Girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money.

Every gal throughout the course of her pursuit of friendship/dating/socializing career has, at some point, bookmarked a fella or two (..seven?) who have stood out - due to circumstance, personality, or otherwise. Men have the uncanny ability to lead our emotions to the extreme when we are invested in them.  They can make us feel like a million bucks, and yet how converse that they can make us lose sleep and question our ability to make any type of rational decision. Scoundrels!

So, who is more particular? Men? Women? Why do we, as females, react the way we do to men? Why is everyone so mysterious?  My parents are convinced that I'm the pickiest girl in the ENTIRE world when it comes to dating.  To defend myself, I can only explain that I am very meticulous about my taste in men. I mean, wouldn't you rather be alone, than settle? Think about it. I'd rather be barefoot than suffer in a pair of uncomfortable heels, no matter how pretty they are.

Upon moving back to MB, my balmy interaction with the handsome guy working in the office down the hall from me at my new job was enough to spark my social anxiety to new heights.  For the sake of the story, let's call him Romeo.  He was taller than me, dark, and very handsome.  Most girls fall for the whole musician thing - not really my cup of tea, but that didn't deter me from wanting to touch his arm as he passed me in the hallway.

One day, he popped his head into my office.

"Hey, lady." He grinned, exposing pearly whites, and I spilled half my coffee onto my keyboard.

"Oh, hey." I said, as breathily as possible, trying to ignore the searing pain of hot coffee droplets on my forearm. 

I flipped my hair back nonchalantly, and my fingers instantly tangled in the midst of my split ends.

DAMMIT.

"Wanna go for lunch with me?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully and I had to bite my tongue to keep from leaping out of my chair and lunging in the general vicinity of my jacket.  I methodically counted to two-and-a-half....

"Love to!" I didn't even make it to three. My fingers were still interlaced in my knotted mane.

"Great!" His shoulders slumped under the weight of his very visible alleviation. "I'm meeting an old co-worker and reallllly do not want to go alone.  I need a third wheel to keep the conversation going.  Everyone else in the office has already left for lunch, so I guess it's you and me, kiddo."
My heart dropped.  I don't even want to begin to dissect all of the things wrong with all of that. Let's just move on....

His restaurant of choice was about 5 blocks away, and it was pouring rain.  I looked like the back end of a drowned rat by the time I peeled off my jacket at the table once we had reached indoors.  Lunch was awkward (are you surprised?) so I drank my feelings, and then I spent the remainder of the afternoon in the office bathroom trying to dry myself under the automatic dryer. There would be no second date.

Romeo gave his two weeks shortly after that, after accepting a job much more tailored to his musical, gypsy soul.  At his going away party, I was the lone country girl in a circle of socialist, city boys.  Romeo told us a story about a girl he had taken on a date.  Romantic dinner, floor tickets to a sold-out John Mayer show, and when he went in for the slow, goodnight kiss on her front step... she told him she 'just wasn't that into him'. (I bet she was blonde).  She left him outside on the front porch with a heavy heart and an empty wallet. Romeo continues the story by saying he was so disgusted with the amount of effort he had just devoted to this ungrateful girl that he stormed off to the bar to meet up with his friends and proceeded to burn it to the ground. Upon reaching the bar, his apathy took a turn for the worst and his blatant disrespect towards the waitress was noted by everyone at his table; even vocalized by his friends.  Romeo made no apologies and continued his rude behaviour towards her even to go so far as to withhold her tip and make her cry.  The waitress hadn't done anything wrong.  But she was a woman and therefore an extension - and reminder - of his fateful date.  Basically the moral of the story is she must have had all kinds of special daddy-issues, because Romeo took her home at the end of the night.

Why does this happen? Who are these girls? Why are they giving us such a bad name?  I stood in the circle of metrosexual men, trying to defend every good country girl's honour, but these gents would have none of it.  

"Girls seek the chase," Romeo explained his theory.  "Every girl claims to want the quintessential 'nice guy', but it's not true.  The first girl, I wined and dined and took her on the most amazing date, and she wanted none of it.  I treated the waitress from the bar like trash, and she couldn't get enough of me."

The reality he presented to me that night was far too crude to be authorized by my heart. Every girl wants a good guy. A great guy. Am I right?

Then, one day, out of the blue - it struck me.  Romeo was right. Think about it!  Dust off the history books of your life and take a spin through the pages.  Think about the big loves in your life - how did they happen? What's your story? 

The last boy I dated was a heart attack on speed.  I chased him, I begged him, I prayed for him, I screamed at him, and I think I could have honestly shot him some days.  But I loved him. (At least I thought I did.) Nothing about our relationship was easy or uncomplicated.  He was wild and I couldn't tame him, but God knows I sure tried.  In the end he broke my heart like I knew he would, but I had no one to blame by myself.  What am I searching for? Why does my heart seek out the strays that need to be fixed and loved and tamed? No, no, don't leave me, I can't live without the abuse! I need you! Please, stay, and continue to treat me like garbage. Right? What is this about.

A short time after he and I had parted ways, a boy from church asked me to 'hang out sometime' (that's like a date, right?) and as I began to spend time with him, I quickly realized that my feelings for him paralleled warm milk.  This boy was so darling, so what's my problem? He was handsome, down to earth, polite, laid-back and loved Jesus with his whole heart. He was practically perfect! I would amp myself up each time before seeing him, convincing myself what a good man he is, and how it would be so refreshing to date somebody so grounded.  But every time I would see him, I would feel like I was letting part of myself down - my heart.  He was willing to make our relationship into something more, and I knew that I would never be able to allow it.  There is nothing wrong with white bread; it's just not for me.  

Perhaps I am blessed with a polarizing personality that restrains me from living a balanced lifestyle.  Perhaps Romeo was right, and that every girl wants some sort of chase, throwing caution to the wind and raising our blood pressure to soaring new heights.  Perhaps I need to invest in some girl friends....