Thursday, January 3, 2008

Choosing the wrong guy

I used to know a man who was really nice. Maybe a little whiny. And, stocky (in fact, his last name was Stock. People become their names - never go to a dentist named Payne) which I never thought was a bad thing, though he did. He was cute, in that teddy-bear way, but not causing any trouble to GQ models.
Sadly for him, he had great taste in incredible women and only ever had crushes on extremely gorgeous ones, and thus always had his teddy-bear heart broken because none of these Amazons or supermodels thought of him as anything but the guy who could be counted on to fetch the coffee.
Being whiny, he whined a lot to another gorgeous woman who saw fit to friend him and she got fed up one day and said look, you need to understand your level. Understand where you STAND in the scheme of things. Gorgeous picks gorgeous, smart picks smart, medium-looking picks medium-looking. You need to adjust your taste.
I can't, he said. I like what I like.
When you think about it, she was essentially saying something as inane as stop being gay.
Sadly I always like he who is wrong. The bigger difference I think is even when he is revealed as deeply, sick-makingly WRONG I still figure he's pretty great.
My friend Katie could easily be a crush of my pal Stock's; she is lucious and has the kittenish look of a slightly rounder Sienna Miller. Better yet, she has incredible style, is terrific at her glam job and loves to have fun for the sake of good old fun -- there is absolutely nothing in it but the love of life. There are very few who can have funny, spirited, "let's try it" fun with a light heart, without one thought to what other people think or if she's the prettiest girl in the room or if someone is cutting your grass. And, without any guilt or regret the morning after, regardless of the hangover.
While I am not quite old enough to be her mother I am certainly old enough to be her babysitter and despite the generation gap we suffer the same issue. "Why am I always the one before the one?" she says. "I'm a good girl, I'm actually good, why am I always the bad girl before you hook up with the good girl?"
This is a mystery, and it is interesting that even the gorgeous suffer from Stock's syndrome of loving the wrong...type.
Or is it that?
Until she met and married Guy Ritchie, Madonna was one of us. Bloody hell, Warren Beatty, the world's most famous lothario, went domestic after a throw-down or two with Madonna, flipping her to be husband and daddy of about ten kids. It is enough to give god himself pause. (That said, Annette Benning is pretty fabulously terrific so he hasn't exactly SUFFERED for his choice.)
Maybe there is no hope, or is it nothing but hope? for those of us burdened with a brave heart. Ah, brave, maybe it's just impractical. Whether it kills us or not, there is at least no compromise. We want what we love, not what the outside world would say is appropriate. Even if the object of our desire is not so ... uncompromising.

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