Why I can't date pretty boys; what's wrong with balance? A lesson in biology...
Part I: I can't date pretty boys
No matter how much I'd like to, and no matter how fantastically beautiful our children would be, I simply cannot date 'em.
I was recently pursued, with much persistance, by one such boy. We'll call him... Boy. This boy was the classic dreamboat. The sight of him gave me this weird sensation that I had stepped into a men's underwear catalogue where all the men were straight, and "the women flocked like salmon to the Capistrano"... or something. Picture:
Crater-like dimples, twinkly eyes, olive skin, straight white teeth... wavyish hair. Expressive eyebrows. Tall and muscly, but not beefy. Athletic, but not jock-y. Enough hair to be manly, but NOT hairy. Smells divine. Fantastic sense of style. Smiles a LOT.
And he was solidly NICE. The kind of nice where I'd occasionally succumb to the urge to test him by inflicting my worst self on him just to see if I could get him to be mean or freak out and bail on me. Guess what? I couldn't shake him.
And he can spell. This is a big deal to me. And he is even a little clever, though obviously not as clever as me.
OK, my judgement/memory obviously temporarily shorted out as I typed the last sentence. I was still thinking about how he looked. He really wasn't clever at all. But still, everything was going just fine until the fateful day he called me, and in the course of a normal conversation casually mentioned that he...
::gulp::
got a spray-tan.
Boy: "...so then I stopped by the snowboard shop and picked up my new bindings and on the way home I got a spray tan--"
Girl: "Wait, what?"
Boy: "Oh, I picked up my--"
Girl: "No, no - the other part. You did what?"
Boy: "Oh, I got a spray tan."
::silence::
Girl: (clearing throat) "Uh huh... and... ? " (waiting for punchline)
Boy: "So, yeah. Then I went home."
::pause::
Girl: "You WHAT? Are you serious? I mean, why in the world--"
Boy: (uncomfortable laugh) "Yeah, I mean, I have a discount at this place and, I dunno... it's better than fake and baking..."
Girl: "I can't believe you just told me that. I mean, it's one thing to do it, but then you went and TOLD me. Next time, do not, under any circumstances, tell me."
::pause::
Girl, continued: "Oh God. There's going to be a next time, isn't there? Oh God..." ::hyperventilating::
And that was the end of that. There was no next time.
Part II: Yin meets Yang
Perhaps some of my struggle with this comes from my own personal balance of sexuality. Here is what I mean by "balanced": I tend to have equal parts "guy's girl" and "girl's girl" in me.
Guy's Girl:
- I like nothing better than to lay around and play videogames (which I will OWN you at, or at least tell you I'll own you at)
- Shit-talker extraordinaire
- I have been known to drink for 12-14 hours straight and actually enjoy myself. I do not boast. These are just the facts. It's science.
- I actually sometimes enjoy watching both football and pornography
- I like to shoot stuff with bb guns and throw rocks into bodies of water for no reason
- I've been known to throw things out windows just see what they sound like when they break
- I fish, and know how to clean what I catch
- I don't really understand drama
- I swear and tell inappropriate jokes
- I EAT. Really, really eat.
- I don't mind getting dirty or mowing the lawn, but goddamn, I hate doing dishes
- I am somewhat afraid of committment, when you get right down to it
- I'm really quite handy, having been known to fix belts on trucks, use a wood-splitter and build furniture, albeit from Ikea.
Girl's Girl:
- I wear heels and overpriced jeans like it's my job
- I am unreasonably terrified of spiders and cockroaches
- I am a constant and unfailing flirt
- In spite of a healthy sex drive, I'm an admitted prude
- You'll never find me without lipgloss and a credit card
- I have impeccable table manners if you take me to a nice restaraunt, where I'm guaranteed to get up during the meal to apply above referenced lipgloss and deep down hope not to have to use the credit card, though I'll never admit it to your face
- I own easily 20 pairs of shoes and 30 purses
- I like Emo
- I cannot watch a scary movie by myself
- I expect the door opened for me, even if I'm not in a dress and it's not a special occasion
- I cry at well-done sappy commercials and every wedding I attend
- I still believe, in spite of evidence that it no longer exists, in fidelity
- You cannot STOP me from shopping, cooking or entertaining
- Though I never take a compliment graciously, I get pissed if I don't get one now and then
- Ask me what's wrong. First response? "Nothing." Ask me again. Second response? Emotional tyrade.
- I relentlessly obsess about what to wear on a date, even though I'll end up in the very first thing I put on, only with different underwear.
Part III: Could it be biological?
Rumor has it that all men are biologically driven to spawn as many mini-me's as possible with as many different mini-she's as possible in one lifetime.
