once, but that sort of thing never came up).
I want someone with a brain, who isn’t afraid to show they have a brain. The Artist could hold his own in geeky discussions, but was no rocket scientist, besides being totally rude. Superman, on the other hand, had a Master’s degree on top of dual Bachelor degrees. He had brains to spare, but I couldn’t engage him in intellectual discussion. He always had to be doing something. And not the something I’d like to be doing. *Wink, wink, nudge, nudge*
I guess it makes me weird that I have a healthy appetite in certain areas–areas that aren’t considered ladylike. Plus, I like nerdy things, like Star Trek, Star Wars, Firefly, Doctor Who… I’d rather watch a football game than the Real Housewives, and I prefer Xbox to a home mani-pedi session with the girls. I hate Romantic Comedies.
Well, most of them. Like musicals, I have a very short list of RomComs I like, and usually they’re relatively unknown with unique characters that don’t fit the prescribed formula of the RomCom.
Like my favorite Romantic Comedy: Playing by Heart.
Basically (short list of RomComs aside), the only thing that makes me really girly is my fascination with shoes and shopping. Even the shopping isn’t quite girly the way I do it. I don’t go shopping with people because I have to shop for my tops in the fat girl’s section and my bottoms in the tall and skinny(ish) section, so I hate trying to drag people (who usually aren’t shopping in the same sections I am) all over the store.
And I certainly don’t want a guy to go with me to hold my handbag.
I keep thinking that by dipping into the nerdy/geeky end of the pool, I’m going to find me a guy who likes the same things I do, but also has a similarly high appetite in the bedroom arena.
Needless to say, it hasn’t happened yet. They assume my desire to be intimate with them on a regular basis translates to a higher level of attachment than they are used to… when in reality, I just really like to have fun without being a slut. See, I only have said fun with the person I’m dating, which means I need to see the person on a fairly regular basis.
Somehow, this always goes wrong.
Instead, I end up with one of two scenarios: a guy who is so socially awkward they can’t handle my flirtation, and I end up doing all the chasing; or I get a guy who is aware of his sexiness and he turns into a macho, alpha jerk.
The first guy tends to be a little shy, but has a lot of pent up sexual energy and fantasies that they can’t wait to try out… at least they talk a lot about those things. Putting them into practice never quite seems to happen. They are too shy, or too intimidated by the fact that I’m totally willing to try some of the wacky things they say they are into.
We end up with a long list of things that would be fun to try…and then don’t do any of them.
Meanwhile, the alpha jerk guys are more in line with the Artist: quick to try and take you to bed, but then equally as quick to point out how you’re not good enough. Usually (at least usually for me), they point out how awesome my brain is, how they like that we have similar interests, but I’m not sexy/attractive enough. They use the line that is so very often used on them to explain why the hot girl would prefer the football players and the Alpha businessmen over them. I get friend-zoned in favor of the potential of them finding a hotter geek girl.
So, I end up getting shoved aside, and often for someone a little less attractive, in my opinion (and the opinions of others, according to those who have seen pics of Superman’s new girl…among others I’ve been shoved aside for), feeling like I’ve got egg on my face, or, for the Shaun of the Dead fans, like I’ve got red on me.