You're Perfect, Now Change

Tonight I’m having dinner with another one of my ex-boyfriends. Yeah, I have a lot of ex-boyfriends. He is the most recent to be relieved of his duties and we shall call him Poor Bastard.

Poor Bastard came into my life at a time when I really needed a boyfriend; I had just gotten out of a relationship and I was desperate for attention from somebody. Anybody. A living, breathing mammal with a cell phone. This guy fit the bill.

PB and I didn’t have much in common, but he always made me laugh. He was caring, sweet, eager to please, and basically the total opposite of the guy who had just broken my heart. So what did I do? I waited until I finally started to feel better about myself, then I turned around and broke his heart. In psychology they call this “displacement.” I should call it Standard Operating Procedure.

My colorist Kelly once told me that she thinks guys are right – women are crazy. We say we want a nice guy that treats us with respect…but in reality we want a guy that goes radio silence for days at a time and then reappears as if nothing happened. So basically, we condition dudes to be assholes. Then we cry into our Ben and Jerry’s when they do what they think they’re supposed to do.

No wonder men choose dogs over women as their best friends.

The truth is that most guys are simple-minded creatures. They enjoy sports, sex, and pooping, not necessarily in that order. So when we start to throw mixed signals at them, their systems overload and we get dumped. And then we turn to guys like Poor Bastard to make us feel better, only to dump them, too.

The point I’m trying to make is….oh, crap. I don’t have a point. I don’t have a solution to offer, either. I thought when I met PB that I had found what I wanted. Then after three months of dating a guy that treated me the way I wished the other guy had treated me, I somehow burnt out. But my intentions started off good! My heart was in the right place. And now I’m stuck going out with an ex-boyfriend to consume raw fish and warm saki.

Hey, a girl's gotta eat.

Obviously I’m not the expert I'd like to think I am on relationships, even though I’ve had enough of them by now to qualify for the President's Club. But that doesn't make me an expert. I have no idea what I'm doing. I’m just some chick with a blog that writes about the shit show that is my sex life for the six of you that actually read this.

You’re welcome.

xo