Rumor has it that all women are biologically driven to seek the most fit mate with the highest likelihood of spawning children who will survive. This means the man must possess on the following:
- Big brain
- Good looks
- Survivor physique (ie. can kill a large animal with his bare hands so that us women and children can eat, can fend off attackers who come to the village to slay his children and impregnate his women, etc.)
- Large... ahem
- Disease-free
Perhaps my aversion to aforementioned pretty boys is purely biological. This makes a lot of sense to me. If a man is so vain that he is spending most of his time perfecting his coif and bronzing his epidermis, isn't he more likely to run screaming in the opposite direction when someone comes to drag me by the hair away to his cave, for fear of getting his new Lacoste polo dirty or smudging the still-drying airbrushed abs?
Perhaps.
So for now, I'm sticking with men. Real, grown-up men. Don't get me wrong, I want them to smell nice and dress reasonably well, but at the first sign of a blowdryer or bronzing powder, I'm out. And maybe I'll be a bit more lenient about body hair. I'm not a big fan, but that's a small price to pay for a guy who can fight off the indians with one hand, hunt with the other, make babies likely to make more babies, navigate when I (scarily and with no sense of direction) drive, hold a job and, well, focus on the other important stuff while he's busy doing all that.
Is that so much to ask, really?
21 comments:
I find it offensive that you didn't throw, "spray and gay," to the curb by revealing his name to those of us who hand out ridicule like the homeless guy that sells peanut M&M's by the Galleria. I've been pondering the question, what is the perfect male, and I've come to the conclusion that I am him. Here are ten reasons why I am the greatest man on earth, you know... until Jesus comes back and everything.
1. My boyish good looks are the perfect median between the guy who always shows his ass on Sex and The City and Ralph Nader
2. I have an IQ over 145
3. I am stylish without being striped-shirt guy. Plus, I wear Converse, so that pretty much makes me cool, or so I hear.
4. I am capable of witty banter of the highest level. Like, if wittiness was a video game, I would be able to get to Bowser; beat Mike Tyson; and beat Contra without, "The Code."
5. I am an expert in all sports, so if you try to call me gay, after I break a pencil sharpener over your face, I will drop some obscure stat like Ken Griffey Jr's Slugging percentage for the 1993 season.
6. I taught myself how to play piano, and am vocally trained. I also taught myself how to trapeze, but that dickhead, Barnum wasn't having it.
7. I'm extremely nerdy, but in the hot nerd you want to have your way in the bedroom with sorta way.
8. Sorry this is so long, I had two coffees this morning. Yes, they were Irish coffees.
9. I burned my arm on the oven and didn't cry (much).
10. I've never been to the hospital for having an erection that lasted more than four hours, but I'm trying...believe me.
You are a helluva salesman, Pat. But you're right. Jesus would kick your ass at this game. Just think: sports trivia is nothing compared to the fact that He's got the BIBLE memorized -- in, like, every language. And he invented wit. (Ever read Psalms? Clever. Very clever.) And the double dare.
Heathens: "I'll double dog dare you that you can't feed us all with those fish and that little hunk of bread, Prince of the Jews!"
Jesus: "You would."
And if that combined with the inevitable beard, drapey clothes and leather Tivas I picture Him arriving in doesn't scream "sexy geek", I don't know what does.
Ok, that's about the maximum dose of blasphemy for the day. I think I need to go repent. Except then I'll miss the Seahawks playoff game. So I guess that's out.
Speaking of the Seahawks, I've bet the equivalent of my second lien on this game. If Shaun Alexander gets hurt, I will set myself on fire. Actually, since you're the only person I know from Seattle, I will blame you for the loss, and subsequently haunt you after I burn myself. Have a GREAT weekend!!!!!!!!!
Ask me what's wrong. First response? "Nothing." Second response? Emotional tyrade.
Dude, you couldn't be more onpoint with this. My girlfriend does this constantly. And yes, I really do have a girlfriend, swear to Allah. You're mean.
You really shouldn't swear to Allah. I swore at him one time, and he threatened to take away my seven virgins in the afterlife.
Me: So,you're telling me that your idea of paradise is getting seven prepubescent teenage girls to have your way with? Dude, You have a pervy religion. Oh, and Al, could you possibly tell your peeps to stop beheading innocent people? I mean, swords? We have guns, and stuff now, so it may save you some time, and possibly cut down on your disposal bill. I know how preturbed I get when I run out of places to put my severed heads. Oh, and tell Big Moe (Mohommed)that I didn't forget about the forty dollars he owes me from the sack race office pool. See ya around the bend.
