Wednesday, July 28, 2010
if ever you wanted to love me, i was always here. (Popped into my head; had to type it.)
I'm slightly blind at the moment.
Well, hold on. I'm always slightly blind; glasses since the 2nd grade will do that to a girl. But I mean figuratively.
I learned a couple of weeks ago that people I interact with - or at least share a same social group - are "interested" in me. Fittingly, they thought I was in a relationship for some unknown reason. I say fittingly, cause that's typical of how my life rolls.
Well, hold on again. During this conversation I was told that my abrasive personality creates this...um...aura, or something, but also since I have more guy friends than girls, people who don't know me assume I'm dating my guy friends I hang out with. Once people get to know me, they laugh at the ideas they had before about me dating these people.
So, there's those two things down. I'm well on my way to figuring out why an attractive, funny, smart and moderately "successful" (depending how how you want to swing that term) single twenty something never gets asked out. Modest enough, no?
Well, hold on. On the metro last weekend I did get hit on by a young black man. With plenty of seats open, he gets up from his and walks and sits next to me. I have my iPod in my ears and listening loud enough that he could probably make out every word of Quiet Riot and starts talking to me. I take out an earbud: "What?"
"I like your hair," he says. Well, there's a first. Very original. I tell him thanks. He keeps talking - asks me my name - repeats it back to me wrong - I take out the other earbud to correct him as is impulse by this point in my life - he repeats it back the same way - I correct him again "It has an 'H!" - he says it correctly. He puts out his hand with nails that are well manicured but clearly need cut (in my opinion). I stare at it for about 30 seconds before I shake it with hesitation. He says nothing, then starts to pull my hand to his face - to kiss it, I'm assuming. I pull my hand back and say "Don't do that," then reinsert Cum on Feel the Noize into both ears. He sits there for about 2 more stops, surely coolly playing off the rejection, then goes and stands by the door.
THIS IS TYPICAL. Or I just randomly get yelled at: "YEAH SEXY!" or casually hit on as I walk by. A lot. Or just stared at. (Ya, that's not creepy, guys.) What the hell?
I am the type of girl you take home to your mother. Damnit. Screaming at me walking down the street isn't going to work. Fear? Might I be just too damn sexy for people to actually approach me? Shall I start dressing like shit? Maybe I'm too honest? Or perhaps, just perhaps, I'm an asshole. And that's why I don't get asked out. Then again, I come back to that conversation where people go "Oh, yea, he was totally into you" and I go "WHAT?!".
I'm blind to these things. And then I never see him again. I'm back in middle school.
Labels: blonde moment, dating, men, relationships, self, single
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