What do I know?

Yesterday I found out that my coworker, C, who I absolutely HATE (yeah in CAPS), met her husband on eHarmony.com. I must be a horrible person because that news just made my day. I shouldn't talk, I've done match.com...twice. Both times a complete failure. I tried to sign up for eHarmony, but was rejected. I like to convince myself that match isn't working for me because I'm not completely invested in it the way you should be, that really, I'm not trying hard because i know that this isn't where I want to meet someone. I found this pic that I think sums it up...


I'm sure that many people have found love through online dating sites, but to me, I feel like you can't really know who people are by a profile. I'm sure that there are plenty of nice guys on the site, but maybe they aren't so savvy with their profile skills, and so I will never even think to "wink" at them. The guys I did end up emailing or "winking" never responded. Instead, the only people to contact me were either over 40, obese, and extremely not my type.

Maybe I'm too picky. People always tell me, "Give him a chance, maybe you'll learn to like him." I've done that before though, and I know this sounds really stubborn, but I have a sense of people almost immediately after I meet them. I can tell within 5 minutes of meeting someone whether or not I find them attractive. Oh, I should mention, I have absolutely no sense of physical attraction. I've known so many women who will see a guy and think "Oh my God, he's so hot!" while I'm thinking "Are you serious? Him?" Part of me thinks that I unknowingly trained my brain to ignore the common rules of attraction (symmetrical features, common standards of beauty) because throughout my life, these people have only ended up hurting me. That's just my theory. In reality, I've only really found 3 people attractive in my whole life.

Boy # 1: D
Before I went off to college, we were required to attend a freshmen orientation. We were broken up into groups and were assigned “orientation leaders.” These were upperclassmen who would give us insight into the college experience. Each group had two leaders and one of mine happened to be D. He was a skinny, quirky, red-haired sophomore that totally got me hooked. I’m not sure exactly what it was about him, but I was caught, hook, line, and sinker. This was no ordinary crush either, this one lasted the whole three years that we were both at college. I was the obligatory puppy dog crushee. I would go to parties if I knew he would be there, or I would show up at his dorm just to see him and drunkenly harass him. Probably the thing that instigated this crush was the fact that he was always the perfect gentleman. He would always politely entertain my shenanigans and would always be nice to me. For this, I loved him even more. Well, one drunken night of our Spring Weekend together, towards the end of the academic year, I mulled up enough courage to tell D exactly how I felt about him. I told him that I thought he was cute and nice and that I had a crush on him. And in his traditional polite way, he told me that he just didn’t see me that way. After years of trying to build my self-confidence, I was shot down by the one guy I thought I had a chance with. I guess it was all a lesson learned.

Boy #2: A
So, thinking that my loss of D was the end of all things love, I went into senior year thinking that this was going to be a love/lust-free year with no interferences of boys. Boy, was I wrong. Senior year I lived in a townhouse (that I had also lived in junior year when I got back from my semester abroad in London-another story) in one of the two courts for upperclassmen housing. We moved into the dorms in September of 2001 with the usual familiar faces of our senior classmates and a few new junior faces that we did not know. One of these junior faces was A, who moved into one of the rooms downstairs on the boy’s side of the townhouse. At first, I thought he was a nice, quiet guy who seemed a little dorky. Through the course of the semester, I found out a few things about A that seemed to peek my interest. First, I learned that he was a Religious Studies minor (I was a Religious Studies major, although I was an atheist-again, a whole other story). I learned that he was a religious guy, which, tying into my atheistic beliefs, I found to be sort of a challenge. Okay, I’m twisted, but I find it sort of satisfying to tempt men of religious beliefs (I used to have a high school fantasy of seducing a priest, although now, it makes clear sense that they’d much prefer young boys). Along with finding out his major, I discovered that A also liked the same kind of music that I did, a rarity at the uber-trendy Abercrombie & Fitch mentality of my college. How it also came up that he was into pot is another mystery, probably a result of the act, but at some point he expressed interest in going with me and my roommate out for “walks” to the nature trail in the woody area of the college's grounds. Soon the walks seem to not include my roommate and on one night in December, close to the final exam period, A and I hooked up. We didn’t have sex, but we made out and whatnot for about a week, until the winter break. I was smitten. I was convinced that he was into me and I was into him. I chose to ignore the fact that he had just broken up with his girlfriend of three years and chose to ignore the fact that I could possibly be just a rebound girl. Needless to say, come time to move back into the dorms in January, he did not feel the same. I went on a ridiculous drama, angst depression, which I’m sure scared the shit out of him. It was not his fault, I blame it on twenty years of rejection, ridicule, and self-loathing. I have to say, it was not a fun year.

