It’s Saturday. End of March. and… it’s snowing. Not fluffy, soft-and-lovable-like-Baymax snow. Like, whizzing, angry, slanted, windy snow. Obviously, this city is not getting along with me. NYC, I thought we had an agreement? No? Okay, I have no problem cheating on you with my first love (Texas, I’m comin’ for you).
I was at a bootcamp class this morning (before it started snowing) and thought about the question, “What’s your type?” Not sure where it came from, but it might have been related to being surrounded by a vast variety of sweaty dudes.* (see below for note)
*on a general note, I read this post on Medium today, and really related to the first sentences: “I spent a good portion of my early 20’s terrified of saying the wrong thing on the Internet. It wasn’t just a passing worry — it was an all-consuming fear.” I realized last year: why be afraid of writing with humor about fun subjects, instead of fearing so much that I don’t write at all? It’s snowing at the end of March. Let’s have some fun.
The other day, a few girlfriends were discussing their “types.” Blonde-haired surfer types? Dark, muscular, and romantic types? Ryan Gosling? “I don’t care, as long as he’s rich?”
It’s a question I think people struggle with, because while everyone definitely has preferences, the admission that you have a “type” just seems so… trite and limiting, you know- confined. Except for S, who is happy to proclaim that she only dates tall and good-looking Jewish men. It’s fine, she’s from the Upper West Side.
I saw the above tiny sign in a corner at a coffee shop yesterday. In the end, “type” doesn’t matter too much. I have faith that the right people in our lives will find us and stay. It’s just kind of fun to think about.
I don’t really know how I get categorized. Because I’ve worked with mostly men all of my life, I’ve gotten every kind of joke under the sun (i.e., “Rose? Oh, well… I guess she has a nice personality.” Thanks, guys). Usually, there are jokes about “yellow fever”- but a previous boyfriend admitted that he would have never approached me if he had realized I was Asian (“um, I saw her from behind first. I was sure she was Puerto Rican”). Thanks, again.
Friends also tend to extrapolate (“She speaks Spanish and goes to soccer games? Her type is TOTALLY Latin American!”) or make assumptions based on the past (“She’s dated two Indian guys, so I mean, that’s totally her type”).
Truth be told, I thought about it while I was doing tuck jumps and there are just a few less-obvious non-external-trait parallels. Now you know the inanities I think about when I zone out at the gym.
Smart. (preferably smarter than me)
All of them were either really good at math, knew how to code, were excellent writers, or all of the above. Yeah, okay, so I’m not really sure why they dated me, either.
Could change tires (or call Triple A to do it). All of them knew how to cook an egg. Maybe. Theoretically.
Adept at chopstick usage.
You think I’m kidding? If not at the beginning of the relationship, then definitely by the end. “No, don’t give him a fork or a chopstick helper, he can do it by himself.”
Active in some way.
So, at the very least, most of them have been somewhat active, and at least conscious of being healthy in some way.
I’ve dated baseball players, flag football enthusiasts, black belts, ice hockey players, soccer players, personal trainers, weight lifters, marathon runners, boxers, jiu jitsu practicers, tango dancers, cyclists, tennis players, basketball players, hikers, climbers, rowers, mountain bikers, and snowboarders.
My dad exercises every morning and my mom takes walks.
Personally, I’m not ever going to be like Jillian Michaels fit- but movement is pretty important to me.
But still eats fried chicken and dessert.
You guys, I really like to eat. I mean, I know it wasn’t all that apparent from all the food pictures I post, but really, I love to eat. I like to be active but please share carrot cake with me?
Patient with how I stop to take photos of everything.
Yes, even food.
More chill than I am.
I’m a crazy Gemini who finds it difficult to sit still, and I need someone to keep calm and help me slow down.
Books were my only friends as a kid, and they are still sometimes my greatest companion. Refer yet again to the John Waters quote.
On the other hand, things that were not common traits across the board but I realized I probably do prefer:
- Desire to travel and hopefully also be great to travel with.
- Sense of humor. Maybe even kind of nerdy humor. Can’t live without this. I hope he gets my jokes. I can be pretty lame.
- Willingness to dance. The running man is an accepted form, I can teach you how to dougie later.
- Punctuality. Or at least informs me of possible lateness.
- Likes to be silly. Singing karaoke or toothbrush-dancing with me counts.
And, of course when you’re young you think you want everything. So here are some things I thought I needed but are less important:
- Responds to every.single.email I send – like, immediately. I realized that I’m neurotic about responsiveness and not everyone needs to be like me.
- Speaks a language other than English. It’s okay, babe, cuando hablo con los chicos guapos en español, no tienes que entender nada. Coqueta, dicen que soy. No pasa nada.
- Blue or green eyes. Seriously, when I was in third grade, I decided I’d never date anyone who didn’t have blue or green eyes. Every boy character in every story I ever wrote had blue or green eyes. It was extremely important to me. Older Rose probably never actually dated a single person with blue or green eyes. Shrug.
- Disney-prince-like. If I learned anything from my parents’ relationship, and from how my father acts towards us- it’s that everyone shows love in a different way. You just have to learn to recognize the ways, though they may not be in the form of love letters, serenades, or magic carpets.
- Someone who doesn’t play computer games. I reached a point where I was like, omg, he plays Counterstrike? RUN IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION! But it’s fine, play your Age of Empires or DotA or WoW and we can hang out later.