Boys vs. Men

Sometimes I eavesdrop on people.

I could rationalize it—oh, this is good anthropological research for characters I’m writing—but it’s basically just nosiness. It also helps me gauge where I’m at: Am I normal? Am I doing the correct trendy cardio exercises? Am I reading the right books? Is gluten still lame? It was through eavesdropping that I learned that you could buy fresh peanut butter at Whole Foods from a machine that grinds it in front of you. I had wasted so much of my life eating stupid old already-ground peanut butter. So, yeah, I highly recommend a little nosiness once in a while.

Recently I listened in on two attractive thirtyish women talking over brunch. I heard the following:

Girl #1 (pretty girl, Lululemon yoga pants, great body):Jeremy just finished his creative writing program at Columbia. But now he wants to maybe apply to law school.

Girl #2 (tiny girl, sheet of black hair, strangely huge breasts): Oh, God.

Lululemon: What?

32D: How many grad schools is he going to go to?

Lululemon: I know. But it’s not his fault. No publishers are buying short stories from unfamous people. Basically, you have to be Paris Hilton to sell books these days.

32D: For the 10 years that Jeremy has been out of college doing entry-level job after entry-level job and grad school, you’ve had a job that has turned into a career.

Lululemon: Yeah, so?

32D: Jeremy’s a boy. You need a man.

Lululemon did not take this well, as I’d anticipated. I felt bad for Lulu because I’ve been Lulu. It’s really hard when you realize the guy you’ve been dating is basically a high schooler at heart. It makes you feel like Mary Kay Letourneau. It’s the worst.

Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before.

OK, maybe men aren’t exactly like this. But this is what I’ve cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad. The point: Men know what they want, and that is scary.

What I was used to was boys.

Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival.

Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don’t have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn 30.

When I was 25, I went on exactly four dates with a much older guy whom I’ll call Peter Parker. I’m calling him Peter Parker because, well, it’s my story, and I’ll name a guy I dated after Spider-Man’s alter ego if I want to.

Peter Parker was a comedy writer who was a smidgen more accomplished than I but who talked about everything with the tone of “you’ve got a lot to learn, kid.” He gave me lots of unsolicited advice about how to get a job “if The Office got canceled.” After a while, it became clear that he thought The Office would get canceled, and by our fourth and last date, that he clearly thought it should get canceled.

Why am I bringing up Peter Parker? Because he was the first real man I dated. An insufferable yet legit man.

Peter owned a house. It wasn’t ritzy or anything, but he’d really made it a home. The walls were painted; there was art in frames. He had installed a flat-screen TV and speakers. There was just so much screwed into the walls, so much that would make you lose your deposit. I marveled at the brazenness of it. Peter’s house reminded me more of my house growing up than of a college dorm room. I’d never seen that before.

Owning a house obviously wasn’t enough to make me want to keep dating Peter. Like I said, he was kind of a condescending dick. But I observed in Peter a quality that I knew I wanted in the next guy I dated seriously: He wasn’t afraid of commitment.

At this point you might want to smack me and say: “Are you seriously just another grown woman talking about how she wants a man who isn’t afraid of commitment?” Let me explain! I’m not talking about commitment to romantic relationships. I’m talking about commitment to things—houses, jobs, neighborhoods. Paying a mortgage. When men hear women want a commitment, they think it means commitment to a romantic relationship, but that’s not it. It’s a commitment to not floating around anymore. I want a guy who is entrenched in his own life. Entrenched is awesome.

So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying, picture-hanging man. I don’t care if he takes prescription drugs for cholesterol or hair loss. (I don’t want that, but I can handle it. I’m a grown-up too.)

I know I’m only marginally qualified to be giving advice. I’m not married, I frequently use my debit card to buy things that cost less than three dollars, and my bedroom is so untidy it looks like vandals ransacked the Anthropologie sale section. I’m kind of a mess. I did, however, fulfill a childhood dream of writing, producing and acting in television and movies. Armed with that confidence, alongside a lifelong love of the sound of my own voice, I’m giving you this bit of wisdom: When you turn 30—maybe even before—a fun thing to try is dating men. It’ll be like freshly ground peanut butter, times a million.

Oh Mindy. You get it. 

-taken from 

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? 

By Mindy Kaling

Again.

So I've been told by a few (ok, many) that I should record some of the more outlandish tales of males gone wrong and I guess, maybe in a way, it will be therapeutic and I'll be able to stop shaking my head every time I think of it... And so, I give you

The Tale of the Unbelievably Needy Boy

It was my first semester attending college, wayyyyyyy back, spring two thousand and NINE (yes, FOUR years ago) and I was in my English 1A basic comp class. As such, I'm never apposed to making new friends, so when buckero over here sat down by me and started chatting me up- sure, I was flattered. Sure, he was short and younger than me, but only by eighteen months, and so I thought, hey, what the heck. He was good looking and social and a fast talker, which led to our going out one or two times-- then it became apparent he had the world's worst  a fairly bad case of little man syndrome, and his constant need for attention out of and in the class room continued to get me, goody-two-shoes, in trouble with the instructor, as this dude simply could not keep his mouth shut. 

