Last night I was sitting in my "outdoor living room", which is a sofa and a chimnea fireplace on my deck. I had a fire going, a glass of wine and some Cat Stevens on the iPod. VERY romantic setting. However, I was alone! Now, before you go feeling sorry for me, allow me to explain.
It's not that I choose to be alone, that I run people off in an effort to explore my identity. No, I'd much rather have had someone on that sofa with me last night. However, being alone last night allowed me to ponder some of the past fellas who I have encountered and I got to thinking about why they ended up "not that into me."
I've read the book (haven't seen the movie yet), but I don't need that blonde guy who wrote the book to tell me when someone just isn't that into to me. I've dated enough to see the signs. Allow me to recap my last few years of strike-outs:
There was Exotic Foreign Guy who hit the door once he found out I have reproductive issues. English translation: He thought he was so amazing that he needed his fantastic genes to continue for centuries. Clearly, he was not that into me and my bum ovaries.
There was Tight Jeans Guy who ran for the hills when he found out that I drink alcohol. Apparently he wasn't on board with my "let the good times roll" attitude.
There was Spoiled Rich Kid Guy who needed a Xanax when he found out that none of his friends had heard of my father and that I (gasp!) work for a living instead of bumming off my trust fund. Just not that into me and my blue collar.
There was Team Roper Cowboy guy who ditched me for a girl who wore a belt buckle bigger than my cat. Evidently he was just not that into me and my reasonably-sized belt buckles.
There was In the Closet Gay Guy who listened to Broadway cd's in his car. Now, I'm not one to judge, but without a doubt he was just not that into me and my lack of male anatomy.
There was Possum Kingdom Lake Guy who didn't like that I am a non-smoker. Obviously he was just not that into me and my healthy pink lungs.
There was Wimpy Accountant Guy who was really bothered by the fact that I carry a gun in my purse, have one in my nightstand and have a taser in my car. I suppose he was just not that into me and my pistol-packing, Annie Oakley style.
There was Bass Player Guy who ran screaming when I played one of my demos for him and he realized that I kicked his butt on the bass. Unmistakably he was just not that into me and my talented self.
There was Perpetual Bachelor Guy who was so commitment-phobic that he broke it off because I was "Too Great." Certainly he was just not that into me and my amazing wife potential.
As you can see, I have endured enough rejection to be compared with being taken to the desert and left for dead. But, I'm keeping my chin up, because this is the way I see it:
Although there may be a long line of guys who just weren't that into me, there is an equally long line of fellas who would totally dig a Reproductively Challenged, Vodka-Drinking, Hard-Working, Non-Western, Non-Masculine, Healthy-Lunged, Gun-Toting, Hard-Rocking, Martha-Stewart Homemaker Girl.
And you know what else? Maybe I just wasn't that into them, either.
