Seeking John Galt

Just in time for a new season filled with weekly doses of Tim Gunn, I’ve discovered another infestation.

They’re in my closet, this time.  And frankly, I’m not at all sure how they’re pulling this off.

Because I no longer own a scale, my clothes are generally the way I determine whether I’ve been eating/working out in an appropriate ratio.  And the gnomes?  Have clearly been messing with them.

My work pants all either fit perfectly well, or are slightly loose.  Except for one pair that, when I bought it last year, was loose.  Now?  They are snug.  

But they are the only pair.  Every other pair, even those that were tight-ish last year?  Loose or just right.  And unless I have more concrete evidence, I’m not giving up nutella for a pair of pants that’s trying to defy the laws of physics.

Either my closet, or my drycleaner, has an infestation. I’d buy a wretched scale, but:

(1)  What woman in her right mind sets herself up for her first weigh-in in 3 years, at Thanksgiving?

(2) Wouldn’t the gnomes just mess with that, too?

I think I might need to conduct an experiment, which of course would involve the purchase of new pants.   In the name of science, and all…

But thankfully, that’s just me.  

Alternate Title:   How NOT to Get Engaged.

Don’t do it six weeks after you met the person, for starters.  Definitely don’t do it less than three months into your freshman year of college.  Really don’t do it when you’ve lived most of your life controlled and sheltered by well-meaning, but overprotective parents, so you have no idea of how to be independent before latching onto another human being.

Don’t do it because he’s the first guy who’s interested in all of you - not just your 18-year-old physical self, but your brain and your heart.  Don’t do it just because he’s the first male non-relative with whom you’ve had all-night conversations every night for the first week since you met. 

Don’t do it when he tries to humiliate you in front of your mutual friends, to make himself seem like an alpha male who’s in control.  Don’t do it when he maybe gets a little pushy in arguments, and don’t do it just because he never actually closed his fist.

Don’t do it because he’s obviously beside himself to get to show you off.  Don’t do it when you realize that you come from completely different backgrounds/upbringings, because you think it would be boring to have developed the same goals and values.  Don’t do it because you’re both so terrified of being alone that you feel safer being miserable, together.

And really, REALLY.  Don’t ever, ever do it in a bowling alley.  Just take my word for that, please.

*******************************

I know a fair amount about how not to do it. 

The great thing is that lately, I’ve been getting to see some wonderful examples of how it should be done, ways that are unquestionably the right way.  People who have figured out who they are, and then found each other, and developed an understanding of how they’ll work as a team.

Miss Andrist, best wishes for your upcoming nuptuals. And thank you, and your intended, for providing such an excellent example of how to do it the right way.  I’m so happy for you I could plotz!

It’s a misnomer, but I think it’s a funny one.  This guy obviously had things he cared about in his life, things that were really important to him.  What was almost too amusing to be insulting, was his complete and utter lack of motivation to actually go on a date with (just) me.

So I met him through friends, during a celebration.  It was a great night, and I certainly thought there was some chemistry - at least, more so than with other people I had met recently.  After the main event, we had a great conversation at a bar, and went our respective ways at the end of the night.  He got my number, and a light peck.

About five or six days later, there was a message in my voicemail.  We traded correspondence, and we made plans to meet up for an event he had already planned to attend with his roommate.   I was fine with this - having other people around gives you a chance to get to know the person’s friends, and takes some of the pressure off.

The next date was also tandem, largely due to preplanned activities and scheduling conflicts elsewhere.  When the third outing proposed was also a group event, I had to back away slowly.  It was becoming readily apparent that this was never going to be a one-on-one activity.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that - it’s just not my cup of daquiri tea.

Anyway, I’ll see you all tonight, hopefully!

K:  Nooooboooddyyy knooowwwws… the trouble I’ve seeeennnn…

DT:  Ha.  ha.  You know you’re even worse at singing than I am, right?

K:  Yeah, I do.  Just like you know you’re sucking at life, right?

DT:  Has anyone told you how closely you resemble my mother?

K:  Hey now, that’s uncalled for.

DT:  (steely gaze)

K:  I was merely suggesting that perhaps you just need to get over yourself and stop wallowing.  It’s decidedly unattractive.  People want to be around cheery and happy, and not someone who’s sulky and tired all the damn time.

DT:  Well, but… I have been a lot more tired for no good reason.

K:  Fake it.  You made it through three years of law school, two bar exams, and I don’t even know how many times you’ve had to pretend to be happy to wear some godawful satin dress and carry a bunch of flowers around.  You’re a much better actress than you give yourself credit for.

