My Imperfection

As my legions (and I mean legions!!) of devoted blog followers know, I've been doing some serious self-analysis to figure out why my relationships fall apart. Maybe it's not always the girls' fault as I've always believed. Maybe I'm not the perfect guy (even though I am). At first, I thought it was my personality, but I quickly dismissed that because my personality is second to none. There is not a single person in the world with a better personality than mine. Except for Vice President Joe Biden. His ability to spill state secrets is comedic genius. The point is, my personality is pretty much better than anyone else's. I'm also really humble. Even though I'm better than most people at most things, I only need to tell them I'm better than them once or twice. If they're really thick-headed, I may have to remind them repeatedly, I'll admit.

Since my personality can't possibly be the reason that my relationships fall apart, I began to think that maybe it has something to do with my looks.  I looked in the mirror, saw my gorgeous reflection and, though I'm as straight as they come, began to wish there was a way I could make out with myself. 

No, there wasn't anything wrong with my looks. But then it occurred to me: what if there was something wrong with my looks that I just couldn't see? Like hair growing out of my ears? So I looked in a mirror and strained to see the inside of my ears. As it turns out, you need two mirrors to do this. So I found another mirror and, you guessed it, there was no hair growing out of my ears. 

Obviously, I was stumped. I looked at my reflection, again wishing I could make out with myself. I actually licked the mirror, but it wasn't the same. It tasted vaguely of Windex. And that's when I wondered if maybe I had a lazy eye and I couldn't tell by simply looking at my own reflection. So I used my camera phone to take a video of my eyes. No lazy eye problem.

So I sat there and thought, and thought, and thought. Mostly, I thought about Marilyn Monroe, I'm not sure why. But then I started thinking about myself again. With Marilyn Monroe. But she'd be really old by now. So I imagined myself in the DeLorean time machine from Back to the Future, going back in time to date Marilyn Monroe. But something went horribly wrong, and I ended up only going back in time twenty seconds and interacting with myself twenty seconds ago, warning myself of what was going to happen in twenty seconds. But after twenty seconds went by, I no longer knew the future, so I just stared at myself. As it turned out, I didn't want to make out with myself after all.

Then I remembered what I'd started thinking about in the first place: trying to figure out why my relationships go bad. I thought about my great personality, my lack of any physical imperfection, and how I dote on any girl I might be dating. And that's when I realized what the problem is: I'm too nice. 

When I'm in a relationship, I'll get my girl flowers for no particular reason, I'll give her unsolicited back rubs, I agree with her points of view (although there have been exceptions), and I insist on doing the dishes...in short, I try to treat my girlfriends like princesses. 

All of that might sound nice, but I don't think girls want to be treated that way. I think they want to be treated badly.  I think most girls want to feel unworthy of their boyfriends and that they need to try to earn any positive emotion they get from their boyfriends.  With this realization in mind, I decided to treat girls badly. I started by calling the receptionist at work a "dame." I said, "Listen, dame, when the next fella calls, you let him know I'm out of the office. You got that, sweetcheeks?"

The receptionist's eyes went wide. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I went to the bank and called the teller a broad. It was a guy, but I was in no mood to back off of my newly cultivated bad boy image. Now I'm thinking about buying a Harley. I'll wear a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket and act bored by everyone I see. Maybe I'll take up smoking, too. Because girls dig guys who smoke while riding Harleys in their white t-shirts and black leather jackets.

And no more doing the dishes. That's for dames.

Parallels: Dentists and Relationships

I don’t understand why anyone (including me) would really want to be in a relationship.  Maybe it’s the biological imperative to reproduce that draws people together. I don’t know, I’m not a cultural anthropologist (but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night).

Wanting to be in a relationship is like wanting to go to the dentist: sure, some good might come of it, but there’s a fair chance there’s going to be pain involved, and you might not escape with all of your teeth. Not only that, but both the person you’re in a relationship with and the dentist expect you to routinely brush your teeth. And they both will tell you what to do: one will tell you to take out the garbage, the other will tell you to floss more. Maybe the answer is to simply avoid relationships and avoid dentists. On the other hand, if you have a toothache, the dentist can help. And if you have heartache, your amor can help, too.

I suppose an argument can be made that dentists and relationships are necessary evils. But both should be well stocked with Novocain.  

Single (Again) With Kids

        How do you know when the "right one" comes along? Is there a secret handshake I'm supposed to recognize? Because I just got out of a relationship with someone who seemed more "right" than I deserved. The perverse thing about the break up was that it wasn't her idea or mine, and I don't think either of us wanted to break up. In fact, we'd had a great day with the kids, but something happened (which I'm not revealing) and in that moment, we both knew that it was over. 

        Here's the thing about this girl: she's so great that even my ex-wife thinks she'd be a great step mom.  Her interaction with my children is something to behold. It is beautiful. She's an amazing girl. Sometimes I'd catch myself looking at her, simply awestruck. My children love her and they love her son. My oldest, Jackson, asked when they were coming over again and I had to break it to him that they probably weren't. That wasn't easy. It wasn't easy because, as a parent, you don't want to bring someone into your children's lives who isn't going to be around forever. I thought this girl was the one.  

        My son asked if they could come over just one more time to play. I told him probably not. He asked, "Well, don't you like her anymore?"

        "I still like her," I replied.

        "Oh, so she doesn't like you?"

        "She still likes me."

        "Well, then, why can't she come over anymore?"

        I didn't know how to argue with his simple logic. The best I could come up with was that sometimes grown ups just have to stop dating. I don't think my answer was acceptable to him. It's hardly acceptable to me.

        Jackson had t-ball practice tonight. I guess the boys don't want me to wallow in self-pity too long because, on the way home, whenever the boys saw a girl driving a car, they'd point her out so I could whistle at her. Well, Jackson was pointing out girls. Ethan was trying to trick me into whistling at other guys. He thought that was pretty funny.

        Maybe the "right one" is out there. Or maybe no matter how "right" someone is, rough spots will need polishing. If so, it's possible that the "right one" just got away. 

        Regardless, I am Single (Again) With Kids.