I really, really wanted to kiss the plane of his cheek. Which is, suffice to say, a WEIRD desire. But there it was. Looking all…plane-y in tandem with his very straight, aquiline nose, and the fact that he had surprised me by being something I didn’t remember and I just really wanted to kiss it. Almost the corner of the mouth, but not quite.
I didn’t, though.
Because I am a giant weenie.
Let’s back up a skoch. It looks as though my last blog post was 10 months ago…dang. Sorry- but the romance has been…limited. I attempted another on-line dating site, only to be discouraged by the continued feeling of “hey that was a really fun date and the guy seemed into it oh wait he never contacted me again shoot”. I also attempted my own version of “casual” (it’s only casual because I didn’t IMMEDIATELY begin discussing wedding colors and what a combined Roth IRA would look like), and again, very disappointing.
Though, on the plus side, I had first hand experience with my very own “fuck boy”; which up until then had remained a mythical creature, like a unicorn, or a man my age with a savings account.
A “fuck boy” or “fuckboy”, as it is alternately spelled, is basically a sucky dude. I researched this extensively (no I did not, I googled two sites), and Urban Dictionary has a bevy of pretty awesome definitions; click Here if you would like to scroll through them. They range from aggressively pissed off to mildly amused at the idiocy. Pick your poison. Slate also has a nifty article on the many varieties and connotations the phrase has- clickity click on this bad boy to be directed there, if you are a fan of etymology.
For my purposes, however, “fuck boy” simply refers to someone who purposefully allows themselves to pretend that their selfishness is not a horrible thing. Now, I knew this particular person had this streak in them (and by all other accounts, this person is quite nice), but I had yet to experience it in full force. Then I did and it left me with that “huh” feeling. You know the one. It happens when you aren’t angry or especially hurt; rather, mildly confused. Like eating spaghetti squash for the first time.
So that bummed me out, especially since I am so awesome. As in, legitimately awesome. I have a plaque (I don’t). But it was also ok that it happened, because real talk- I am busy as fuck over here. I started a new job, which is overwhelming. I am going to school at night, and I just wrapped up doing three plays in a row (again- I am super awesome). I mean- it’s cool that romance has been back-burner-ed for legitimate reasons, but it has also begun to feel like maybe I am just perpetually in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In one of my night classes there is a guy who appeals to my aesthetic sensibilities. He’s funny, mildly sarcastic (in that bemused way), has impressively nice handwriting, and seems quite intelligent. Also he has a beard.
Now, here’s the deal…I suck at interacting with people I find attractive. I do. I Just….suck at it. I’ve gone over this in previous blogs, I think. Like, I don’t even make eye contact with people I am attracted to, for fear that they’ll see that I am attracted, and then make fun of me, or WORSE, feel bad for me…”Aw, this poor pathetic girl…” Because again, a huge weenie. As I get older, I am coming to terms more and more with how ridiculous that sentiment is, but it’s still THERE.
So here is this attractive guy in my class, who had the AUDACITY to sit at my group’s table one night. Naturally, I didn’t make eye contact, even though he sat right across from me. I was all ready to avoid the situation, and sulk inwardly, when I recalled something which had happened only a few days prior. I had tarot card reading done at a cast party for the
most recent show I was in (yet again- so awesome), and it was all about how I had to stop standing in my own damn way (I mean- it didn’t literally say that..but ya know). Reminding myself of this, and how technically it was true, I was like, “screw this- I am gonna look this bastard right in the face and he will just have to DEAL with the fact that I am not a model, hell, I’m not even the prettiest girl in the class, but I am awesome” (In case you haven’t yet noticed, I use aggression to mask my insecurity. suck it). So we made conversation, and he laughed at some of my whimsical sayings, and the world did not implode into the fire ball of negativity and rejection I had assumed it would.
Plus one, me.
