no accounting for taste

This has nothing to do with anything, but before we get started, I just wanted to refer everyone to this amazing, insightful, and topical discussion on whether or not you should wear blackface on Hallowe’en.

Now that our minds have been expanded, let’s move on.

I have a rather spotty dating history.  This is a bit of an understatement, but it seems a little more polite than saying, ‘I am apparently really attracted to jerks’.  Granted, not everyone I’ve dated has been a jerk, but the numbers are disproportionately in favour of jerks.  Jerks and hot messes.  And hot mess jerks.  It’s a vicious cycle.

My Soul Mate

My Soul Mate

Me being me, I’ve spent a lot of time analyzing why this might be.  In general, I have little-to-no tolerance for people who are rude, disrespectful, or entitled — what I consider the main components of jerk-dom.  When it comes to friends, I wouldn’t say any of them are jerks, and I’ve certainly never stayed friends with a person long if they’ve shown any signs of becoming a jerk.  If I become friends with you, it’s because you’re kind and funny and you’re probably a bit of a nerd.  You’re good people.  We’ve bonded over bowties or familial problems, or one of us caught the other person quoting Oscar Wilde and started flailing.  We have a beautiful life together ahead of us, as anyone can see.

For reasons I cannot explain, these are not requirements for dating me.  And this is a serious problem.

I’m pretty sure my attraction to jerks comes from a rather obnoxious belief that everyone is secretly a nice person and just don’t know how to be open about it.  While this is a very pleasant thought, I’m beginning to learn that it’s not actually true.  Not everyone has some dark and twisted past that causes them to be curt or sullen or closed-off.  Some people were just in the loo when the Nice genes were being handed out.  Some people drank a bit too deeply of the cup of douchery.  It’s not pretty, but I’m learning that it’s true.  However, knowing something doesn’t mean you actually use the knowledge you have.  And despite my ability to sit down in a neutral setting and state all of these facts, my good sense goes flying out the window when I see Marlon Brando on a motorbike or a person masking their pretentiousness as intelligence.

Since I know the heart of the issue but have no idea how to resolve it, I recently decided to put a halt to dating activities for a while.  Before anyone gets all concerned, this isn’t so much a matter of resigning myself to a life alone with my cat (which, as we all know, is a fate I welcome anyway) as much as it is resolving to stop looking for trouble.  I’m sure my perfect mate is out there for me and one fine, glorious day, we will be together.  However, since actively seeking said perfect mate has had such calamitous results, I think it’s best I lie low for a while and allow Fate to intervene wherever she sees fit.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, depending on your perspective), I’m very dedicated when I want to be.  As a result, my moratorium on active dating has some interesting results, one of them being that I no longer register when I am flirting.  Or I’m incapable of flirting.  It’s hard to tell, really, because I can’t register when I’m flirting.

I was at a party recently and found myself talking to the only single dude in the room.  This was by no means intentional:  he had witnessed one of my infamous Star Trek rants and realized he was in good company.  Star Trek turned into NegaKhan, which turned in to The Hobbit which turned into impassioned rants about Peter Jackson.  Honestly, no one here is surprised.

The next day, I got a text from a mutual friend, wondering if aforementioned single dude had picked up on my vibes.  I didn’t know what to say.  Does fangirling about Benedict Cumberbatch count as flirting?  Is gesturing so much you spill wine on the floor because you honestly don’t understand how Azog the Defiler became the major antagonist when he is seriously only a sentence in the book a sign of Interest?  The internet age is so confusing.

This, incidentally, is an apology to anyone who wonders if I’m flirting with them or not.  Sorry, friend.  I have no idea.  And if you think I am and enjoy it, please let me know.  Because I am completely hopeless on my own.

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8 thoughts on “no accounting for taste

  1. You mean, all those times when I thought you were flirting with me……it wasn’t real? 😉

  2. “…a person masking their pretentiousness as intelligence.” this sounded like a particular individual and definitely made me giggle. Also I love that the picture you chose of B.C.C. was of him dressed as a very lovely lady. 🙂

  3. Oh, dear. Our dating history. It is so similar. WHY IS IT THAT THE DOUCHE-LORDS SOMEHOW SLIP PAST THE DECENT-HUMAN-DETECTOR? (With the remarkable exception of now-Boyfriend, who is a peach.) And flirting is foreign, because APPARENTLY fangirling about nerdy and obscure things together is flirting. …Whoops. At least we’ll get some mileage out of the stories…? *sigh*

    But for cereal, when you start up this club, I want to run for office.

    • ‘Douche-Lords’ is such an excellent term and I am totally stealing it. ‘Douchemonger’ has been getting a little stale for me. EXCELLENT WORDPLAY, FRIEND.

      I started singing about Smaug being a sexy dragon at a party. This resulted in me getting pulled aside by a girlfriend and questioned on my relations with the man I’d been talking to. It’s a conspiracy!

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