Allah: You really don't like the beheading? I thought it had some flare. By the way, guns haven't been invented in Islam, yet. We are just now getting catapults...
Me: Hey, Al. Toss me one of those Cool Ranch Doritos, and can we watch something other than Kill Bill Vol. 2? All you do is watch this stupid movie.
Allah: You shut your mouth when you're talking to me...
So Pat, about the Shawn Alexander thing...
Do you plan to haunt me before or AFTER next weekend's playoff game? Just curious. I was hoping to get some sleep the night before THEY. GO. ALL. THE. WAY.
But if not, that's cool. There's always crack.
Luckily, amidst the seemingly devestating injury, your Seabirds still covered, so there's really no reason to light myself on fire, unless of course I want to reenact Denzel Washington's, Man on Fire with a twist. I would actually be on fire then entire movie.
Holy crap. Please note the "content-based ads" at the top of my page. Something about this post has made Google's Ad Sense think that my readers are interested in disposable underwear and hot dwarf and midget singles. Please share with the group what YOU see at the top of my page. It's bound to be enormously funny.
I have hit a new, and all-time low.
No.
An all time low is porn on your iPod video.
I'm disappointed that everyone got away from how good looking "boy" was. I saw the guy once. It broke my eyes. I got Lasik, but now I can only look at marginally hot guys. Kind of upsetting. I tried to grab this dudes ass once, but it was so hot I burned my hand.
I am really sorry things didn't work out with him Trebu. I'm willing to bet you keep after the pretty boys though. I can't really see you with a troll. That was a lie. I imagined us together last night. I cooked you toad and you loved it.
Underhill, you're a genius.
I avoid ape-men and I hate cheaters, as I've had my fill of them. This is something like Skittles... one or two or even a handful is OK, if not fantastic for you, and might even teach you what color/flavor combination you like, but at a certain point, they make you naseous and give you a headache which ultimately lasts longer than it took you to eat them in the first place.
To be clear: I'm after balance, here. Not too ape-ish, not too effeminate. But the whole POINT is that regardless of the attractiveness of the person, physically or otherwise, if I discover vanity (anywhere other than naked in front of the bathroom mirror), it's a deal-breaker, and I can't help it. Men are supposed to leave the "caring about looking good", to some extent, to the women.
Otherwise, why aren't us capable AND attractive women out there hunting and leaving the men at home to gather and give birth?
I think you’re underestimating how much of a train wreck guys with no vanity are. I know this, because all of my friends are good-looking guys, but still couldn’t get laid in a morgue due to their embarrassing clothing choices, and the fact that they drink more than Hemmingway, and scream at decibels unbeknownst to mankind about whether or not Mark McGwire should be allowed in the Hall of Fame.
I make sure that I’m put together in a presentable fashion, but I’m not going to get manicures/pedicures. I will NEVER step foot in a spa (Unless it’s Asian), and I don’t get anything waxed. I will compare myself, and a good buddy of mine, who hasn’t dated in years.
Would you rather have me, who is questionably attractive, but extremely charming, in a regular button down shirt (Nothing multi-colored), and a nice blazer? Or, would you like said friend, who will undoubtedly show up in a 2001 National League Wild Card T-Shirt, and cargo shorts? It seems fairly simple.
I think a vanity scale needs to be created in order to protect those of us who care what we look like, and punish those who closely resemble that guy, Kyan from Queer Eye. Let’s go with the quintessential 1-10 scale, one being Big Foot, ten being Big Gay Al.
Vanity Scale
1. This guy smells like a Yeti, because he essentially is a Yeti. If you like the sweet scent of garbage accompanied with squid tentacles (regular size, not the Giant Squid *shudders*), then this man may make you happy.
2. This guy is not quite a Yeti, but damn close. I’m thinking maybe the Phoenix Suns Gorilla. He can do some cool stuff, and he’s slightly endearing, but when it comes down to it, he’s still a dirty ape.
3. This man would be most comparable to the homeless man who sits in Times Square, and offers to scream obscenities at you for money. Nothing has ever brought me more pleasure.
4. This guy dresses like high school Abercrombie guy. He knows what store he likes, but still has no clue how to put himself together, i.e. upside down visor, and humor tees that make me cringe.
5. Standard Polo Guy. He has every assorted color of Polo shirts, and has a total disregard for seasonal colors. It’s not like he can’t put himself together, but the unoriginality keeps him right at par.
6. Steve and Doug Butabi from Night at the Roxbury. This guy thinks he is well dressed, and that women find club clothes attractive. He will also inevitably get arrested for groping an unsuspecting female.
