6 January 2008 - 20:25Another One Bites The Dust

I go through men more often than Lindsay ends up in rehab.

I haven’t dated anyone longer than two months in almost seven years. My entire twenties were a series of three long-term, really bad relationships. One after another after another of “what was I thinking” guys. I finally broke out of that cycle, but ended up on the other end of the spectrum. The first couple of years in Single City I just didn’t trust my judgment. Now I’m so used to being on my own it’s going to take Prince Charming himself to get me to move out to the metaphorical suburbs.

My dad keeps telling me I can’t expect them to come out of the box perfect. I don’t think I do, but I know I’m quick to pull the trigger. Bang, shot through the heart, I give love a bad name.

Take, for instance, the last guy. My age, loves to dance, doesn’t drink but didn’t mind that I do, doesn’t smoke, thoughtful, kind, well loved by babies and puppies and bus drivers. He’s a personal trainer and bodybuilder, so the physique was Holy Schmoly. He appreciated and understood my independence. He didn’t even last a month.

What the Hell was wrong with that one, you ask? Well, he’s on the marriage track.  Wife, babies, pronto. That line of thinking sends me straight into the arms of Mr. Right Now faster than you can say “I do.”

It’s not that I wouldn’t like to be in a relationship. Honest. Having someone to share ups and downs with would be wonderful. Thing is, in my single life there are more ups, and my downs have come from my serious relationships. I’ve also been alone for such a long time I’m used to coming and going as I please, seeing who I want when I want, doing what (or whom) I want when I want. Entirely selfish and I freely admit that.

I keep trying, because deep down I’m a romantic. I’ve just gotten to be really good at seeing the warning signs early on. Last year when a guy brought me a peach rose on our second date I fairly swooned, but he turned out to be an arrogant man whose sense of humor depended on others’ suffering. Late last summer I was swept off my feet when my date packed cheese and wine and took me to the Botanic Gardens, but I learned he was a heavy pot smoker, and he became geographically undesirable. When Last Guy gave me a Hershey bar in a gift bag from the place we met I did the teenage girly giggle.

I really wanted to try with this one, this genuinely good guy. So what happened? Well, it was just too much, too fast. I had some minor concerns about our lack of common interests, besides dancing, and the dearth of intellectual conversations, but I was not going to run away. Even though when he said, after two and a half weeks, he was now a one-woman man I almost broke out in hives. Even though dinner with his parents turned into Christmas Eve gift exchange with the family, complete with a gift for me. That instant immersion into coupledom was more than I could handle, and I haven’t seen him since.

But, I didn’t run away. I told him that I needed to slow down, and that’s something he can’t do. I suppose I knew that, so by voicing my reticence I guess I effectively ended things. Not guess, know. Oops, I did it again.