The Two Types Of Guys That There Are
Seems to me that there are two kinds of guys in this world.
Guys that I like, and guys that like me. There is no overlap in this Venn Diagram.
Guys That Like Me. They could be ugly, they could be very hot. They range from smart but not deep to dumb but earnest. And by “range” I mean they are either one of those things. They think that I am smart and/ or pretty and/ or cute and/ or fun to be around and/ or chill and/ or tolerable but mostly because they either aren’t looking for more than a brunette who is conscious or someone who fits the freakishly-detailed but completely bloodless list they made for themselves when they first started ‘seriously looking.’
Guys that like me like to buy me things, compliment me, cuddle, know my tastes, return my calls, ask me probing questions, do awesome sex shit to me without demanding reciprocation, do awesome sex shit to me period, and pretty much anything else I wish a guy I actually liked would do to me.
Guys that like me want to hang out with me more often than I want to hang out with them. This is where it begins to be a problem. Typically these guys are needy, or in reality that’s just how I perceive them because they are s000 over-invested based on how little they actually know me.
Guys that like me trick me into seeing them longer than I otherwise would with the following tactics: a) compliments, b) elaborate, often bewildering dates (“Wait, we’re going to bar number five tonight? Why did you pack a lunch? Why are we in Wisconsin?”), c) back massages, d) that sex shit I mentioned earlier, e) boredom/ idle curiosity.
Guys that like me will never win because as it turns out at the moment of truth, no, I don’t want to ______ your ______, ever. I’m not some kind of diva bitch, but damn, I can’t feel attracted to you if I feel like you’re obsessed with me for reasons that have absolutely noting to do with ‘me.’
Guys That I Like. They don’t even have to be attractive. Honestly. In fact they probably aren’t, which is why my walls were down far enough to allow me to get on their hook. On that note, there is something really quirky about them that I find attractive — they had a weird niche minor in college, they have an obsessive and bizarre yet respectable hobby, or maybe they’re just really dumb and cute.
Without a doubt they over-communicate, whether it’s by spending 10+ hours a day on Gchat, texting incessantly, or hopefully both. This is crucial because it (probably falsely) makes me feel like we are ‘getting to know each other’ and that some level of investment/ dependency (not in the creepy way) is being fostered.
Guys that I like seem to actually understand the things about me that are likable. That I’m smart and interesting and sassy and loyal. Guys that I like seem to actually understand the things about me that you could only know from spending time around me and actually paying attention to me. That I get anxious when watching movies because I can’t wait to find out what happens, that I don’t check my mail because I’m afraid to see a bill even though I’m fine with paying it, that I always drink a beer in the shower when I’m getting ready to go out.
Guys that I like will always like me back, but will never admit to themselves — or to me — that I am what they are looking for because it’s not as easy being with a dumbass that hangs on their every word. Because I will call them on their bullshit and tell them when they are being disrespectful. Because my demand for reciprocity makes them feel intimidated. But mostly because whatever it is that makes them interesting and deep also makes them incapable of commitment and selfish and generally just really awful human beings, to me and to probably everyone else.
So in conclusion… if you are by some miracle the middle ground between these two points, um… call me?
A | A | A
If you’ve been looking for a chance to say something then this very well could be it.
I wish to God I’d had a list like this when I was 23.
Answer phones better than anyone else has answered phones before. Relay messages so brilliant, they bring people to tears. Turn the coffee run into the choreography of Swan Lake. Become best friends with every intern and every underling and every taxi driver you encounter.
I remember taking the pen and notebook from that woman outside the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in the book, and writing, JESSICA IS SAD in big, bold, uncoordinated letters. “My sister is going to be a good writer someday! Look at how nice her lines are!”