7. Tom Brady/Pat McLellan. This would have to be the most ideal category. The combination of style and manliness is hard to be beat. Sure, they may use hair products, but is that really so bad when you have the love of a Super Bowl MVP, or a lowly cult writer?
8. The Striped shirt guy, i.e. the dude who wrote, “He’s Just Not That In To You.” He resembles Joseph and his Technicolor coat, and thinks he knows what women want, but is sadly mistaken. Only Mel Gibson knows what women want, everyone knows that. Any who, the combination of colors will give someone astigmatism. He may also spray tan, or utilize bronzers and concealers.
9. Jesse Katsopolis. This one constantly makes comments about how good his hair is, and also has meltdowns when it gets misplaced. He is essentially as gay as you can get without man-love.
10. Carson Kressley/Kyan. Essentially, women without breasts. That’s about it.
Pat, I have to tell you how very impressed I am with your vanity scale. Nicely thought out, well executed. If you want to try to get it published in a science journal of some sort, I would support you.
I've never given the topic much thought, so I'm glad people like you are out there quantifying these things. Before, I had no idea how many products I should use in the morning when getting ready. Now that I have the vanity scale, I feel I can stop using my moisterizing facial clenser, and just use the bottle of Brute aftershave.
I wish I was a seven, but I'm more of a three who got some nice clothes for christmas and ended up shrinking them the first wash.
Though I think you're being a bit hard on yourself, Dave, I understand the comedic value of self deprecation and will let it lie. It IS important to note, however, that EVERY NICE SHIRT DAVE GOT FOR CHRISTMAS WAS ORANGE.
And he really did shrink them.
All.
The scale is brilliant. Brilliant, I tell you. Given that I partake in the train wreck that is online dating, I think you ought to sell that, to Yahoo Personals or Match.com or someone. Turn it into a questionaire that guys have to fill out when they sign up.
Question One: Do you own a striped shirt that has a tall collar and french cuffs?
A: Yes, or no?
Question Two: How many pairs of non-athletic shoes do you own?
A: 1, 2-5, 3-8, or I've no idea, let me go count the shoe boxes with polariods on them.
Question Three: How many "products" do you use in preparing yourself to go out in public on the average day?
A: Toothpaste and occasionally deoderant
B: One for each action. Hair, teeth, face, shower, shave and a UV moisturizer.
C: Two for each action.
D: It takes me an hour just to decide which products are appropriate for the weather conditions and my schedule.
This could be quite useful. Being that I consider myself to be a solid 7, occasionally crossing into an 8 (yes, I own one of those shirts - but - just one). I think it would help me get a lot more *quality dates* (read, hot, non-insane girls)
Yes, its all about me.
The Pat "Manity (Not, Manitee Scale," is still a prototype, but I definitely like the way it's heading. I hadn't thought about the wonders it would bring to the online dating realm.
Woman: (girlish giggle...well, just a giggle, there's definitely no manly giggle) You are so funny! Let me ask you this...where do think you fall on the manity scale?
Prospective Date: I'd say I'm a high 5, maybe a 6.
Woman: click.
What's the verdict on calling it the Manity scale? I laugh every time I read it, so I'm hoping it as equally as amusing for others.
::Giggle::
(so, it's perfect).
I think "Pat's Manity Scale" is a great title. You have to stroke yourself a little by putting your name on it. I would. All the greats did it. Newton. Einstein. Papa Murphy.
There are some problems trying to evaluate where one falls and I think some likert scales will need to be employed in the final product to reduce bias.
And Like I mentioned before, I can't even begin to figure out where I would fall. (Mongo, you need to cover your eyes for this next sentence)I am well aware I need to get my eyebrows waxed, and at some point I probably will, but do I run the risk of jumping catagories if I do? Like would I get bumped from a average 4 to a limp wristed 8? I take a lot of pride in my lack of Manity (that sounds bad), but seriously, having a hariy nose is a large price to pay to make a point.
I am by no means a pretty boy, but it would be nice if someone could tell that I was human and not a Chimp. Though it's nice to have the freedom to throw my poop at people, You can only eat so many bannanas in a day.
(Self Depricating humor is all I have when I comes to responses to blogs about Manity. If you want outward funny, you'll have to try another medium i participate in.)
I am so late to this party, but I challenge you to Guitar Hero any day of the week. I have only played it once, so you may have the advantage.
By the way, I have 1900patpat up there beat by about 20 points.
hyperventilating after this guy told her that he got a spray tan, she sounds more shallow than he does. what would she do if someone told her they had their teeth whitened, passout?
Hey, it's cool -- tan and be proud, anonymous! Just be prepared to be able to hold a conversation, too, and I'm sure you'll be just fine.
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