Needless to say, I lost interest hard and fast and cut off any extracurricular hang out times, which was easily do able when the semester ended. I managed to avoid his texts and fb private messages that summer, and while we supposedly go to the same church, I've only seen him in attendance maybe twice?, both times of which I've ducked my head and let my hair fall in front of my face. Very mature of me, I know.

So, all that to say, I met this guy in 09, went out maybe two times and I have avoided him ever since. In the mean time, I continued to attend college and work, he went to Joshua Wilderness at Hume and yettttt... Every four to six month I get a fb message from him, asking if we can hang out. 

I kid you not, over the last four years; like clockwork.

Now, you might be asking yourself, why are you even friends on facebook, you have multiple degrees of separation before you have mutual friends and you haven't been out since '09. 

Right. 

Well, to you and I, common folk, we wouldn't continue to pursue something that is clearly nothing, HOWEVER, this boy is clearly no mortal- he's indestructible can't-take-no-for-an-answer-boy! When we met in '09 he added me on facebook; ok, no problem, we're friends, we're hanging out = facebook friends. 

But then I realized he's one of the last people I want in my life, so I *gasp* unfriended him. I didn't care to see his business, and he doesn't need to see mine. NBD, right? Wrong. I get a friend add from him again, with a guilt ridden message asking why we're not friends. And I, in all my harmonizer glory, while not replying to his message, re-add him. Only to unfriend him again a few months later, thinking he wouldn't notice. Wrong again! I'm not kidding, this guy has readded me at least three times. 

Un. Real. [In typing this out, this is all very creepy ….I'm starting to think maybe I need a restraining order...]

Anyway, so fast-forward to this year.  This spring I, again, get an unsolicited private message from him on facebook saying “We should hang out some time! Text me!” and gives me his number.

Umm; really? No.

So I ignore the message, and even more, ignore his demand to text him.  I have at no point in the last three years shown any interest to be his friend, hang out with him…. If we had mutual friends and were at a party or gathering together, would I be friendly towards him; sure, because I’m a nice person (well, no, at this point I wouldn’t give him any sort of attention as he’s clearly crazy) but I have no need to create pseudo friendships based on private facebook messages and texting. Pluhhhheeeeaaaasssseeeee.

And so I submit for your consideration: Exhibit A – a screen shot of our private facebook message. 

Please notice, his use of emoticons to express his distress and my kind, if not generic, reply to stop this. And then his yet again unsolicited message this last week.

Seriously dude?. Stop.

You’re embarrassing yourself.

And so to this last message I almost replied “Is this what they taught you in Joshua?” but I felt compelled to stick with simply not replying.

Seriously. What would YOU do? Any tips, tricks or comments? I'm open to suggestions as clearly my current course of action (or lack there of) is not producing the desired results. . .

And there you have it friends, how to make enemies and alienate people.  I just can’t figure out what is going on in his little noggin that he keeps trying- I mean, props to him for NEVER giving up, but for real dude, stop.

This is real life: I get creepy young dudes with little man syndrome who are hella annoying. Yay me.

Today I unfriended him.

Again.

Stay tuned to when he adds me.

Again.

xoxo, 

aintgottimeforthis girl

ps. it should be mentioned, this male is a 24 year old specimen of the current human race.
 doesn't give much hope does it...

No Boys Allowed.

For clarification, this is not a post to hate on men; 

it's a post to hate on boys. 

Kidding. 

Sorta. 

Here's the thing, I've got an arsenal of stories that most people can't fathom to be true when I tell them "No, seriously, this is real life. MY real life." I am never ceased to be astounded by the sheer lack of [for lack of a better term] balls that is currently plaguing the male race, and some how I am a magnate for emotionally and socially inept males, none of whom seem to have the ability to function on the level of a MAN, and thus I label them (no matter their age), BOYS. I don't think I'm out of my mind for desiring a little maturity from twenty-somethings, a little respect, a little thoughtfulness and maybe, a second date; or at least a conversation that states the second date isn't coming, as apposed to what I typically receive of late; which is, NOTHING. Falling off the face of the planet is not the way to let a girl know you're no longer interested thankyouverymuch. And no, I promise not to cry when you say you're not interested- I probably was wanting to say the same thing, but too scared to hurt your feeble boy emotions.

 

So this is my outlet. I hereby so solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

Heaven help me.

Also, I may at times post some other little ditties and thoughts as they fleet through my cute little head. It's going to be a long semester.

xoxo,

{high}standardsgirl