Boy #3: T
While in my Master's program last year, I met T. We’d been chatting in class and on the bus and was getting to feel like he might be flirting with me. So one day I grew balls and asked him to meet me after work for drinks. Shockingly, he said yes. Drinks were good, conversation was good, and we ended up getting dinner. When we said bye, he said “see ya in class?” and I asked him what he was doing that weekend. So we made tentative plans to hang out and soon were emailing constantly that week, flirting all the while. He came down to my neck of the woods and we went to dinner and then out to a bar for drinks. I got a little tipsy, shocker, and we ended up making out on my couch. Well, I couldn’t get comfortable, so we moved into the bedroom where we continued to hook up. After a while, he stopped me and said that he wanted to let me know that he didn’t want to get involved in anything serious because he just got out of a long relationship. I was so pissed. I don’t know why he agreed to go out with me in the first place. What the fuck? I know it was probably my own fault for being so easy, but I just couldn't help it. It had been what? 5 YEARS since I was interested in a guy, and I'm sorry, but I have some needs too ya know!

So that's it, my pathetic history with men. Well, not all of it. There is one thing I haven't confessed. I'm not a virgin, at least not as of one year ago today. I'm not proud of it. at. all. This is what I do remember. It all happened the day of a beer festival that I went to with A, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend. Mind you, this was about a week or two after T totally rejected me. First, we thought it would be a good idea to smoke pot beforehand...bad idea. So by the time we arrived at the festival, we were already toasted. Four quick beers later, I was ridiculously trashed. I remember getting beers, going to the porto-potties, hanging out with my friends. Then on one trip to the bathrooms, I met Andrew (I don't mind using his name because, well, you'll see). I have no idea how I started talking to him or what made him want to keep talking to me, but for the rest of the time, we were attached at the hip. He was a financial adviser from Philadelphia up on business. He went to Villanova. He was Polish, with a Polish last name, which I cannot remember. At some point we started kissing while we were at the festival. This is where it gets foggy. I proceeded to black out multiple times. I have no recollection of leaving the festival without telling my friends, getting a cab with him, and coming back to my apt. I also don’t remember leaving my purse in the cab, which had my keys and cell phone in it. No worries, I broke into my apartment, apparently my door is easy to push open. Then, the next thing I remember is having sex with him in my bed. It hurt. A lot. I bled everywhere. We used lube, but not a condom. I can’t figure that one out since I had just bought a pack of condoms just in case I was ever in this predicament. I don’t remember if I asked him to stop or if he even finished. The whole thing is so fast in my mind. The next thing I remember after that is him dressed sitting on my living room chair calling for a cab. I wish I could remember more, but maybe it’s better that I don’t. I took a morning after pill, just in case, and got tested for everything under the sun. Luckily, I'm ok. I don’t know what I was doing, I don't know if it was a reaction to being rejected, if it was just dumb drunkenness, I'm not sure. I'm not proud of it. I wish I could forget it all. I mean, I don't remember a lot of it, and what I do remember doesn't even seem like reality. It's almost like it didn't happen. Almost.

I haven't kissed, dated, or even really engaged in conversation with a guy since then. I really don't see the point. I think I've resigned myself to spinsterhood. I think it'll just be easier.

I might delete this post.