Friday, April 15, 2011

The Worst Part of being a JC. And by JC, I don't mean Jesus Christ, though I'm pretty fucking close.

The last 7 days have put parts of my dating life into severe perspective. I have three situations, all of which are equally confusing, none of which will probably end with me being in a relationship.

Case # 1. The first is the jersey. Currently, I have the prospect to date a baseball player. And he's good. Like, really good. Like, Rob Thomson all but assured me he'd get his big shot this year. I've known him for six years. In fact, I lived with him when I lived with my ex baseballer during the summer one year. He's super nice, would probably make a good boyfriend. He's looking to settle down. Problem? The attraction just isn't there. I don't know if it's because he's not my type, or simply because I've known him for too long (and witness a string of women he brought back to the apartment we lived in), but either way, I'm having flashbacks to my first baseball boyfriend, his former roommate. Which is not good.

Case # 2. The second is a guy I was, for all intent and purposes, "dating" for about 2 months in 2009. He was not an athlete. He worked at Barclays. He had a normal job, and a normal apartment on the East side. We did normal things, like go to dinner, watch movies, chill at parties, and try to hook our friends up with each other. And then we just...fizzled. And he moved to Cali. And I hadn't thought about him in months. And then I got a text from a number that wasn't in my phone last Thursday and it was him, asking me to hang out while he was in NYC. I partied with all his closest friends last week, all of whom I really like, spent an inordinate amount of money on tequila, then passed out basically naked with him on the couch of his old apartment. He went back to Cali on Sunday. And while the situation screams "booty call", there's more to it which is why there's confusion. I'm 25 and fucked a lot of guys, I know a booty call when I see one, okay? Don't doubt me bitches.

And next, there's the potential random. He's kind of good looking to me, but not drop dead. Good job, seems cool, laid back. Going on a possible dinner date tomorrow. But to me, he represents a blend of case # 1 and 2. He is not an athlete. He is normal (so I believe), and down to earth, with a normal job and a normal outlook on dating. No baggage, no games, no distance. But at the same time, I don't know if I'm super attracted to him. And I don't know if I like him just for the idea of him, which is where a bit of case # 1 comes in. Do I like him just because he DOESN'T wear a jersey?

I haven't seriously, seriously dated anyone in more than 2 years. I mean, throw NHLer in there, and I guess I "dated". And Barclay's guy totally counts. But I have been in love - seriously in love, like, that terrible emotion where you constantly worry that you're going to get dumped only because you like the guy so fucking much, twice in my life. First love Brian, and then Heath. Yes, despite all the hot athlete's I've fucked and met in my life, the fatty gets the L word. Embarrassing.

I remember what it felt like. Believe it or not. What it felt like to actually look forward to seeing someone, being with them, hanging with them. And my biggest fear is that I have become so non-chalant, so picky aesthetically, that that infamous 3rd love that Carrie Bradshaw spoke of quite often, will never happen. I don't know if it's me being a realist or a pessimist. My mom gave me a lecture about how I can be happy without getting married the other night, which leads me to believe she thinks I never will. And I'm starting to feel the same way.

I like a lot of guys. I bang around with a lot of guys. I have loved two guys in my life. In 25 years, 26 or so peens, 14 or so athletes, multiple countries, countless miles, numerous teams, and a shit load of jerseys, there have been two that truly mattered. And people are right. Shit clicks like a lightbulb. One second you're miserable and lonely, the next, you could get your leg blown off with a bottle rocket and you'd still be the luckiest person in the world. I remember that. But I'm worried I'm passed that.

Looks have become insanely important to me. Because I've had a guy that I've loved that I thought was insanely good looking and attractive. I crave the all American guy. And I think my mother is right - my standards might be too high. But can you blame me? Heath was a hottie. He may have been a fatty, but he was such an all American hottie. He was the kid every mother wants their daughter to bring home (until he breaks her heart and then my mother wanted to kill him). Dan Casey? The picture of bodily perfection. Sex personified. A lot of you may think I'm hideous or ugly or unattractive, but a lot of dudes didn't. And I got lucky. I found a lot of things that were attractive to me in guys I've been with. I'm having severe issues finding them again in something that sticks.

I thought Georgetown laxer had potential. He was the thinner, less laid back version of Heath. But it just fizzled out. I thought Harvard asshole could have been something, but I think that came after he fucked me over and it was more of a "want what you can't have" sitch. I loved Dan Casey's looks and personality, but I didn't love his life or his outlook on dating in general. I haven't found the combination of shit I want since Heath. And I'm starting to think I never will.

So here I'm left with three options that feel almost like a cop out. Sometimes I look at my friends who are in relationships. I might not think their sig. others are super attractive. But they seem to manage, so why can't I? Why can't I manage in a relationship that doesn't fit every standard? Why have I literally chosen to fuck around aimlessly (worth it all, trust me) with guys who I know won't lead to a relationship, instead of overlooking some shit and settling down?

It's because I remember what it felt like with Heath. And I can't imagine faking it. God, I've faked a LOT of things in my life, but usually it's to make someone else feel better or to just get sex over with. Constantly faking every single day? What's the point? I would rather have a string of hot, sexy, funny flings with athletes, than pretend I don't know what it's supposed to be like. Pretend that I don't notice something is missing. Believe it or not, I am fucking TERRIFIED of being alone. When my mom told me it was okay if I didn't get married, I burst into tears (I'm PMSing so seriously, I'm not that big of a pussy). I'm terrified of being alone, but I'm more terrified of caving and settling to not be.

Athletes keep me busy. Athletes keep my mind off of shit when I'm single. Athletes fill the random voids when I want to get laid or have a laugh or have a good time. Athletes fill for the moment what the relationship that I don't have would fill full time if it existed. And I'd rather have a little bit of it at a time, than settle for less than what I think it should be all the time.

The worst part of being a jersey chaser has been that it set my standards so high in certain parts of relationships, that I might never find a perfect combo of shit that I want to have a relationship with. Case # 1 2 and 3, all might make great boyfriends. But all of them are lacking in some way for me. And I don't mean that i'm so fucking spectacular that they don't live up to me. Heath wasn't perfect. He was fat, duh. But he had a ton of other flaws. But he was still everything I wanted at one time (not so much these days ha). I don't feel that way about the guys I just mentioned.

Maybe for now, despite the bullshit, I'll keep chasing the jersey. Maybe it'll get old, maybe it won't. But I don't think I'm ready to admit my mortality in the dating realm just yet. I'm not ready to settle so I'm not alone anymore.

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