Sex & Love
FFJD Guest Post: I Heart Weirdos
Let’s read on about her horrible choices in men, but wonderful tastes in friends. Read More
In today’s guest post, we examine an old friend’s woe: namely, that she likes guys with epic issues. Call it Mommy Syndrome, maybe? Jo and I have been friends ever since we were awesome (read: uncool) in fourth grade together. She had an unfortunate haircut. I was “ahead of my time,” as like to say, and used to wear about ten scrunchies at once. But that’s neither here nor there, because Jo and I have gone on similar bloggy wogging paths.
SO let’s read on about her horrible choices in men, but wonderful tastes in friends.
“I’m that girl who always gives guys the benefit of the doubt … even when there is absolutely no doubt that he is a complete loser. Why, you ask, does someone who is college-educated, reasonably socially competent, and doesn’t have any noticeable troll-like features, insist upon chasing degenerates and delinquents?
If you can diagnose me, dear god, hand over those purple pills.
It’s not the bad boy syndrome – sorry, motorcycle helmet hair doesn’t really turn me on – it’s just that if I feel a connection with someone, I want to assume the best in them regardless of all the obvious warning signs. I keep telling myself, hey, I’m an awkward person with a penchant for word vomit, maybe this boy didn’t mean to send me that humiliating drunken message or was just kidding when he said he liked “The Bachelorette.”
But usually the drunken message was symptomatic of his frat boy A-game and he actually applied to be on “The Bachelorette” but failed the psych test.
To be fair, my love life does provide endless hours of entertainment for my friends, who frequently compare it to a “Rock of Love: Bus” episode or watching Snooki try to dance (read: waddle) at a club, but sometimes having my personal life provide endless material for stand-up comedian friends (fact) and my future imaginary book deal, just isn’t enough.
But just like Snooki, I keep getting back up again to bust a move, even though I usually end up busting my face. Let’s take a little journey through my most recent disaster dates, shall we?
First there was my ex-boyfriend (let’s call him Jim) who I’m fairly sure lived in the “Fight Club” house (red flag #1). He was from Jersey (red flag #2), he still lived with his parents (red flag #3, though technically he lived in an apartment above his parents, but as aforementioned, the apartment looked like it should be covered in caution tape).
Oh, and then there was that little incident where I thought he was possessed (red flags #4-15). No, seriously – that was my therapist’s professional opinion: that my boyfriend had some sort of otherworldly connection. As Meredith says, you can’t make this drek up.
The abridged version of the long and chilling story is that he and his friends took me (against my will) on a creepy drive through some supposedly haunted road in bumfuck New Jersey. Jim was driving but suddenly stopped the car, rolled down the window, stared out into the woods and started whispering about something being in the car. I’m not even kidding – from that moment on he was a totally different person. He wouldn’t speak to me or look at me, and didn’t snap out of it for days.
Needless to say, we broke up the next week, but that was more about his dislike of Thai food. WHO DOESN’T LIKE THAI FOOD?! (Red flag #16, aka deal-breaker.)
Then there was that co-worker I dated who was a hipster 11 years my senior, had recently checked himself into a mental institution, was still living with his ex-fiance (whom he had asked to marry him after two months), and was dead broke. And by dead broke I mean sometimes he didn’t eat.
So of course, Jewish mother mode kicked in – I fed him, asked my cousin to let him sublet his old room, talked him through his endless emotional issues and even overlooked his tattoo and propensity for crying like a baby … all because we had a connection.
While there are countless other examples in my checkered dating past, I’ll leave you with one last gem. When I was looking for roommates I thought I had found the hidden secret to NYC dating: Instead of living with the cute guy who checks out your apartment, ask him out on a date!
So that’s exactly what I did with this adorable Irish boy whose accent and job promoting Irish whiskey won me over. All was going well until I was leaving a “Jersey Shore” finale party and got a phone call that he was coming over. A little confused, I told him I’d be home in 15 minutes so just wait outside because my roommate was probably asleep.
When I got home, I found out he had banged on my door until my half-asleep roommate recognized his accent and let him in. He was bombed out of his mind, belligerently demanded sex (which he did not get) and refused to leave my bed. I literally had to let him stay over because, despite his diminutive frame, there was no way I could have forced him out without a bull horn and a restraining order.
While this may have been the one time I actually didn’t give someone the benefit of the doubt (Irish boy and I never spoke again), I have since made countless errors in dating judgment and have clearly not learned my lesson.
Like I said earlier: Someone send me a doctor – preferably a cute Jewish one without mommy issues.”