I Hate, Yet Date, Assholes

And I don't know why.

In relationships, I have a very distinct pattern: start off superficial and flirty, or start off with a guy who isn't my usual attraction type, but seems genuinely interested in me. We laugh, we talk, we fuck, we comisserate. And in the end, it all ends up the same. He starts acting irritable, insecure, and pissy, looking for a fight, and I, knowing I haven't the patience to look beyond this immature behavior, cut my losses and run.

This is why I've never been able to establish anything meaningful with a guy yet. Behind the small talk, the held hands, the flirtiness, the touching, the canoodling, there's always something wrong. And it seems, pretty or ugly, I always end up dating the same guy: the selfish, immature, lurking jerk who wants me to fuck him and then fuck off for a week or two between fuckings.

After bouts of introspection and in an effort to sidestep this phenomenon, I've tried to mix it up as best I can. I've dated pretty boys and found them distasteful, and then switched to unusual-looking or average men. Same outcome. When I got fed up with the individual God complexes of the tall men I was with, I dated short men. Same outcome. The younger men I swapped for old, the exclusively high-school educated I traded in for collegiates, the white-collars I exchanged for blues, they all ended up the same. Is it them? The odds aren't stacked in my favor, that's for damn sure. And then that horrible feeling arises from the fact that the common denominator is... you guessed it: me.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I sustain a meaningful relationship longer than a few months (sometimes mere weeks) at a time? Is my patience for other people's shortcomings stretched so thinly that I scarcely give them a chance before writing them off as not worthy and promptly moving on? Am I so scared of falling into and out of love that I am willing to date slews of different men in an impossible quest to find the nonexistant one that I'll be satisfied with? Am I that far detached from the realities of relationships and the massive compromises of oneself that they require that my steely resolve to not lower my standards has yet to waver?

I am surrounded by dysfunctional relationships. And when the glaring flaws in those relationships between other adults comes to light, I secretly and smugly feel glad that I've never given up my strong sense of self in order to keep around a man I've somehow been poisoned by said relationship's security to believe I can't ever replace. Many friends have confided in me, post-breakup, that they envy my refusal to put up with the crap it takes to stay involved with someone who is deeply and irreparably flawed. But I find myself wondering, as I get older, if my refusal to bend will mean I will never know that kind f love. I don't miss it, since I've never had it before, but I do wonder if I am ignorantly foregoing something by remaining true to myself and refusing to tolerate some guy's shit just because he tells me I'm pretty.

(Quick aside here: the subtle psychological manipulations guys resort to when dating most often backfire when used on me. To wit, any time a guy I'm interested in waits three or more days to call me back, I assume he's lost interest and move the fuck on.)

Guys always say they want the smart, funny, kind woman who doesn't harbor lofty expectations (financial and otherwise) of them. But, if I look around, the guys invariably end up with this kind of woman, and this kind woman is always the one with a man on her arm. I tell myself, I'd rather be alone than be miserable in tandem, but these days, I wonder if I really, truly believe that.

In short, I'm torn. I want a meaningful relationship, but I haven't the patience or the willingness to compromise myself to the astounding degree that it takes to sustain one. I'm gun-shy from being given the cockpunch-worthy fadeout numerous times by guys who freaked out and assumed that by "Give me a call later", I meant, "I am sickly obsessed with the overwhelming awesomeness that is you, you stellar example of manhood, you! Give me your seed, right now, so we will be trapped together in blissful marital agony forever and ever and ever!" It's all too common an occurence, and I'm sick of getting the radio silence during which one suffers the gamut of emotions, going from "Wait a minute... is something going on?" to "Oh, sonofa... not this shit again!", to "Who the fuck does he think he is, not calling me?", to "Did I do something wrong?", to "Of course not, he's the prick", to "What a fucking asshole!"
I fucking hate the fadeout. If only because it leaves you reeling, wondering just when and how the fuck things went horribly wrong, and why in the fuck you-- smart, empathetic, and mature as you are-- didn't notice it.

There is a saying that goes, "You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war", the attribution for which I'm totally at a loss [edit: it was Einstein. Sincere thanks to those who made mention of that fact.]. I wonder if a similar message applies to adult romantic relationships in these modern times. Or is it just me?

I hate dating, because the emotional turmoil just isn't worth it. But it's fun, too. Most of the time. Good times, great sex, lots of inside jokes and compliments. But I do want a boyfriend, because sometimes, nothing in the world feels better than having him next to you, naked under the warm blankets, spooning you and holding you close and softly kissing your hair as you drift off to sleep.

I just don't know how I'm ever going to keep one.