Memoirs of an Amnesiac

Many of my friends say that I seriously need a boyfriend. With the way they have planned out on finding the ONE for me, I feel like a paraplegic whose life existence relied so much on a Capuchin monkey. Great. They seriously have taken matters into their own hands. It is as if I am the sole perpetrator of mankind and my staying single for the longest time has posed detrimental effects not only on the propagation of human existence on earth but also the global warming and climate change.

They've tried all sorts of strategies. Oftentimes, I find myself the indulging victim. I can't lie that I enjoyed being matched to people who are outside my clique. I have always prided at being a people-person. As an extrovert, I easily blend in whichever group I am placed. Amorphous, like they say. I am easily motivated with conversations. In fact, even when all I do is converse the whole day, I could practically live with it. Conversations stimulate me.

However, there are times that matchmakers (in the guise of paring me up with a guy that they think I will really like) tend to do it all wrongly. The last "paring" really blew me off that I really swore on someone's wet book that I'm never going to let my friends convert a romantic guinea pig out of me. It simply is inhumane. Besides, like a guinea pig, I have issues I need to deal with and I need to deal with them on my own.

Yet there is no stopping this good old friend of mine from accomplishing her thoroughly-thought out evil scheme (one that would cause my downfall and thus, of the whole mankind). Her premise is that she can't bear it anymore that when I tag along during group dates, I am the only one alone (with a great emphasis on the last word). She mentioned even that the reason I keep wearing blazers or cardigans is that I'm hiding my own need to be given human warmth. As to where she got this twisted notion, I absolutely have no idea. As far as I know, I need to keep myself warm by using garments suited for that purpose (like what any sane person does).

At this point, I deem it necessary to admit that I am EMOTIONALLY HANDICAPPED. Yes, you read it right. It's the main reason I am still single (and a public temptation, according to my suitor, bwhahahahahah). I am not choosy or whatsoever. Every time I get into a relationship, it's just like math. I try to get into it but it just doesn't work out. Seriously (Have you counted how many times I've used this word?), I don't consider myself the "MISSING RIB" but that I am just some spare rib, ready to assume the place of a broken one (hopefully not from the chest of some "taken" man).

Anyway, this friend suggests that I go online for my search (As if I'm really searching!) for Mr. Right. "It's a pity that he doesn't get to find his missing rib," was my friend's well-meaning remark. "Why don't you advertise over your blogs?" she added. Sigh. There goes my well-thought out entry to the world of endless love songs as marketing strategies and flower shop visits.

According to her (like any buck-paid advertisement), I have to lay down all the requirements (as if this is just some online job application site). Well, for a start, I really don't require much. (Did I just mention that I'm not really choosy?). The summary of which are as follows:

1. I would need a guy who's good with conversations. Don't get me wrong. I'm not looking for a guy who works in the malls, clad in hurriedly-ironed suits and anachronistically matched neck ties, who (like tigers), pounce on any absent-minded customer and is ready to deliver his carefully-memorized spiel on a nonexistent product. I need someone whom I can relate with on an intellectual level, someone who is having the same wavelength as I have. I am not talking Einstein. Try again.

2. I don't go for cute guys. I've had enough trauma in that department. Cute guys could either be of two types: married or you happen to be the unsuspecting-prospective-nth-undeclared (to the rest) girlfriend. I'd go for interestingly-cute types. Those whom you can bring home and present to your parents and would gladly wash your laundry if your hands are tied up with the household chores. Another thing, as long as the guy could pull off very well some dainty pair of white shirts and denim jeans, I could settle with it.

3. He must be into music. By music, I meant the laid-back genre. I don't want anyone who bangs his newly-shampooed-unrebonded hair directly on my face, ready to do another audience dive on our parquet floor, to the beat of a heavy metal rock song. I seriously (Are you counting?) don't want to waste my neurons on that imagery.

4. I need somebody who knows just how to read me. If he needs to earn some units in clairvoyance and telekinesis, so much the better. I'm the type who just doesn't live in a world of straight, plain talk. Metaphors are hard to contend with but I would love somebody who knows just when my alien side is shut off. (Ok, my alien self is turned on at this moment.)

5. I need somebody who knows what he wants and pursues it. I don't want to be with a wimp. I seriously (Now, you're counting!) don't want to get involved with men who are push-overs! When dining (and ordering), come order time, I don't want to hear him say, "I'll have what you'll order." As if we share the same stomach and taste buds. It's nice that somebody actually knows just how to stand on his own two feet without anyone dictating him what to do. But then again, don't overdo it. I have no plans hanging out with activists under the heat of the scorching hot sun, all for the love of conviction!

6. I have no need for guys whose hobby include (as matter of fact, the ONLY hobby)spending precious time at the gym. Sure they could easily sweep me off my feet (as a product of rigorous weight-lifting and bench presses) but a little toned one would have been more appealing for me.

So, if you happen to meet up with all, if not the most, of the requirements stated above, send me a private message in essay form with the theme: "Why I deserve to be Shey's Next Boyfriend and Save Mankind in the Process." Don't forget to send a 2x2 colored picture of you (unphotoshopped), just in case the second requirement tends to be vague.

Who knows? I might probably be your missing rib!