The Atypical Key to My Heart

I was at the local bookstore today, flipping through a magazine and fighting off the antsy feeling I get on Fridays. At the table across from me were two women in their late 30s. They each were holding a copy of US Weekly and were cooing to each other over how hot Brad Pitt looked in his state of pending fatherhood. I tried not to laugh too loudly. You see, Brad Pitt does nothing for me. Blue eyes, blond hair, perfect abs? Ick. I prefer my men a little more left of center. A little more off-kilter. Fuck it, I'll just come right out and say it. I dig me an odd man.

Want to be guaranteed a date with me? Simple. If you've got blue hair, tattoos, or metal jutting from a body part, you're in. Dress a little nutty? Play an instrument? Create art with your own bodily fluids? Well..... helll-oooooooo, sailor! Can you endlessly quote obscure movies that no one has heard of? Do you have issues with eating green colored foods? Hyperventilate at the site of a pack of teenagers dressed in Anticrombie? I'm your gal.

I read in Hazel Dixon-Cooper's "Love Under a Rotten Sign" that my tastes are supposedly a standard Aquarian trait. The water bearer is drawn to types that are as quirky as they can be. It seems to flip a hidden switch inside of our kooky little heads, the sight of a man with a tri-colored mohawk protesting the artificial insemination of hump back whales. We not only like our mates to be weird, we like them to be insanely, passionately obsessed with their interests.

I once dated a guy who happened to have a tri-colored mohawk. He had never held a job for longer than 6 weeks, didn't drive and spent most of whatever money he could talk people out of on cigarettes and Starbucks. But he could weave a fierce web around my heart whenever he started talking about foreign politics. This is a guy who wasn't even registered to vote (and managed to get that past my militantly pro-voting ass) in our own country but could talk for hours about the injustices suffered by the people in Ghania.

I dated a guy who introduced himself to anyone we met with "Hi, I'm Ryon. R - Y - O - N." Yeah, he specified the spelling. Every single time. He was an intense sports nut, which in and of itself isn't weird, but he actually turned me down when I offered to blow him while he was watching a hockey game. Sorry.... but that's weird. Drove me nuts, having my power yanked out from under me. So, of course, I was hooked.

I go to parties and can talk to attractive men that my female friends are drooling over, not noticing their looks or even if they're trying to hit on me. I've had several hot guys pursue me because I didn't succomb to their charms. I guess it's because I never thought a pair of sparkling eyes and a gleaming white smile were charms. Come on! Can you blow fire balls? Got any body modifications that I can can lick? Do you speak Elvish? Intrigue me, baby. Give me something to wrap my mind around.

I guess it all comes down to my desire to be challenged. I'm an intense personality. If you don't have something equally intense to counter me with, I'll just steamroll right over you. I need to know that when I give you a push, you'll push right back. When I begin to rant on about the cultural impact that Quinten Tarantino has had on America, you better be able to punctuate my sentences with "They don't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is," or "Mr. Brown? That sounds too much like Mr. Shit." If you can't surpass me in my own oddness, then you better at least be able to match me.

I was saying to a new "Myfriend" recently that I was often torn over my love of geeks. Geeks have provided the most fertile ground of boyfriend material for me over the years, but they tend to irritate me as well. Geeks are some of the most passionate, loyal, loving and interesting people you'll ever meet, but sometimes, due to their overwhelming social ineptitude, they'll drive even a geek lover like myself away. Listen guys, just be happy that I've seen "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead," don't go getting your panties in a bunch when I slightly misquote the "Heads" scene, saying the integral word 17 instead of 18 times. Nitpicking is such a turn-off. Shut up and thank me for playing.

I love how weird guys are usually a little damaged, and almost always too introverted and socially awkward to know when I'm interested in them. I learned early on in my romantic endeavors that I far prefer to do the chasing than to be chased. Oddballs are the perfect prey; They'll run at first, mainly out of instinct, but they soon slow down just long enough for me to catch them.

And they make for such a tasty meal.