Realization: Latent Homosexuality in Prior Mates

Some girls repeatedly date the Eventual Gay, the guy who is too-goo-to-be-true, too stylish, too talkative, and too good-looking to be straight. And guess what? Nine months after college graduation it turns out he’s not.

 I have a tendency, as I’ve recently realized, to date the Perpetual Closeted Woman-Hater. These guys are like the Eventual Gay, but far less fun.

They have all the good qualities of the Eventual Gay, the boy-ish good looks, the charm with talking to women, the style and arty-ness of a Williamsburg hipster, but with ISSUES.  They can’t decide if they want to be us, be with us, or banish us from their dude caves. Case in point is my first serious boyfriend, art student whom I found curled up in a ball crying about a bad haircut. The huge red flag here that I didn’t want to realize, was that he hated his mother…because they were too much alike.

The latest in a long chain of BF’s is a guy I tried to date, who said to me that as far as sex, he could, “take it or leave it.”  Um, what? Like a trained co-dependent partner, I jumped at the chance to “remedy” this situation, not paying attention to the obvious clues of latent homosexuality.  First, he went to beauty school. Nuf said. Second, he is obsessed with fashion (and has great style), also he is obsessed with his hair, and doesn’t go out of the house if he has zits. Sidenote, he’s 30, not 16. But the real clincher is his over-ethusiasm for hanging out with his posse of ridiculously good-looking male friends.  These guys are HOT and all have live-in girlfriends, something Beauty School Bob cannot manage. Initially, he close-knit group of pals seemed sweet, but a few moths into dating, I was already getting resentful. Outings with me were obligatory and required effort, while outings with the hot dudes were treasured above all else. Ok, this doesn’t sound as weird as it was. I was often invited along, and at first I saw this as a compliment (a girls being inducted into the exclusive boys club!), later I realized it was an attempt to establish his hetero-ness while still getting his kicks.  These nights consisted of booze and dancing, that is, him dancing in a “jokingly” erotic manner with his friends. While I sat on the couch.

Sidenote: I have nothing against homosexuality, but trying to date someone with weird sexual repressions just isn’t fun.

Red Flags: Don’t Be Too Lazy to Recognize Them When You See Them

Early-twenties me would often blatantly ignore the most obvious “red flag” moments in the beginning stages of dating a new beau, when it is CRUCIAL to fully process these life-defining moments.

What am I talking about?

Here’s an example from my life: when a man you enjoy the company of being around says to you, “I’m a ramblin’ man,” as serious as you would say, “I’m a vegetarian,” this is a huge Red Flag. In fact, it’s so gianormous that you should immediately walk away. Not that week or that month, but that moment. If it’s not obvious (as it was not, apparently, to me) he is saying: I am a dopey narcissist with commitment issues who would rather Peter Pan his way through life than be with you.

The psychology behind ignoring RF moments is simple: a) you don’t believe him or b) you believe him but feel that your “connection” is strong enough to stomp that red flag into oblivion…eventually.

No matter. You cannot be too lazy to find another man. If you think it’s too much effort to meet someone, consider this: The truth is you will end up doing a lot of “work” on this dude who will never appreciate it or you and you will be a big bitter loser in the end.

Now that I am committed to Red Flag-ing all applicable moments, I realize how man a regular Lazy Broad can encounter in her lifetime.

We dug some of the classics out of the vault for the purposes of education:

“I got into a bar fight last night. It was no big deal.”

“I kind of dated this girl for the last few years, well, I mean, we weren’t really dating. I don’t know what you’d call it.”

“I’m not working right now, but I have a birthday coming up, so, you know, that should bring in a little scratch.”

“I’m living off my music.” (when he lives on someone’s couch)

Now it’s your turn. Feel free to add to this list with your own RF moment…

Troy Dyer. Our poster boy for Red Flags.

Blahg-hum-bug

Dear Blahg,

Sorry I have been ignoring you. What excuses can I give? It’s been hectic, man. These are tough times. I had something clever to say about Halloween, I remember that.  I was going to write about how we (meaning me and Jazz) hate Halloween, in true curmudgeon fashion. Let me sum up that would-be post in one sentence: there’s something not-quite-right and creepy about grown ups in smeared makeup and shoved into overly sexualized costumes at the bank and grocery store.

Then there was my “dirty” 30th birthday in November. I was definitely planning a whiny post about my wrinkles,  jaded outlook on the next 10 years, and how my eggs are no damn good to anyone but myself.  And why do they call it “dirty” 30? I imagine you say it the way a rapper would, like “dirrr-tay,” but that doesn’t make it any less gross.

Now, we’re almost to the big X-mas (my mother says it’s sacrilegious to write it like that). Big X-mas 2009er.  I’ll spend this one in OH10, nearly my favorite place on earth, but that doesn’t belong to anyone except people who were born, raised, and/or survived its crippling depression (along with a few chosen honorary members). If you want to know where Tiny Tim is this year, he’s in Columbus Ohio scalping Rose Bowl tickets.

Speaking of the Rose Bowl, I’m going with my Dad and brother. That’s going to be interesting. I’ll try not to ask questions about the “rules” of the game which I don’t think I’ve ever fully understand.

So, here’s to 2010. Every year about this time, Jazz and I come up with a motto for the coming year. 2009 was “Two Thousand Mine!”  For 2010, I’m having trouble coming up with a pun. Insert sad face here!  So, I’ll put out half-baked motto and would love suggestions from (readers? are you there readers?).

2010: Don’t Look Back.

(Not as fun without a pun.Yes, I did just do that).

Over and out.