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I sigh and drop back to lean against the wall. I’m surrounded by several clusters of my drunken peers, there’s some godforsaken 3OH!3 blasting on someone’s stereo and I’m blessed with the choice between *bleep*-ing beer pong and *bleep*-ing flip-cup to preoccupy myself on this lovely Friday night. And I’m bored.
Why am I bored? Because I’m not drunk. But why, then, am I not drunk? I look down at my red cup half filled with foamy crappy “beer” I poured from a keg some 20 minutes ago, now disgustingly lukewarm, and I quickly remember why I am indeed not drunk.
With useless cup in hand, I squeeze between clusters to find some real alcohol. I make my way over to the kitchen counter. There are lots of dirty dishes in the sink, and I grimace as I walk past them. There are only drops of cheap Canadian whiskey and no chasers. This is wonderful.
I sigh again, but this time in total defeat as I wonder to myself – why am I even here?
Oh yeah. I need to get laid. I haven’t been rocked since winter break and half the semester is already over. I’m pretty much dying.
I swivel away from the disappointingly sparse countertop to survey my options. Most dudes are sporting the “Boulder” look, i.e. the long unwashed hair, the lazy beards and the fashion senses that rival those of the homeless on Pearl, and I cringe as I walk past them. There’s the occasional hot douche bag here and there, most likely from California. But no, I tell myself, douche bag Cali boys are easy to come by in this town.
I continue my search.
A guy I met earlier bumps into me. It’s his 21st birthday. I chat with him for a minute, “chat” being an approximate term, as I politely exchange mere monosyllabic responses with his incoherent mumbling. The boy’s wasted. Suddenly, he grabs me and tries to kiss me.
Oh HELL no, son. I back away. I don’t just give that away to ANY one. Not even for your birthday, dick.
That was the last straw, and I strut away from the party. I drive home, as I’m still not drunk, and I fume the whole way back. I did my hair tonight for this?
Sadly, this is a typical night for me on a man hunt.
To tell you the truth, Mr. Titty McGrab wasn’t bad looking. Lots of guys I’ve met in Boulder are rather great looking, in fact. Though I run into them often at parties and bars, I always walk away thinking that none of them were good enough for me. Not even for a quick maintenance bang.
Is it possible that I am too picky? Is there a bitchy high horse that I need to get off of? Because that would certainly explain my not having gotten rocked in recent months.
But so what if I’m picky? So what if I have special preferences, or, dare I say it, high standards? Ignoring the fact that I didn’t get laid all semester, I ask – is it wrong for a girl to have special preferences and high standards in sex and relationships?
Frankly, I don’t think it’s wrong to be picky at all. Every girl has a right to a guy she feels is good for her. And I like to think of the playing field as a Burger King – I’m going to *bleep*ing have it my way.
Many people, especially love-monger hippie kids in Boulder, like to think we live, or should live, in a world where all of Mother Earth’s children deserve a shot at love that knows no bounds. But let’s face it, we say yes to some and no to others. For example, I say yes to muscular blonds with an air of danger and mystery, and no to scrawny punk bitches.
I spoke to my roommates to further explore the range of preferences on guys in Boulder.
Two of them, my loves, Marnie and Kristen, emphatically express that black men are their top choices. However, Marnie laments that shaggy-haired white boys who like snowboarding are much more readily available, and that they normally end up being assholes.
“I would prefer them to be nice,” she said, “but usually you either get a giant douche or overwhelmingly in-your-face nice.”
Oh, Marnie, I feel your pain. Guys seem to stick in a limbo where they can’t figure out niceness in moderation, and they end up whining that we can’t make up our minds. In either case, Marnie also likes blue eyes, a good sense of humor and would like for the guy to take her out to nice places once in a while.
“It’s nice to be romanced occasionally,” she said.
Kristen agrees, since she feels that if a guy likes a girl, he needs work for it.
“If I have to go through child birth, menopause and a menstrual cycle, and STILL only get 75 cents for every dollar a guy makes, then I want at least a few free meals before putting out,” she said.
My third roomie, the lovely Molly Jenson, prefers men to be rather skinny, freakishly tall and with shaggy hair. They must also love sports.
“I like guys who aren’t assholes,” she says, “who I can whip into shape, and who think I am God’s gift to the world.”
Naturally, as we can see, every girl will have her own taste for particular guys, but I find that there are common patterns of note among many girls’ preferences. I call these the “deal breakers.”
Undoubtedly, a guy must be attractive. None of that skater boy/mountain hermit hybrid à la lack-of-showering crap. Next, they can’t be sissies. If the both of us squared off, and I look like I can rock your *bleep*, you’re not worth my time.
Though confidence is highly valued, there seems to be a shared dislike of assholes all across the board. So, word to the guys, there IS a line between sexy confidence and blatant arrogance. Find it.
Last but definitely not least, the guy has to be nice. Many guys stick to the notion that chivalry is dead, but I say to them, go screw yourselves. If you “shouldn’t have to” open doors for her all the time, then she “shouldn’t have to” open anything for you, either.
All I’m saying is a girl shouldn’t be afraid to have special preferences and high standards, nor should she be afraid to stand up for them. Even at the cost of her own… uh… immediate fulfillment.
Ladies, there is NO reason for us not to be able to encounter decent guys around here. Stick up for yourselves, and get the ones you deserve, and WANT, for that matter! But this means we’ll have to live up to our own standards and be able to recognize the toxic guys and tell them to screw off when we know we deserve better. And if they complain, tell them, “too bad.”
Men are used to getting what they want. It’s our turn to have it our way.
Burger King style, bitch.
Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Natalie Bui at Natalie.bui@colorado.edu.
