Friday, July 08, 2005

Bad boys, bad boys...
In my twenties, I dated the rowdy types. Musicians, roadies, bikers, unemployed “writers”, high school dropouts, unemployed small-time criminals, ad infinitum. As much as I wanted to resist and go out with nice boy who would walk me to my front door after a date instead of spending an hour parked down the street trying to get my bra off, I still fell for the hooligans. Good boys never appreciated my ability to hold my liquor, throw a temper tantrum, make a scene, handle my drugs, get into bar fights, or play poker.

That's all in the past now. I'm a changed woman. At some point before I turned 30, I started kicking the bad boys out of my bed at 2 a.m. instead of the other way around. But though I likes my mens with jobs and haircuts now, I've never been able to shake the Pavlovian response I have to the sound of a revving motorcycle engine. Whenever I hear a twin cam engine after midnight, my first thought is, "yay, the sex has arrived." And I can't even count the times I've had near-misses in traffic trying to see what the tall, skinny guy on the Low Rider looked like.

You know how it is though. I'm a typical hypocritical sexist female: I want my guy to be a go-getter in business and in the bedroom. In the kitchen would be nice too. Cooking, I mean. Dinner. For me.


  1. I wonder why girls always do that. Whenever you try to be nice they go after youre friend whose not nice and treats them like crap. I guess I need to get a motocycle.

  2. Oh honey, I've been there too. Still am there. It's not so bad if you can forget about never going out to dinner, getting flowers for valentine day or your birthday, and if you can delay introducing him to your parents. Bad boys rock my socks off.

  3. Ah bad boys...had me one of them this weekend. *winking*


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