It seems like most everyone has a type. Some girls go for the ruggedly handsome tattooed fellas, some girls go for the preppy accountant types, some go for the gym rat who does cross-fit on the reg. Most of us have a kind of guy we gravitate to, whether we do it intentionally or not.
I never have been a girl with a type. In fact, there is no predicting the next guy I’ll go for. I’ve dabbled on both extremes. You could line up all my exes and you’d probably be shocked at the variety. As you can piece together in my previous blogs, I’ve dated men much older than me. I’ve also dated men a few years younger. I’ve dated men with sleeves of tattoos and men without a mark on them. I’ve dated bankers, car salesmen, UPS drivers, Lawyers, golfers, and even on an occasion, the unemployed.
Despite the swings in age and profession, I think what always throws me off is how I either end up with the wild party guy, or the straight-laced gentleman who doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol. I’m not really sure how both kinds of these men are attracted to me. I guess I’m a bit of a reformed party girl. I enjoy a night out fairly often, but most nights I’m at home and in bed by 10 PM. I think perhaps the wild ones want a bit of stability, and the more reserved want a little bit of spice.
I’d really like to find a balance of the two. I’d like to find a guy who can have a drink or two, and it doesn’t turn into shots and 4 am mornings crawling out of a strip club. I’d also like to have a glass of wine at dinner on a Tuesday and not get a raised eyebrow. Can’t I just get a nice guy with a touch of a wild streak? Are all of them snatched up already? Do I have to wait for another round of divorces? Are there any left?
Maybe it’s an age thing… Maybe the occasional partier is now reformed because he has his children on the weekends. Maybe the big partier has given up on growing up, or worse is drowning himself so he doesn’t have to deal with his reality.
Maybe by the time you’re in your thirties there isn’t such a thing as balance when it comes to social activities. Maybe by this time we’ve all picked a side. Am I the only one saddling the fence with a glass of cab?
I’m not going to ask “where have all the good guys gone?” I know the answer to that question. They’re around. I could have one if I wanted to tone myself down a bit, which I’m not wont to do. I’m going to ask, “Where is the male version of me?” That’s really what I’m looking for. I’m starting to feel like Goldilocks; too wild, too boring, where’s Mr. Just Right?