Where the hell are all the twenty-eight year olds.
Seriously, I'm surrounded by people around my own age (obviously) and in the event that I step out of my comfortable circle of friends I only encounter men over the age of thirty-three. Sometimes dangerously so (if your pickin' up what I'm puttin' down). I'm talking late forties here people. Gorgeous, forward, old men who I most definitely should stay away from.
If you haven't figured it out already, my opinion on adherence to the socially acceptable standards of age differences between two people is pretty low. It's hard enough to find people you find attractive and can carry on an interesting conversation these days, why constrain yourself even further. Don't get me wrong, Mama didn't raise no fool. I know (believe me, I know) that there are those individuals who step out of their 'age pool' because of less then ideal reasons (i.e. can't get ladies their own age, have a thing for 'younger girls' etc).
Through the course of my short lifetime I have become fairly good at recognizing these people, because like them, I am a creep. I am creeeepppyy. I will leer at you to the point that you begin to wonder if you have something on your face.
Why you ask? Because I have no shame, and I know that you secretly love it. Most people call it confidence, but I pride myself on honesty.
Anyways, this brings me back to my original point. Like the summer fling, single attractive interesting men in their late twenties are a myth. They don't exist. They are absent from my world because they are out at backyard bbq's with their attractive like-minded age appropriate girlfriends and their hip late twenty-something friends. They are happy, they have forward moving careers, and a nest egg for the house the plan to buy. They have no need to get sloppy drunk on a patio with the rest of us (unless it's a Saturday, and all their friends are doing it).
They have plans, and a dangerously attractive, ambiguously aged jaded blonde is not included in these plans. That is, until their plans fall through.
Until they become thirty-year olds. That time in one's life when you begin to realize things didn't turn out according to plan. That happy girlfriend of yours wanted to have babies. You've stopped having sex with strangers, and if you haven't it's not as cool anymore. Or (as I've often encountered) you've come to terms with the fact that you love work more then people.
That's when I come in like a pre-mid life crisis ready to make you feel so wrong it's right.
I'm doing a public service people. I didn't choose to be the magnet to your moral compass, that's just the way things turned out.
They should give me an award. Make me the patron saint of men unwilling to grow up or settle down. The sexified version of Peter Pan.
Seriously.
'DILF of the Week'
Both Jeffery Dean Morgan and Javier Bardem, because, let's be serial here, they pretty much look the same. Like deciding what's for dinner, you can pick by nationality.
What's better then treating men like objects you ask? Treating them like food.
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