, , , , , , ,

I have a confession to make. I am not sure if I even want a relationship.

Yes, I know I publicly exploit my dating hijinks on this blog, because, well, they deserve the exploitation. But every once in a while, the wheat separates from the chaff, and a guy who can string a sentence together wants to meet — and my first reaction is usually no.

Now, to be fair, there’s often some kind of substantiation behind that knee-jerk reaction. Like, for instance, the guy I just talked to on the phone (I usually go messages, phone calls, and then public introductions, because, I’m, well, fearful and untrustworthy), who, when I mentioned that I lived in Los Feliz said, “Oh, that’s where my friends and I used to buy our coke.” #winning

This guy also, ironically, criticized his last girlfriend (a popstar who was big in Korea, he said — and no, you can’t make this shit up) for being narcissistic, even though he was unable to ask me any questions about my life other than why I “liked” his profile and whether I was happy. Beyond that, he seemed best able to answer my questions about his own life. When I asked him what I could tell him about my life, he said, “Oh, I don’t know.”

So yeah, okay, I’m not rushing into his open arms — or to the party at his hotel suite he invited me to on Tuesday night.

But there are other guys out there. Other guys who, I’m sure, are perfectly and totally nice. I mean, there have to be, right? But whenever I try to imagine exactly with whom I could see myself sharing a life, I draw a blank. This, in large part, is why I suspect I may have to date a girl next. Because, sorry boys, I’m kind of not that into you.

Just thinking about having a relationship with a guy fills me with terror. Yes, go psychoanalyze that and send me the bill.

Now why would this be the case? Because, honestly, men have sucked.

In 2012, my heart was broken severely (as if there was any other kind) three times. Three times, a man professed his love for me (twice it involved the promise of marriage), and in all three times, it was proven to be total bullshit. And, in that same delightful year, I was cheated on by a guy who got back together with his ex but didn’t think to tell me. So yeah, 2012 rocked.

In 2011, my heart was broken by my live-in boyfriend, who told me that he didn’t really mean it when he said he wanted to marry me and have kids with me. #JustKidding

Oh, and could I move out (with our two dogs) by the end of the day?

So, understandably, in 2013, I swore off dating. I couldn’t deal with the time and emotional energy it consumed. I also got sick of taking care of other people, only to have them go MIA at the apparent drop of a hat. Still, a couple boys managed to slip through the cracks, pursuing me, convincing me to give them a chance, only to fuck off when another bright shiny object came their way (or I didn’t put out fast enough).

So yeah, 2013 rocked, too.

All of which, now, leaves me realizing that if I do date again, it’s going to have to be someone very, very kind. Someone with the perseverance to chip away at the armour I’ve built up around myself. Someone with the consistency and sweetness that will allow me to trust them. There’s a total romantic sap in there somewhere, but even I’m not exactly sure how to find her.