A Guy That Doesn't Say "I love you."

I must admit, it has been a while. Obviously I couldn't keep up with writing posts on a weekly basis, but it turns out even writing monthly is difficult for me. In part there has been so much going on in my academic life that finding the time slot to sit and write is difficult. But on a larger fault, I haven't been inspired to write about anything, about anyone. Anyone other than [name of a particular male].

Letting you in on the systemic thought process of writing this blog, I will tell you that I tend to be inspired by recent happenings that conjure thoughts of past recollections. Other times when absolutely necessary, (like when I was writing once a week), I would think of certain people who have made an impression on me most recent to that date and write about their impressions. In the past month however, every time I want to write a new post I realize it's always about the same gentleman and feel that constantly writing about him is unjust to the initial purpose of this blog.

But it's been long enough and I owe some sort of text on the matters of appeal. Whether it be fortunate or unfortunate, (I have not yet decided), the appropriate thing to do this time around is tell you of the secret of my lifetime: I'm in love and it's not complicated, until you ask who/how/when/where/why/what.

Guys That Like A Little Leg

Like most, I was a tween when I thought I knew what "love" was: My first so-called date with my first so-called boyfriend, not to mention a large group outing with my friends and his friends, was at the movie theaters. Pop culture showed us that movies are the perfect date and wrapping your arm around her shoulders is the perfect move. My hormonal guy friends showed me that teenage movie dates involved making out, hickies, and other things I found to be utterly trashy at age fourteen. This guy made me realize that not trying to hard was the perfect way to spend a movie date. Like most short lived, premature relationships a lot of our time together was spent at the local theater. On one of these particular occasions, without thinking about it, my right leg slipped and rested on his left thigh. After years of being romantically awkward, I finally felt comfortable with someone of the opposite sex. More even, I felt comfortable talking about it, about attractions, attractive reactions, and something we called, as childish as it may be, "legsex."

At the time I held the little things like these very dear to my heart. I thought being comfortable with this person meant that I loved him. But as quickly as I realized that "legsex" was as universal as holding hands, I realized that the moment at the movie theaters that night was a pivotal point in my growth as a sexual woman. I wasn't in love. And I would become comfortable with numerous men, with "best" friends, like what he was and should have been all along.

How then do I separate lovers from comforters? 

Guys That Possess A Foreign Charm

I hadn't noticed its affect on me until my second encounter. And I was convinced of its desirability by my third. That foreign charm: a quality one inevitably possess just for having grown up in another country other than that which one is currently in. That includes, but is not solely based upon, the possession of a foreign accent and/or language.

There's a belief that we all, at one point or another, seek something "new" or "different." Perhaps that is why American women are attracted to men with British accents. Why there is an increasing density of interracial relationships. Maybe one desires to dabble in a different culture from that which he/she was raised in.

Having witnessed several interracial marriages fail due to the differences in cultural upbringings, I pondered upon my own attractions to the foreign and came up with the following conclusion: an entanglement with one of a foreign culture involves a rather blank, unknowingly future, but a vibrant present. For starters, most of the foreign men I will and have met are students, thus it is likely they'll return home. As a prospecting abroad student myself, there is  an initial lack of commitment to anyone I hope to meet in a foreign country. If my never-ending search for what I call pure happiness never ends in a committed marriage, being charmed by the vibrant personalities found in a city as large and diverse as the one I currently reside in is nothing I can complain about.