Then, at the official cast-party where we went to a bowling alley to karaoke (because OBVIOUSLY), there was once again a rather attractive fellow. Surprising, given the venue, but there it was (unless he was a figment of my imagination- OH MY GOD GUYS WAS HE A FIGMENT?!). I was all ready to think negative things to myself, along the lines of “no way would some guy like that be interested in you, you weird tall goon who can’t NOT sing classic rock jams when given a microphone” but then I stopped myself. Because I realized it didn’t matter. It didn’t MATTER what this rando dude thought of me. Yes, everyone likes the ego boost of mutual attraction (see that word MUTUAL there? It’s important…), but I wasn’t there to hook-up with someone. I was there to celebrate the show and the awesome people who had been a part of it. And to sing some damn Bon Jovi, and I did, and it was awesome. At the end of the night, as we were wrapping up, no joke, I caught this guy looking at me. Like- LOOKING- at me. That tickled me, guys. I won’t lie. I mean- coming to the realization that I am someone people “look” at has been slow and is still a surprise. Like when you find $5 in your pocket, or an uneaten donut (also in your
pocket)(not really). It’s not something I require to function, but it sure is nice when it happens.
[OBLIGATORY TANGENT] please please please do not misconstrue or misunderstand me when I say I like being “looked” at. I am merely stating my appreciation for when mutual attraction occurs, because it has been so rare in my own life. I do not support unsolicited advances, especially if one party has made it more than clear that it is unwanted. Don’t be a fuck boy. Respect each other. [OBLIGATORY TANGENT OVER]
Feeling pretty confident, I was. I mean- holy nuts, I’m the kind of girl who gets looked at by cute people. I’m the kind of girl who makes people laugh. I’m the kind of girl who absolutely crushes “More Than a Feeling” by Boston. I got this! I can TOTALLY Stop standing in my own way.
Except that I can’t. Not fully, not yet apparently.
An old friend, whom I haven’t seen in years, asked to catch up over drinks. Being an excitable goober, I said “Heck yes!” because who doesn’t like catching up with friends? Plus, I figured I could dress myself up and show off my new bangs in a bigger city with the possibility of getting “looked” at some more. Hooray! So we met up at a horribly pretentious and expensive cocktail bar (regrettably my choice- I did not know what other options the city had) and we started catching up. It was interesting and fun. It got even better when me moved to a sports bar. So much better, especially since a game was on, and lord knows I get invested real quick in sportsball games. During the game, the topic of dating came up; he mentioned tinder dates and responded to a text, while I mentioned the cute guy in my class and my crippling fear of rejection. My friend told me, “rejection means you’re doing it right. It means you’re trying.” I almost fell off my bar-stool.
Then the game ended, and we swapped locations AGAIN. There is something so unquestionably glorious about bar-hopping when one is in the mood. It gives you a bit of exercise and fresh air; gets the blood moving. All very healthy things to offset the destruction of your liver.
At our final location- some things started maybe getting a bit more romantic? No…that’s not what I mean…but the suggestion of it being a date- the nuance of that came out. Maybe? Again, I am so unsure of myself that I can’t even confidently type that out. But I think maybe he was feeling something out with me, and like an idiot, I immediately shut it down. Not explicitly- oh no. I have to go one step further and be insidious about it. Wall after wall came up; fear after fear mortared a nice barricade so that I would not have to face rejection. This perfectly nice, attractive, surprisingly intelligent guy who wants to be a farmer and who has a romantic streak in him a mile wide may have been open to something, and I had to go and respond with a knee-jerk reaction that I am sure seemed harsh or at the least, the exact opposite of what I wanted it to seem like.
I had been so sure that there was no way I was attractive. I had been so sure for so long that I was nowhere near the type of girl this dude (or any of my guy friends from back then) wanted, and I was so good at projecting that onto them, that I blithely destroyed any of the fragile attempts being made. Which in hindsight, sucks. It sucks a lot. But it has been a healthy reminder that I am quite far from being good at this. Doesn’t matter how often I get “looked” at, I still respond similarly to how I did at 19.
So any of the nebulous chances were effectively crushed, but as we continued to hang out, I realized that I liked how he spoke, and I liked his hands, and his nose and the plane of his cheek, and I realized that I really did want to kiss that plane, and I wondered what that would be like, and how it would feel, and would it be worth the awkwardness that might occur; but I also remembered that I ruined that chance hours before. I did it to myself, and can only blame myself. Or rather, not blame, but use it to learn. Learn that time matters- sometimes you know right away, sometimes things have to soak, to percolate. Sometimes I will be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but at some point I will be in the absolute right place at the very right time. And I will be able to act on my impulse, fearlessly.
Because I would rather try and fail then live a life of blogs about what could have been.