If It Ain’t Broke…
Maybe we should start at the end – mainly because I don’t know what to tell you about the beginning of your plight. As you’ve already sideways-referenced, if it weren’t for bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all. This is only sexy when it’s part of a blues song… When it happens in real life, it’s time for as you said, a makeover.
Not that you’re one step away from needing a complete overhaul, but where do we start? To be honest, I’m really bored with the whole exterior makeover approach. We all do this, men and women, but it’s always been a complete waste of time and it still is. I know the makeover you’re describing is from the inside out, and that’s simply one more damn good thing about you. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – we are who we are. The gym, the dentist and the kitchen are the places where we can choose to become the best version of who we are, but it’s not a different version.
So what are you supposed to do, change your attitude or completely revamp your personality? I’m not a big believer in the first and I’ll shoot you between the eyes if you even consider the second. First of all, you couldn’t change who you are if you wanted to, and you and I both know you don’t want to. You like being funny. You like baseball. You like being more comfortable with the sly bullshit of a man’s world than the lame bullshit of a woman’s. I don’t blame you. I agree with you. You can’t change, and you shouldn’t change. Maybe we need to look at it another way.
Let’s break it down, one supposed flaw at a time. You’re funny – a lot of guys don’t like a woman to be funny. I can see it, but I don’t get it. As a man, there’s not a more charming and disarming moment than when the woman you are with cracks you up. I don’t know about the guys you date, but I would love to hear you burp the alphabet. I thought I was the only one who knew how to do that.
You’re “too cool.” I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t your problem. Well, it’s your problem because you think that it’s the reason your love life is stuck in neutral. But it’s not your problem because it’s the problem of the fourteen year-old boy that resides deep within almost every man. When we were fourteen, every book and movie and older brother drilled into us that there were girls, and there were girlfriends. Girls made you comfortable and made you laugh and could beat you at tennis. Girlfriends smiled, but rarely laughed and kept you on edge and didn’t like to sweat. It didn’t make sense then, and it doesn’t make sense now – except to that fourteen year-old boy that still resides in all of us. You’re not the criminal in this mix… You’re the victim.
So I guess I’m not much help, because I don’t think you should change at all. Okay, maybe a little… Maybe the Converse should go to Goodwill. Maybe you should let the guy hail the cab next time. Tweaking is always acceptable. None of us is perfect. But total changes? Not on my watch.
Here’s the only change I wouldn’t mind seeing you make. I wouldn’t mind if you stopped trying to figure out what you’re doing wrong and started feeling good about what you’re doing right. But even that would be a change I can personally live without. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I always say… And you ain’t broke – although it sounds as if your credit rating might be at least a tad in need of an overhaul.
For better or worse, we are who we are. It will always feel so much better to embrace this fact than to fight it. Besides, if you stop drinking beer, what are we going to do the next time I see you?
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Make Me Over
The time has come. I have one hundred percent, totally and completely had it. And not just had it, HAD it – in all areas. Life as I know it seems for lack of a better word, just plain fucked.
One would say I’ve had a string of bad luck. But to have bad luck, one has to have luck. And I have none. Zero. Believe me, I’m not feeling sorry for myself. Yes, it could be worse. It could always be worse. But right now, it would seem that it is – worse. Worse than ever.
I’m on the brink of financial devastation. Not just starving writer money woes, but the worst debt of my life, haven’t gone to the grocery store in a month, using travel shampoos, selling my belongings on Craigslist kind of woes. And it’s summer. There is nothing worse than being broke during summer. It’s like going to camp and forgetting your bathing suit. You’re watching everyone having a great time, and all you can do is watch.
We’ve established that I can be a little clumsy. Lately, if there is something for me to trip over, fall on, drop on myself or walk into, I do it. And as if that weren’t enough, my apartment almost burned down with me in it. I’m fine, but it killed every electronic I own. Perfect timing. Oh, and then it flooded – again.
And for some reason, my singleness is worse than ever. Chain smoking Irish Italian Actor, Ex-Boyfriend and Pothead Guy included, it would seem that my dating train has completely derailed.
Case in point: Recently I was hanging out with some friends and the single guy in the group was sitting next to me, chatting away. He’s not really my type, but hey, he’s breathing and single, so why not. Actually, he’s really funny, which quite honestly is my main criteria. I can get over the under-bite (maybe). At one point in the conversation he said, “You know we can’t ever date, right? Because you’re so cool I want to keep you in my life as my friend.”
Okay, so I know that was supposed to be a compliment, but WTF? Why am I always that girl? In high school I was best friends with the hottest guy in school. We hung out all the time, we liked all the same stuff, and he came to ME with his girl problems. In college, it was more of the same, and this time with a whole fraternity. In my twenties, same… Thirties? Yep, it’s my twenties all over again. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had plenty of boyfriends (this is me we’re talking about), but the M.O. of most guys is they want to be my friend because I’m “cool.” Hey, you yourself fall into that category, remember?
So, in light of this latest “you’re cool so I don’t want to date you” declaration, I think I need a makeover. Not the new wardrobe, fancy haircut kind of makeover (although I could use both). No, I need a single girl makeover. I need to be less “cool.” Less, “one of the guys.” So, no more beer. And no more yelling at whatever sports are on the big screen, and no more knowing the game I’m yelling about. No more Converse. No more burping the alphabet, no more whistling for a cab. I’m going all girl – dresses, makeup and martinis – no, white wine spritzers. I’m wearing heels with my bikini. Wait, that’s a hooker makeover. But you get my point.
Jesus. I’m bored already.
So what do I do? I know what you’re going to say – you’ve said it before… That the right guy is going to come along, and appreciate the fact that I’m cool. And he’ll think it’s hot that I drive like a guy and love sports and hate shopping and he’ll want to date me. But if that were the case, it would have already happened. So it has to be time for drastic measures. I have to change it up. I have to flip the switch.
Get ready.
Congratulations, it’s a girl.
