Just Kiss Me Already

Here, in no particular order, are some things I find irresistible in men: brown eyes; a self-deprecating sense of humor; a house full of books; a love for jazz; a deep-rooted love for American history, the French Revolution, or World Wars I & II; exceptional grammar; beards; the ability to fix things; working knowledge of feminist theory; and book smarts.

My first boyfriend had almost all of these things. Best of all, he was a nerd.

He was my peer math tutor and devastatingly, breath-takingly, annoyingly bright. I fell for him in that devastating, breath-taking, annoying way you do when you're seventeen and emotional. Which is, irritatingly enough, still the same way I fall for people. I nearly failed second year Algebra when we discovered our mutual interest in one another because I wasn't really interested in learning and he was, well, less interested in teaching. I still think that he had moments where he couldn't decide if he wanted to go park with me or teach me how to use my TI graphing calculator.

Part of the reason I fell for him was his brightness, I loved the fact that he was significantly smarter than I was. The other thing I adored was his unabashed nerdiness. His love for anime and math and Romantic composers. He was my gateway to nerdy boys and ten years later I'm still simultaneously pathetically grateful and furious.


My type hasn't really changed in those ten years, despite my Sisyphean efforts to become attracted to men who don't have strong opinions on Battlestar Galactica. If I'm out on a date and a guy is talking about how much he can bench press or how much money he makes or his love for restoring vintage cars, I get a little glassy-eyed. I nod politely. I look discretely at my watch. I imagine screening his calls the next day. But a guy talking about his favorite American president prior to FDR? I'm right there with him arguing the merits of Andrew Johnson's Reconstruction policies. Meanwhile, I'm simultaneously plotting how I can get him back to my apartment where I imagine him seeing my first edition Tolkien, my extensive library, the books on Revolutionary France that constitute my before-bed reading material, and, um, a few other things as well.

The problem is that I've been dating this kind of guy for ten years and it still hasn't panned out. To date, tying down my very own nerd has been impossible and heartbreaking, but I just can't stop. If Ryan Gosling was standing in a room wearing an Armani suit next to a skinny particle physicist wearing a space t-shirt and glasses, I would go for the particle physicist.

Of course, this shouldn't be an issue. In fact, as I sit here re-reading this, I wonder what I'm so worked up about. So I have a type--a type that happens to be generally smart and self-deprecating and well read and thoughtful--how in the hell is this a bad thing?

The bad things are less a result of nerdy guys and more a result of my own neurosis. Sweet Merciful Jesus, trying to date--just date--a nerd guy is one of the most fraught things I have ever experienced. Every guy I have ever dated seriously and most of the men I've dated casually I've asked out. I think that this is probably unusual. It's also a little frustrating. I'll meet a guy at a bar or through friends and the next thing I know we're talking about Carl Sagan and Nova and the most recently updated TED talks. And it'll be great and we'll really be clicking and then he's walking me to my car and I'll have crazy stomach flutters and POOF! He's gone. Like he stepped through a wormhole. 

I'll get into my car and sit there wondering what the hell just happened. Have I, after years of dating, misinterpreted the signals? Did he not notice my hand on his arm all right? DID HE MISS THE FACT THAT I LOOK LIKE FREAKING JOAN HOLLOWAY IN THIS RED DRESS?

Usually the answers to these questions are No, Yes, and Absolutely Not. For whatever reason the type to whom I am attracted is either nervous about closing the deal or has extreme social anxiety. And I realize that as an empowered, successful, pretty-in-the-right-light, 21st century capital F Feminist, I can just ask him out. But the other part of me, the part that was brought up on Disney Princess Movies and Barbie dolls really wants to be pursued, to be asked out, to not be the one to initiate the date or relationship.To a certain extent, I feel like I've earned it. After all, how many times can a girl ask different guys "Were you planning on kissing me, or should I just go to bed?" TOO MANY.

The second and more problematic issue with my type of guys is the knowledge that a nerd will break my heart like no one else. My relationships have been split, half nerds, half non-nerds.While no breakup is, you know, pleasant, my nerdy boyfriends have been the most devastating. Those have been my "listen to Patsy Cline and drink bourbon" breakups, the times when I have cried, literally, so hard that I've thrown up. Delightful.

I've puzzled for years over why these breakups are so much tougher, why I get so much more emotional, why I cease to function like a normal human being for six months. Part of the reason is that the breakup is initiated not out of incompatibility but out of "I just got offered a great job . . . in Louisiana." or "I was accepted to study Russian history in Moscow." Call me crazy, but somehow getting dumped for having giant personality flaws is less upsetting than getting dumped because of geography. I can blame personality flaws on the guy misunderstanding or bringing out the worst in me. Who am I going to blame for massive geographic challenges? Thomas Fucking Jefferson and the fucking Louisiana Purchase. That's not super satisfying.

This usually instigates the Patsy Cline and bourbon portion on the breakup.

The worst part comes later, during the "We're Still Trying to Be Friends!" part of the breakup. It comes as I have to watch, read, listen to this guy I adore fall for someone else. To be clear: I watch as a guy with whom I click with on every level, who dumped me not because I'm crazy or unattractive or stupid, but because of fucking GEOGRAPHY, fall in love with someone else. The worst part is that I generally can't hate him or her. He's still smart and funny and wants to be Lee Adama and she's stunningly pretty and brighter than I am and owns a Starbuck costume.

That's a lie. I can hate her. Vehemently.

Engage crying like an idiot sequence.

After years of struggling to get a nerdy guy to ask me out, after breakups that make me feel like I've lost my sanity, I've tried to date guys with whom I have less in common. But the truth is that I don't fall for them breath-takingly, devastatingly, annoyingly, which is the way I want to fall for someone. In spite of my efforts to recondition myself to fall for non-nerds, I seem to be incapable of liking anyone who can't Settle Catan. Whatever chemical attracts me to men with brown eyes and beards also makes me want to be with someone who owns tons of books, loves Patrick Stewart, and wants to spend his Friday evenings playing Scrabble and drinking scotch.

Perhaps it's time to start looking for another math tutor.