“Carrie: I do not pick the wrong guys. They pick me.
Miranda: So what, you're like a flystrip for dysfunctional men?
Carrie: Yeah, but one of those really pretty floral scented ones.”
--Sex and the City
I beg to disagree Ms. Bradshaw, but I think of myself otherwise. I’m more of an ambition than a trap. Quoting the New Age lingo: I am choosy. However awful the selections are, I still set standards. Egotistic much? Ah! Who am I kidding. Maybe Carrie’s right. Maybe I am that big of a magnet who repels guys I like and attracts the rest that are... what’s the term? Dysfunctional.
The Crush
I’m not talking about Atom Araullo. Yeah, he’s been my childhood dream of a boyfriend. There’s something about his intelligence that tingles my inner senses. But no can do. He’s as straight as a disco stick. So I had to come up with a replacement on the same industry. He may be one level below of him on every aspect but the charm, oh the charm, on this guy is just so palpable. It started online, chatting for 2 straight-kilig-to-death hours. We talked about our families, about our lives, about our education. But most of the chatting was focused on news and current events. After a while it got boring, ended, with me suddenly realizing, why didn’t he get my number? Maybe he thinks it’s too fast. Maybe he got intimidated with me, after all. Then it hit me, with no denial, implicit and plain: Maybe, he’s just not that into me.
The Conflict
Situation number 1 – Would you ever fall in love with your bestfriend’s ex? Harsh, right? But what if, the tides turn and you see the waves on you? Same situation but the characters play different roles. Enter Situation number 2: You had the most awful break-up with your boyfriend. You were vulnerable, that’s understandable, needs a shoulder to cry on. Apparently, this shoulder happens to be your ex-boyfriend’s bestfriend. Why was he there, you started to wonder. Why did he care, you couldn’t help but ponder. Now, the crying has gone and he’s still there. This time to make you smile. Impervious to humane emotion, your human heart started beating. Yet you’re afraid to check it, scared to know who is it beating for. Would you be decent to follow the social norm? Stop the beating heart? Granting that Stop is one direction that’s hard to follow.
The Cherky Lang
If only there’s one fuck buddy assigned to each person, then the world would be a happy place to live in. No kidding. That’s the premise. Now the conflict is when the buddy begins to ask for something more, say, a romantic relationship. Disaster, right! How hard would it be to just get hard and lie on top of me? Strings are not supposed to be attached and the only benefit you have as friends is to satisfy cravings for both libidos. Even Love is multiples pages away from Sex in the Webster’s dictionary, for Christ’s sake. Can’t a guy like me get an amazing sex-for-the-sake-of-sex only? Am I a shouting “Please love me!” kind-of-person during orgasms? So I stopped the buddy system. I cannot bear thinking that this guy pounding me restless, is also restless thinking of me as a boyfriend. I know, it’s not so General Patronage to say but I just don’t want him to expect more, from this sex and from me. I left, as horny as ever, and instead of a lay-down, I lay-low for a while.
***
I met guys. Some I attract. Others attract attention. And the rest are just goddamn attractive! To filter them all would be challenging, god forbid I don’t even know how to start the selection. The past few days taught me a thing or two about riding. I sit on a vehicle, searching for the destination. Having flair with the dramatics, I over-emote whenever the road gets bumpy. And who cares, if I reach the goal? Because for what it’s worth, drama or not, I have enjoyed every minute of it.
