Join. So You Know
Good Thoughts. Bad
You Know You Need Help.
Holler For Advice
Who The Hell Am I?THAT Guy: The One Who “Inspired” This Blog
SO I KEEP GETTING ASKED WHY I DECIDED TO START THIS BLOG, AND THE ANSWER IS OF COURSE…
BECAUSE OF A GUY. SHOCKER, I KNOW.
I don’t know if it’s LA or if I just attract the tools, but my dating life has somehow always managed to be fairly interesting. Okay, REALLY interesting. (You know it’s bad when your Jewish mother stops asking questions about your love life). But this guy, he was the last straw.
So we’re back in early 2009, the days when going to the gym everyday before work was something I did. Yeah I know… aggressive. Anyway, every morning there he was… staring. And let me preface this by saying that I am NOT one of those “I-wear-my-bangs-down-and-look-sexy-at-the-gym-with-my-makeup-on” girls, so anyone who was staring at my hot sweaty mess was going to get a shot. (If you ARE one of those girls whose bangs don’t stick to your forehead when you’re working out, I hate you).
Fast forward 3-4 months later through a lot of catwalk-style treadmill strutting and the guy has yet to grow a pair of balls. We chat everyday at the gym, sometimes for over an hour and still nothing. And because I am of the lady tribe, I have told every man, woman and child I know about “the cute guy with no balls at the gym.” In fact, I think he went by the nickname “Beefcake” (we always give you nicknames).
Ooh I think I forgot to mention the red flag… he was an “it’s just my side gig” trainer. If you are going to be a trainer, be a trainer. It’s now more than a year later and I still see his roided-ass lifting with clients at the gym.
Oh wow, I am babbling… must consolidate: Eventually Beefcake asked me out. We had an awesome first date. Made out to Lionel Ritchie’s “All Night Long” in front of my apartment like it was 1983 (yes I looked up the release date and no I wasn’t born yet). Had an awesome second, third and fourth date, etc. Cooked him dinner (the same token meal I make for every guy who makes it past first draft). Met his friends, they loved me (of course). He was Jewish (added bonus). Had the “are you seeing anyone else?” talk. He concluded with “let’s be exclusive… I’m excited to meet your mom” (she was coming into town and it wasn’t really in the same sentence but it was easier for consolidation purposes). Pheuf. Moving on…
Ok, so it’s a Tuesday night (I think, can’t really remember) and we’re hanging out. We have another awesome night and he’s geared up to meet momma on Thursday. Mom gets in Wednesday. I go to the gym Thursday morning. Walk in the door, he shoots me a smile and there it is…
MY GUT HAS MADE ITS WAY UP INTO MY THROAT. Female instinct kicks in and I know something’s up. Duh duh duh… I make my way over to him and tell him to just spit it out. Three seconds later, without hesitation, in front of 40 sweaty chubby people, comes the icing on the cake to my strange ass LA dating life… “I have a girlfriend.”
I laughed for a little (not the reaction he was expecting) and then calmly tore him a new one. And by minute three he was king of the douche lords and about the size of one of those shrunken children on Honey I Shrunk the Kids. Best part was that he kept apologizing and telling me that he really liked me and that he didn’t know what to do. Ha. Like he had a choice in the matter? I was out with the word “girlfriend.”
As you can imagine, the next day at the gym was the best part. Because I couldn’t wear my hot post-breakup dress to the gym, I became a “wear-my-bangs-down-and-look-sexy-at-the-gym-with-my-makeup-on girl,” and with me came momma bear and all of her glaring powers. I received multiple regret texts from him in the days following saying things like: “You’re so beautiful, I am so sorry, I miss you.” Blah blah blah.
But the best and most revolutionary text came a few days after I hadn’t responded to any of his previous pleading messages. Along with a speech about how terrible he felt for what he had done, came these words:
“I am sorry if I hurt you, but you have to know…I am just not THAT guy.”
And that’s when it hit me. He WAS… they ALL are. He might be one of the many “THAT guys” on your list of experiences, and he may be a different sort of “THAT guy” on someone else’s list. And it’s not a bad thing, just as much as he is “THAT guy,” we are “THAT girl.” But most importantly, what I have come to realize is that it’s these experiences both good and bad that will eventually lead us to where we are supposed to be.
And hopefully in my case, he’s THAT guy… the one who ends the list.
THAT Guy: Who’s Perfect on Paper
They say you learn from every relationship you have. Discover more about yourself and the kind of man you want to be with. That, is the inspiration for this series of my personal dating stories and discoveries. I like to call it: Apologies to my Exes, The THAT Guy series.
We all have a list right? Whether you’re a psycho, and you write it down, or your just a little anal retentive, and it’s in your head…it’s there. Our perfect man, or so we think… (obvious foreshadow).
So I am going to take you back to an old boyfriend of mine, let’s call him John (NOT his real name, just trying to prevent some serious hate texting). John was definite bring-home-to-mommy material, the guy who literally checked boxes 1 through 76 on my list. He was cute (check), he liked to cook (check), close with his family (check), he was Jewish (check and that’s a whole other blog topic), he was funny (check), I could go on and on. I became so clouded by the swooshing sound of the “checks” in my head, I could barely focus on whether I actually felt something for the guy or not. I should like him. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Right?
We even argued perfectly. It was irritating. We would fight (if you can even call it that) and end up in the land of apologies and compromises. You probably think I’m crazy right? How is a fair fight annoying??? But what I realized then, was that ME and THAT guy (the guy from my checklist), had a serious lack of chemistry, and a case of the passion blues.
He was the total package. But the total package for someone else
I’m not telling you to burn the list, but try to erase as many as you can. Have a few broad characteristics that you feel are important to you (for me, its someone who’s passionate and that I can learn from). The more you say out loud that you only date guys who wear American Apparel “Deep Vs,” the less you open yourself up to the possibilities that are out there. Oh, and by the way guys, its time to move past the Deep V (it needed to be said… especially to all of you who love that purple one).
Okay, so here are two techniques, or more like methods that I use, to get out of my own head when it comes to finding the “perfect man:”
First up, The Give Everyone a Chance Campaign (buttons coming soon). Unless he’s an ogre and you’re revolted by him, rule is: If he has the balls to ask, then you go out with him. ‘Cause you just never know. I actually went out with a guy who came to buy my mattress from a Craigslist ad I had posted. Oh man, I don’t know why I just shared that, because it was the WORST date ever (the guy had a laugh like a dying hyena). But regardless, it CAN pay off. Plus, what’s wrong with a free dinner?
And finally, a shout out to a good friend of mine, who gave me some of the best advice I have ever received. A technique called Put it in the Box (or throw it in the bag if you’re feelin’ that track).
Basically, what it entails is resisting the urge to pass judgment. When you’re on a date and he’s chewing like a cow, or his posture is really weird, or you just think he might not be your type… Evaluate it, “is this make or break?” If not, put it in the box (by the way this box doesn’t actually exist, it’s a mental box). When you actually get to know him for who he really is and the time comes to decide if this guy is right for you, then, you can open the box to reevaluate if these things matter. But for now, just Throw it in the bag.
So people, here is what I have to say: Broaden your selection. Don’t be so quick to judge and stop worrying about whether he meets your criteria. Because as much as we like to think we know what we want, sometimes, we just have to let it go.
(picture credit: circa 1994. The men I thought I would marry)