i am that dog

Lindsey, of wonderful first date fame, continues to maintain my smitten-ness. After a lovely time with her last weekend, the feared awkwardness didn't appear this week at work, which was good.

Then enters Natalie, another girl I work with, who has fast been creating a soft spot in my otherwise gelatin-esque mind. Actually, I thought Natalie was cute right from the new job start, but Lindsey ended up taking center stage. Both pretty much get my burger to the sizzling phase, but personality-wise, they are very much a different breed of girl.

And here is where I have historically mucked things up. I'm consistently drawn to the wrong type of woman. Always. Without fail. It's a sickness, I realize, yet I do it, and do it again, and do it yet again. Much like the stupid little dog next door that always runs face first, smack into the storm door when you ring the doorbell. Every time. Always. Without fail. A lifetime of sore schnozzes, simply because the stupid mutt doesn't wise up. I am that dog.

So on one hand we have Lindsey. My glass plated storm door. Who will surely draw blood. She's loud, brash, wild, funny, spontaneous, and, possibly, a bit unstable. Then there's Natalie. She's demure, soft spoken, sweet, and undersells herself in that charming little way that cute girls do when they don't realize that they're cute.

And Lindsey has me hooked.

I always go for this type of girl. And I always end up getting tossed, beaten, flattened and finally stomped deep into the ground. I know this. It's the story of my whole dating existence. Yet that doorbell rings, and I just can't seem to stop. Lindsey suggested we get together on Sunday. I'll go, of this I'm sure. But, I've been spending lunch with Natalie everyday and she's asked me to go to a party with her in a few weeks. I'll be going. Perhaps she's just asking as a 'friend'. I'm hoping not. And, if Natalie's invitation is more than a 'friendly' party invitation, I'm also hoping that I'll choose correctly for once. But I'm dubious.

For me, though, Lindsey's type is like nicotine, caffeine, chocolate, and potato chips all rolled into one. I'm hooked, addicted and just can't stop myself from heading straight to that aisle of the grocery store. Yet perhaps with the right amount of self-hypnosis, rubbing of rabbits' feet, and a little bit of magic pixie dust, I'll kick the habit and pick the girl that just might make me happy for a good long while.

Now if I could only get my feet to stop before I hit that damn door again.