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LBA26
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Joined: 9/2/2009
Msg: 1001 | |
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| Why do stunning women go for geeks
Posted: 9/24/2009 4:26:35 PM | | they know how to treat us and appreciate us. not all but a lot of the "hot guys" are way into themselves and not caring about what the girl feels. the "geeks" converse with us and listen as well. ive dated geeks and hotties. geeks are much more into making the woman feel good and not about other girls wanting them lol idk it doesnt go for all but overall thats what i think | |
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| Why do stunning women go for geeks
Posted: 9/24/2009 7:22:49 PM | I don't know about shallow but desperate goldiggers just simply looking for a free meal ticket sounds about right.
You ask why there aren't any shallow ones only interested in sex. Its simple, maybe they just don't think enough with the vag. | |
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| Why do stunning women go for geeks
Posted: 9/24/2009 7:34:41 PM | Here's an article for you. I hope this helps with the discussion:
Are Butterflies in the Belly Really a Sign of Love?
After a series of bad relationships, one woman put a moratorium on belly-dwelling winged insects, avoiding any man who even mildly affected her pulse. Which didn't really work, until a great guy sort of snuck up on her.
By Penny Wrenn
My boyfriend has given me a lot in the year-and-a-half we've been together: a belly rub when I ate an entire pepperoni pizza in one sitting, a flat-screen TV when my '80s model finally self-destructed, plus the usual jewelry, cards, and flowers. The one thing he never gave me was butterflies.
Since sixth grade, the best way for me to gauge my attraction to a guy has been to check for a sense of anxiety bordering on torture, an ache that signals the countless ways in which I consider him out of my league — and thus worth pining for. It peaked in my 20s, when I met the black Dylan McKay — a sinewy, brooding, inscrutable bad boy.
Our first encounter was all extended eye contact across the crowd, and a freak-out over whether he'd ask for my number. Forget butterflies — full-on birds knocked around in my stomach. But our three-year, on-and-off relationship crushed my self-esteem. When I found myself rummaging through his garbage for condom wrappers as proof of the sex he was having with other women, and even angling a steak knife at his throat due to some now-forgotten slight, I knew I'd fully entered crazy-**** territory. So I cut him loose.
Eventually, for reasons more complicated than dating drama, I started seeing a therapist, who proselytized against woozy love feelings, saying that butterflies was just another word for fear — fear of losing the guy. At first, I resented the implication that I might be one of those women who undercuts herself in pursuit of a man. Then I remembered the steak knife, and there was no "might be" about it: I put a moratorium on belly-dwelling winged insects, avoiding any man who even mildly affected my pulse. This strategy didn't get me very far, of course. After playing interested for one or two dates with a ho-hum but eager fellow, I couldn't bring myself to return his calls.
Then a new guy showed up, and I barely noticed a flap as he went from occasionally asking me to dinner to making a surprise late-night run to Borders after I mentioned needing a book for work. Or when I sat dejectedly awaiting my turn in housing court and he filled my phone's inbox with supportive texts.
He was dependable and unambiguous — everything I'd never wanted in a man. Then one day, I started singing "A Boy Like That" from West Side Story, and he joined in with a laughable Puerto Rican accent, straight out of the movie. And I finally felt ... butterflies? No, the opposite. Secure. | |
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