DT:  And then what?

K:  I suspect that if you just pretend to be cheery, you’ll eventually get over yourself and just, well… be cheery.

DT:  That’s your brilliant plan.

K:  Yep.

DT:  Fantastic.

I was engaged when I was in college.  Whirlwind romance, yadda yadda yadda.  Because we (stupidly) got engaged so shortly after we met, our friends were pretty much the same group of people, and a big part of our social life centered around his fraternity.

Our sophomore year, he cheated* on me.  Things went to hell in a handbasket, and I broke up with him.  We agreed to try to be friends, since we couldn’t really split up the group.  Obviously, the girls were more sympathetic to me, the guys to him.  Still, I attended parties, with the understanding that I wouldn’t blatantly flirt/hit on anyone while I was there, out of respect and sensitivity.  I didn’t. 

But someone said I had.  Someone told the ex that I had been flirting with another guy all night, that I had invited someone back to my room.  A few minutes later, the president of the fraternity (whose girlfriend I was friends with) and another brother (whose girlfriend I was living with) asked me to leave the house.  I did. Publicly and humiliated, stunned, a little drunk, not entirely sure what had just happened. 

My girls came with me, including the abovementioned girlfriends.  They walked out, helped me home, got me water, and sat with me, handing me tissues.  It was awful.  I drunk dialed my parents, for crying out loud.

But that was then.  I’m not that girl anymore.  I know who I am, and what I’m doing, and anyone who has questions about either of those can come to me.  Anyone who chooses to listen to rumor instead?  Has only themselves to blame when they wind up doing things of which they shouldn’t be proud.

*His version of events might be slightly different.  And no, we weren’t “on a break”.

From my dating perspective, there are three kinds of guys out there.  There’s the superconfident, self-assured guy, who can come across as cocky or arrogant, but doesn’t think that’s something he needs to change, because he wants the kind of girl who can handle that.  There’s a quieter, more thoughtful (not to be confused with considerate, necessarily) type, whose approach is very different - but who is equally confident in his own way.

And then, there’s the third type - the guy who thinks he’s Thoughtful Guy, wants to be Confident Guy, and is in fact neither.  I call this one, “Nice Guy”.  It’s not a good thing.

When I say that he’s a nice guy in the tone of voice that implies air quotes around the phrase, I mean I think he’s far more interested in being perceived as a great catch, than in actually being one.  This guy usually winds up being “Bitter, party of one?” when things don’t work out, and is generally best avoided.  He’s hard to spot at first, because the litmus test I’ve developed isn’t particularly effective until the second or third date, sometimes even later (hopefully, at this point, you’ve managed to weed out the overt jackassery - unless that’s your thing). 

When you go on your first date with someone, you kind of hope that the conversation progresses beyond the basics - previous residences, education, occupation, family, etc.  For it to do so, you’ve got to be talking for a while.

Second date, you’re getting a little more personal, if things are going well.  You’re finding out more about the person’s likes and dislikes, how they view the world, what role they hope to play in it.  You’re giving them a chance to talk, to put both their best and worst foot forward, so you can get a better sense of whether you’d like to spend more time with them.  If they’re genuinely interested in you, they’re doing the same thing.  It’s a fine balance, but it’s fine to stumble over your words as you find more things you have in common - to say, me too! and mean it.  To relate a funny story that exactly expresses the sentiment just shared by the other person.  All of these are the hallmark of a great connection.

The Nice Guy, however, might be so concerned with telling you how great he is, that he forgets to check in on you every so often.  So concerned is he with showing you that not only is he intelligent and deep-thinking, but works out, makes a lot of money, and saves puppies and kittens in his spare time, that he won’t know that you just had the worst day at work.  Or even worse, should you actually get a word in edgewise, he’ll be annoyed that your bad day is interfering with his ability to show you just how great a guy he really is.

The problem here, is that he’s saying all the “right” things, planning elaborate dates, putting in a lot of effort.  Except, he doesn’t know whether or not these efforts are right for both of you.  And blames you for being an ungrateful wretch when you explain, gently, that as much as you love flowers, sending you a dozen gladiolas, to which you’re violently allergic, might not have had the same impact as he’d hoped.

And when you realize that he genuinely thinks he’s being perfect, and you decide to break the news as gently as possible (by bringing a six-pack over to his place and leaving it there after you’ve had the talk), don’t be surprised to get a drunken voicemail a few weeks later, accusing you of being too stuck up to appreciate a good thing.

Because that’s how “Nice Guy” behaves when he takes off the sheep’s clothing.