What’s an Island Girl to do?

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I am in the market for both an apartment and for Mr. Right.  Sounds pathetic, desperate and clichéd, but you know what?  It is my Island Girl reality.  In my search, some Mr. Hell-No-You-Are-So-Wrongs have made brief, amusing, and sometimes ridiculous appearances. Case in point:

Scenario 1:

I am rushing to get the car out of the garage, because I am trying to beat the morning traffic. The sanitation engineers (garbage men) come along to collect the trash.  As I close the gate so the two vicious Rottweilers don’t get at one of their favourite snacks, (the other being the postman),  one of them says to me:

“Baby, you, me, a bottle of Correia’s Hard Wine and Richie’s!”

Now Richie’s is a local bar where you have to duck to get in the door. It is pitch black, crowded with men with gold teeth, and your shoes stick to the floor. Let’s put it this way, my father would return from the sea, in which his ashes were scattered, and kick my assets from here to eternity. I politely thank him for the invite and wish him a great day, lest he leaves my rubbish to pile up. High.

Scenario 2:

I have parked at the mall. Rushing to get to the store, I encounter one of the security guards, who is sporting a wicked grill in his mouth and he says to me,

“Psst! Psst! Family! What I will do to you family!”

Then he does something that involves his hand, his, um, nether region. I threw up in my mouth, I swear; This so wrong on so many levels.  Firstly, you, who have been entrusted with my security, are sexually harassing me. Secondly, you would do that to a member of your family? Ew! Beast face on as I brush past him, and a quick prayer to the Almighty that my car is not keyed, the tires will still be inflated and Security Slime is not waiting out there when I return.

Scenario 3:

Party jamming.  Music playing. Drinks flowing. Nice man everywhere. My dress is hot – short and tight in a totally Kim Kardashian, non-prostitute way, legs waxed and gleaming. Nice man everywhere. Who approaches? Expatriate, probably working with one of the oil and gas companies, about 250 pounds of fat, an annoying Texas accent and smelling of bourbon.

“Can I buy you a drink honey? I have been waiting here all night for you to walk in the door.”

I look around. I shake my head. I look in the mirrored wall at our reflections and think:

**He for real? He and his cowboy boots for real?” **

I politely refuse; show him I can well afford to get my own drink, and spend the rest of the night ducking George Bush, as he was nicknamed after that night.

This is but a sample of the sad state of affairs.  Now, I am sure these guys are perfectly lovely, but as they say,

This stale bread is looking for another type of mouldy cheese.

I have been scarred by these experiences, vacillating between periods of lower-than-the–line-in-the-road self esteem, to an over-inflated ego that makes me think,

**Wait, he see me?! He CANNOT be serious.**

My other friends also have had the same experiences.  It is an island phenomenon.

What can we do? What are we putting out there that attracts these lovely gentlemen?

Well, the theory is that they know they can’t get through so they put it out there anyway.  If it a PG kind of thing, they get a smile and a laugh and it makes these guys’ days. It if it a rated R to X, they get a what-the-A-double-snakes and all other kinds of strong language.

Why is it so hard to get a guy? My friend Damon, who I love to bits and my mother maintains was the man for me, has told me in frank, simple language when I complained about the no man situation:

“You intimidate men.”

Eh? What’s that? Me? Apparently I do.

When Damon said it, apparently all other men in my life decided to come out of the closet with that one.

My brothers:

“You too aggressive! And do not tell men you could fix a toilet!”

My closest male friend at the time said:

“You don’t ask anyone for advice. You just charge ahead!”

He has since been relegated to bottom of the barrel after I told him stick to engineering and I’ll will do the PR – I mean do I tell him how to build a bridge? – Another story.

A work colleague:

“Girl, when you walk, you do not look right or left. You look powerful, purposeful.  You look like you do not need a man!”

A married friend, who bought an Audi for his wife:

“You drive a convertible, an European car. Man looking at you and saying they can’t afford you, either that or you pretty much can buy it on your own!”

Eeek! What?

So in other words, being self-sufficient, having a strong opinion, walking with your head up with one foot in front of the other, opening doors for myself, and paying back a loan for a car makes me unattractive to men who I would like to approach me?

So, in typical human fashion, I will blame everybody else for my present woes. I went to an all-girl high school, where opinions were encouraged (radical for a Presbyterian school). My mother sent me to learn to walk when my classmates entered me in our high school’s version of Miss Universe. My job in PR has made me accept that I open doors, and lift boxes and chairs. My divorced mother, who we fondly refer to as Macgyver, can make a seven-course meal using dental floss, crazy glue and day old spaghetti. And my car? I could not resist the Pug. A drain on my resources, yes, but I Iove her! Oprah – I also blame Oprah.

And, for entertainment sake, just  what will make me more attractive to the men I find fit? All those silly books – you know the ones that tell you as a woman how to act, because the guy lives in a different solar system to yours – they don’t help.  They may be better fit for the London or NYC girls, but those rules do not apply in the islands. Apparently, I have to simper and sigh, walk with my head hanging below my neckline, complain about the possibility of having to replace a cracked toilet seat, bring in the goats and maybe even swoon. I feel sick already.

So the question is:

Is this really my issue? Or does this fall on the guys this time?

Why should a man be intimidated by someone who needs them, not for money or fix-its, but for companionship, love and emotional and spiritual bonding.  Okay, I may have just answered my own question.

Island Men still feel they have to swoop in. Their insane need to be practical, logical beings is clearly challenged by a woman who also wants to be practical and logical. They’re still looking for wife, mother of their children and needy soul, maybe not equal partner.

What’s an Island Girl to do I ask? Compromise? Eschew the learnings and teachings of parents, instructors, Oprah, and self-help manuals? How the hell I am I supposed to find Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now if they are basically afraid of me?

Advice please.

But for now, on to other things.

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