January 17th, 2005

(no subject)

I have a presence that not only lures, but waits to lure. It seems as if every time I harbor an attraction for someone, I go about my wicked ways, get exactly what I want, and then in a matter of seconds after obtaining victory, I'm over it. Sure, sure, it's normal, yes? It is perfectly normal for someone who is used to long-term relationships to utilize being single for the first time since her blooming adolescence. It is normal for a girl to rediscover her self confidence and then flaunt her ever attractive feature in a winning attempt at attention. It is normal to like a guy only until she makes out with him, at which point she somehow loses all previous attraction to him and suddenly wants nothing to do with him. But exactly how many times does she have the right to jump from boy to boy until it catches up to her?

For me, it seems that whenever I move on from one guy, another one appears. It happens even though I know close to nobody and have no real friends. Somehow, as if by fate, usually no more than a week later, I find myself stumbling upon a new acquaintance that quickly becomes another auspicious mission to complete. Perhaps its human nature and peoples' ability to perceive, or perhaps it's just fortune. The fact of the matter is, I am not a social person, yet I seem to be able to cook up romance with any given stranger, at any given time. Whether or not that is a good thing, I'm yet to figure out, but so far I find myself enjoying every new face and the bizarre new experiences they bring.

The problem is figuring out how to make the transition from old to new, or simply just from old to nothing. Whether or not I have a new interest waiting, I still am yet to find a guy that I continue to like after making out with, and that inevitably leads me to let them down somehow. Some of them have gotten the hint, some of them have just vanished into thin air the way I had hoped they would, and others have led me to break out the ol' rulebook of confrontation. Other boys just get it by the way I carry myself and the look in my eye, and the carefully planned sentences that I have stored by the millions up my sleeve. As I told the new lanky prospect today of the skater kid I had met the night before, he looked at me and complimented, "Well, you are quite a catch."

I smirked at him and exhaled the drag from my cigarette. "Yes, but nobody can catch me," I replied.