The question of what exactly it takes is the question I can't stop asking in these moments, these moments that seem to be occurring in more frequency, no doubt because it is springtime, but also because at this time in my life I am lonely and looking to end it with what so many people look toward. But yes, what it takes - because really, I am convinced that it is something. That it does not take all kinds, that there is one kind, my kind and seemingly most of my friends, who it does not take. So when this boy, Zach, who I have had a crush on for a while and who I am now pretty certain at this point does not like me - when this boy, Zach, cancels our plans for tonight, flakes out on them for the umpteenth time and I am sitting at home alone on a Friday night, stuffing my face with a steak and cheese sandwich from Crown Fried Chicken and watching Pretty Woman on TBS, I have to ask myself why it is that I have no luck whatsoever with boys, have to ask myself what it takes to be successful with boys. Is it something physical? I am fairly certain it is not since I see ugly couples often, but still that does not in moments of rejection make me certain that it is something physical. Or is it something emotional? Do I have some sign over my body that says I have deep seated issues with trust and intimacy perhaps stemming back to issues with my father that people can see from a mile away, the sign taped to my back no one is telling me about? Honestly, I don't know, but I do know that some people have something, that there are people whom there does not seem to be anything terribly special about, but always seem to be involved in a caring relationship at pretty much all times.

So yes, I don't know. I know that I feel pretty pathetic and I saw my one and only ex-boyfriend Matt yesterday at the Bellwether opening and couldn't stop staring at him when he talked. I was trying to figure out the answer at that time to a question I had yet to fully articulate. It has taken Zach's flaking out on me to bring that inchoate question into language. But looking at Matt yesterday, I was staring at how deeply recessed his eyes wore, at his slight overbite, at other imperfections of his, and thinking how perfect he looked, how these things made him so attractive to me. And yes, seeing Matt inspired a certain desire in me and even though Zach had not called me back to hang out like he said he would, I found myself calling him last night, a little boy crazy.

He was so sweet when I talked to him, told me that he had wanted to call me the night before at three, and that he definitely wanted to hang out. And so, plans were made for this evening for Swingers and forties at my house after I got off work. All day at work, I was looking forward to ten o'clock, not just because I would be done with work, but because then I could rush home in anticipation of a boy I liked coming over. And I finished work fifteen minutes early, was so giddy, rushed home on the subway, walked really fast to catch a quick transfer, and got home, called him and you know the result. He said he was tired and that he had to meet up with some ex-boyfriend. I don't know. I honestly don't recall all the details because as soon as he said he had a headache and I knew he was going to cancel, I wanted to get off the phone. I didn't want him to hear my voice's happiness come crashing down. He said we should do it tomorrow and guess what? I am not even going to mentally pencil this in because I am pretty sure that it is not going to happen.

But as nice and cute as Zach is, this is more about the pattern of late, the pattern of my life. It isn't that he is not interested in me that makes me sad and makes me enjoy Pretty Woman more than I should have, that has me screaming "Idiot!" at Richard Gere's character - it is that no one else was home and so I could scream at the television, at TBS, and it is also because this is always the case, that I have never had a serious boyfriend, that the only people who want to sleep with me are dirty sixty three year old men into watersports. And watching stuff like this is surely bad for you in these moments because this is already the framework that your life fails to conform to and you watch another idealized version of this framework, of tender moments in bed together and you want it all the more.

Yes, you watch the commercial for the product, for the new camera phone, and you want that product, and I watch these commercials for love - I've watched them, read them my whole life and it has always been the product unattainable for me, the one I never have luck with at the store. The clerks there are mean and they act like I don't belong in the store and then I have to wonder why that is. Are my ratty sneakers giving me away here? What does it take? Forget love. How do I even get a boy I like to make out with me and to do so even when sober? I just want to get giddy about hanging out with someone. I felt so good today to have this to look forward to, and that's all I want - that happiness of thinking something is cute - some other person on this earth - being happy. So yeah, Julia Roberts, Richard Gere, and this boy Zach have been beating the shit out of my self-esteem tonight. The cheesesteak did a little repair work, but I am hungry again, listening to a dead Eva Cassidy sing about a sweetheart and there are things besides cheesesteaks that I want and I hope at this point you know what they are.