i have a crush

Coexistent with my recent blog dry spell has been a dry spell in the more traditional sense. That is, I haven't had sex in quite some time. This is due to a number of factors, including but not limited to the fact that I've already slept with the only straight boy at work I'd want to sleep with and no longer want to sleep with him, recent mysterious five pound weight gain, and working all the goddamn time. This has given me an opportunity to clear my head with regard to The Dudes.

I've mulled over the past five years and come to realize that I've been exhibiting certain patterns. Namely, I'll develop a raging crush on a very attractive guy who is clearly never going to date me (let's call this Type 1), eventually we'll sleep together anywhere from two to fifteen times, and then it'll be over and I'll be devastated. Then I will meet a moderately attractive available guy (Type 2), convince myself that I like him and date him anywhere from two weeks to fifteen weeks, and then run the fuck away when it becomes apparent that he thinks I might be, or someday be, his girlfriend. This was all illustrated quite clearly this past winter when I was alternately sleeping with the painfully hot and exciting Scruffy Brit and the Science Geek from work. I realized that it's not that there's something repellant or undateable about me, as I like to tell myself after a fling with a Type 1, it's just that my girl parts want the Type 1s as much as my mouth wants beer and the Type 2s as much as my mouth wants a virgin dacquiri. So I resigned to put an end to the madness, save myself and the Type 2s of this fair city some trouble, and be celibate until I came across a Type 1.5. I was quite proud of myself for this groundbreaking resolution.

And then my little fortress came crashing down. The night before I left for LA, I responsibly shunned packing and making the mix CD's I'd promised my sis as a graduation present in exchange for dinner and drinks (emphasis on the drinks) with my friend Sarah in Brooklyn. As I entered her favorite local bar, I noticed the tall, blonde, scruffy bartender dude and thought to myself, "Hmmm..." As I sat down for my third beer of the evening and he concluded a conversation about his recent date with a local bartender chick with the magic words, "...but I'm no good at relationships," I thought to myself, "I must sleep with him immediately." Due to my dinner plans, my being out of town, and now his being out of town, this has yet to happen. But oh is he ever dreamy. Please allow me to count the ways: 1. His Myspace profile headline reads "Relationship material? Probably not." (Shut up, he has a unique and very stalkable name.) 2. He gave me his phone number, but he refused to take mine when Sarah offered it to him several days later saying he can never make the first move and isn't good with dating. (That makes two of us!) 3. He is a bartender, and a relatively cute one, and we all know what that means. 4. He purports to be a Christian on his Myspace page. 5. He never finished college. (Again, according to Myspace.) 6. He jokingly refered to me as his future wife, a joke I've only ever heard come from The Canadian, who is probably the biggest relationship wussy I have ever encountered. 7. He may have gotten a blowjob from a hooker on Saturday night.

Truly, this is a match made in heaven if ever there was one, and you can bet I'll be a-callin' the first night I'm free next week. But fear not, I've already got my Type 2 rebound all lined up, in the form of a scrawny painter nerd who lives in the same Williamsburg basement as my work friend Natalie. He told her he thinks I'm beautiful. *gag*