Have you, like, ever dated a normal guy?
We had all had a bit too much to drink
and the conversation had abruptly become about my seemingly permanent single-hood.
At first the question seemed ludicrous.
Then I paused a minute
and skipped through the last three or four men
I bit my lip and finally announced:
of course I have,
my last serious relationship was a normal guy.
Yes, we all remember, but that was two years ago and every guy you’ve seen since
well, they have not been run of the mill
and haven’t you thought that maybe that’s why you’re so…single?
They were, of course, correct.
A professional athlete,
a surgeon with a Ph.D in medicinal chemistry and a 7th degree black belt,
a nine fingered multi millionaire
a Hollywood executive,
Villaraigosa’s possible successor.
They were correct:
in the two years that followed that last serious relationship
I had made a name for myself
amongst my friends, that is,
for having the most absurd roster of men playing for my team
although admittedly usually quite briefly
before demanding a trade
or simply retiring.
What in god’s name keeps me from finding someone…
“normal?”
[not that I am one to define the word in the first place]
Would I not be happier with a young professional who wants to just see a movie
rather than
a womanizing son of a bitch who wants to fly to New York for the weekend?
Probably for a few days
but it is my own penchant for trouble
my own thirst for success, knowledge and power
that flashes a coy smile when one of them sends over a drink.
It’s the ones who speak
cautiously, but loud enough for everyone to hear
the ones who walk with purpose
and they purposefully walk the line
between confidence and arrogance
with such grace
you can’t help but applaud them
and they will bow and they will wink and they will smile
and they will watch you watch them.
They drink, they smoke, they fuck
they try, they fail, they wish
they’re not perfect
but they don’t pretend to be.
That lack of pretense stems from these men knowing their flaws
and acknowledging them, owning them, wielding them as weapons;
if that is not the most exceptional thing about them
then I certainly have this all wrong.
And if that is the case,
that I am backwards,
that down is up, and up is down
perhaps in 2012 a wave of “normal” men will catch my attention
perhaps in 2012 I will put my matches down and stop playing with fire
perhaps in 2012 I’ll tame one of these mother fuckers.
None of the above is likely
but hey,
I said perhaps after all
and maybe I like being backwards.
