You know the way in sitcoms, there’s always this one guy who every girl consdiers a pal? The boy who’s stuck solidly in the ‘friend-zone’? Well, I’m him. Her. It. Er… I’m the pal.
I had this pal once [pun not intended] who reminded me of my kid brother. He complained that all girls saw him as a ‘kid brother’, and asked me to teach him how to be ‘bad’ so he could get the girls. I tried to tell him that I like the little-brother feature in boys. That lost look and innocent smile totally disarms me. No, it is not some Freudian, Oedipal, fraternal thing, I just like them innocent, pretty and cuddly. With a little baby fat and nice broad shoulders. Preferable over 5’7 and under 6’3.
Anyway, back to my pal. I explained to him that as long as they are no bloodlines involved, I melt over the lost-little-boy look. But I was heavily… er…heavy … at the time, and Baba Toto made himself very visible. Territorial that one. So my compliment was not received as sincerely as planned.
Um…got diverted for a second there. What was I on about? Oh right, pals. Well, when I started this post, the plan was to analyse why I like boys. Not that I have a greater reason to like girls or anything. The point is, I crush every five seconds or so, and the white suede love jacket is so random that I’m starting to worry myself.
[WSLJ **pointing above – see previous paragraph** is NOT some CBnese euphemism for…eh…that one. It is a reference to some post I wrote way-back-when-before-i-deleted-it-twice. No, it is not on RSS. Found it’s title and summary though 🙂]
This morning I was thinking about all the countless guys I’ve liked and trying to find some LCM. I have fallen for softies, toughies, nice guys, nicer guys, jocks, poets, aloof-and-broodies, exuberant-and flirties and etc and etc. I can’t seem to find my ‘type’. The only thing they have in common is a Y in their X. And I need to find my type, so that I can break the pattern. See, I have this pattern of falling guys who just aren’t that into me, and it’s getting really old.
Dudes in my life fall into three broad groups. Category A are the leeches who are attracted to my strentgh and feed off me. Thankfully, there have only been three of those. The fourth was…well, he’s the reason for this post.
Category B are hostile-ly unrequited suitees. They either ran screaming for the hills, or ran screaming for the hills. At least one hired my roomate as a bodyguard – I have mild stalker tendencies; I tend to barrage the OMAFs with soulful poetry. And apparently, boys find that scary. Go figure.
I will say one thing. This whole running way issue? Proof positive that boys like to chase. More than once I have asked a boy out because I thought he was too shy to ask me, so I ‘helped him out’ only to see him run away and ask out another girl. No matter what Tyra says, boys do not like to be asked out. Except to GAG dances. So no matter how strong, gutsy, gorgeous [or impatient] you are, you have to let the boy make his move.
Category C are…is there a category C? Oh yeah, Category C are the ones that are attracted to my…er… Eveness. They don’t really know me that well, they just like my…er…fashion sense. I never pay them much attention. Mostly coz I’m sure that once they get to know me, they will evolve into Category A’s and B’s. The whole INFJ deep, poetic, clingy type is apparently not a crowd pleaser.
And then there are my pals. These beautiful, wonderful boys who treat me like a princess, pamper my baby girl, and activate the love jacket. They have only appeared in the last two years, [hmm, I wonder if moving to Dar had something to do with that…?] and because I lived half my life with boys running from me, I didn’t know what to make of these ones. So I assume they like me, and get bewildered when they don’t respond when I ask them out.
Fortunately, these sweethearts are also very tactful and gentle, and have stayed friends with me even as they turned me down. Three of them have gone on to find lovely girlfriends, and I am immensely happy for them. I half fear I will lose my darlings to their women, but I’ll take it a day at a time.
Now. I have never been asked out except by a 57 year old coffee farmer from New York, but his ten babies, some older than me, kinda scaried up that situation. And of all the [many many many many] guys I have asked out, only one said yes. I had my baby with him. That didn’t work out very well, but I’m over it. Mostly. I can’t be responsible for the action of a blunt, rusty slasher that I happen to be holding when in the vicinity of his…belt, but I’m over it. Mostly. 😉
A part of me is afraid to let guys get to know me, for fear of them jumping from C’s to A’s and B’s, so I mostly keep my distance and let them assume that I am a cold hard b****y dume jike. Defense mechanism. Truth is I’m nothing like that. I do have a tough-girl side, the side that pays all my bills in time and kicks in when someone messes with my baby girl. But mostly am all soft and needy, a scared little girl – without the bows and frills and spiked high heels.
In fact, I melt under flattery, literally. I blush into all shades of red and only my blue-black veneer keeps me safe. Luckily, none of the mboches, watchmen or jobless-corner boys that regularly catcall me knows that. So don’t sell me out, deal?
Which reminds me of this one boy who whistles every time I pass his digs. At first I thought it was a bird, coz he whistles really well, and can mimic about 20 different ones. Then I thought it was some kind of heat sensor that got triggered when I brushed past the fence. I’m still not sure what or who it is, since Ms Hard-and-Cold can’t feign to look up at her whistler…
So. Point being, boys either see me as meat, pal, or ATM. But never as a girlfriend. So since my beef is all chicken and my wallet is on a diet, I need to learn how to be a friend without crushing, pun intended. Then, if or when I find a boy that like likes me, I will learn how to play nice and wait to be asked out.
Meanwhile, I still need to find that LCM…