The Virgin Diaries

By A. Chow

It’s another weekend, another night and I’m out with a couple of friends in a bar. We’re a mix of girls and guys, single and coupled off, and like most other 20 somethings, the conversation turns to sex and relationships. A turn in the conversation that I don’t necessarily dislike, but a turn nonetheless that makes me slightly uneasy. Although I offer my advice to friends in need or throw in a sex joke and skim the waters inconspicuously, still there’s a part of me that retracts from my friends during these conversations. Not because I’m a man-hater or I’ve been burned by an ex or even because I’m a virgin. (Yes, I might as well lay it out there). But because I’m a fraud. I’ll get back to that later.

Sure the virgin aspect comes to no surprise to many as I get tossed into the ‘innocent doe-eyed’ bin. But being a date-virgin certainly could raise a few eyebrows. So really, what worldly advice do I have of value when it comes to the opposite sex? I suppose you’d have to round up my girls and ask them what they were thinking taking advice from a 23 year old that hasn’t been on a date in her life.

Though I do have a gut feeling, or woman’s intuition let’s say, that my friends both male and female have a vague sense of my dating history, or lack thereof. Am I really that easy to spot? Have I already become stale whilst still in my wrapper?

I’m sure you’ve all formed some sort of image of me that could only logically explain my extreme virginity. Perhaps I have a deformity. Or one of those awful self-absorbed attitudes. Or I’m just plainly a bitch in every sense of the word. Or maybe not. Although an appalling personality or appearance seems to do little to deter men. Ugly Betty even scored.

Yes it’s true, growing up I’ve had my share of insecurities and still do to this day but I’ve matured enough to be able to look at myself objectively. I know myself to be reasonably intelligent, possibly witty, and though I realize I’m no Jessica Alba, I know that I’m no monster either. I’ve seen the double takes, heard the half attempts at a pick up, but the number of men who have actually asked me out I could sadly count on one hand (and that’s counting the fingers, not the thumb). By now you’ve probably also thrown me into the ‘arrogant and picky’ bin. But I’m sorry I just can’t bring myself to date cult types who refer to me as a lovable creature from an escapist world in the vein of the Lord of the Rings style, or Star Trek fanatics who sometimes speak to me in Klingon. Sexy.

Which brings me to ask myself the obvious – what’s wrong with me? Typical isn’t it of a woman to sound so needy?

The answer, however, is nothing. Alright now I know you’re thinking I’m certainly Princess Narcissist but before you can crown me I do have to say I’m not alone. Though I do have friends with the typical girl/boy problems, I also have a handful of friends who are just like me. 23 and single and have been every waking year of our lives. On the one hand I can contribute our dateless history to certain facets of our personality - myself and the friends I refer to are all in fact somewhat shy and introverted. However at the same time, I know plenty of girls who are much more withdrawn than myself and have had a much more “colourful” track record.

And as introverted as I claim to be, I haven’t left the ball in the man’s court either. Sure I’ve had my silly schoolgirl crushes to falling for someone for the length of a year, but I’ve had my share of attempts to push things forward as well.

When I was much younger I was even bold enough to ask Aaron if he wanted to “hang out.” After that tragedy I vowed not to do that again. But then I fell for a cute exchange student and one day after class I was running to grab a bite to eat. I asked him if he wanted to join me and before the words came out of my mouth, I could see the fear in his eyes, the anxiety levels rise and his feet turning in the opposite direction.

So again I failed miserably. My male friends often complain about how they have to do the work when it comes to dating but clearly to me, men seem to like it that way. But this realization obviously dawned on me a little too late.

While in university I befriended a shy, shaggy haired boy who was a couple years younger than me. Of all the “signs” we all talk about I was sure I saw them in this boy. It was endearing how he hung around me and would ditch his friends to sit next to me in class. I would often catch his eyes on me before even entering the student lounge. And after four months surely enough I started to fall for him too. But the school year was coming to a close and I wasn’t ready to part ways. So of course what I thought was a surefire plan imploded in my face. On the final day of class of the year, I wanted to make a quick stop to grab a sandwich from the local deli and invited him to join me. But, geez, is a bite on the go really moving too fast? He quickened his pace and headed straight for the subway shouting behind him that he had a paper to finish. And I never saw him again.

Ever.

And in all honesty I still think about him all the time. In some bizarre way he’s broken my heart, and with all writing idioms aside, its sucks even more that I didn’t even get the lovey-dovey part of it.

And no matter how often I’ve told myself to stop being so forward I go ahead and do it again. Or do I?

In all rationale, my invitations are far from bold and in fact only solidify to me the amount of credit men give themselves. I’ve had experience after experience that does little to prove me wrong. I use to be quick to blame it on age. Maybe a more mature man would be more socially graceful when it came to women?

Hmm, maybe not. In my last job I had again befriended a (27 year old) coworker. We would visit each other’s desks and have solid 15 minute conversations throughout the day. We joked around and talked to each other when we were having a rough day, and we would do small favours for one another – all the makings of a standard friendship. Or so one would think. On my last day I asked him to walk with me to the cafeteria for lunch. Apparently that invitation was so forward of a move that it designated an ignored email, dodgy answers and him sneaking out back to grab lunch from Tim Horton’s. And on top of that, when caught in the act he had the audacity to complain about the sad lunch he had had.

So clearly me being the “bold” one is definitely not the way to go. But neither is being the passive one.

I once held a job working in a kiosk selling cell phones and never have I felt like such a piece of meat. Being surrounded by four walls of glass seemed to denote that it was okay to say whatever vulgar or lewd thing was on your mind. It had even gone so far that I had to duck down behind the cabinets to avoid being seen by a regular, robust, potty mouth older “gentleman” who asked me to replace his “bitch” of a girlfriend and that he would take on my boyfriend who worked in one of the stores on the upper floor of the mall (he was only a friend but I supposed a lie at that point wouldn't hurt to discourage him).

Funny enough, I felt more comfortable at clubs than being at work. Though I don’t club often (it is the shy, introverted me coming out), there’s a certain amount of anonymity that I enjoy being there. Though the point of clubbing is really the opposite. But everyone is either too drunk or sexed up to care about what anyone else is doing or not doing.

And getting back to the point of nothing being wrong with me, one clubbing experience has proved that. One of those 23 and single-all-their-life friends I mentioned got piss drunk one night and she looked nothing like a woman who was recovering from 12 drinks but instead like a woman ready to punch the living daylights out of anyone who looked at her the wrong way. The intensity in her eyes and the furrowed brow would probably have been disconcerting but having seen her in this state more times than I’ve been on a date, I knew she was going to be fine.

I sat next to her trying to keep her from keeling over, puking her dinner, and well, keeping her company. Though she looked like she was in a state of distress I suppose this looked quite attractive to men. Shortly afterwards men came one after another to talk her up and of course my friend switched on the charm. Who knew that men were attracted to rolling eyes, one word answers, crossed arms and talking to one’s back. Maybe that’s my problem: I don’t put up enough of a bitch challenge.

All kidding aside, this girlfriend of mine has had her first kiss at the age of 23 during a drunken phase with two of our other girlfriends. Yes, I realize all of you are screaming “what’s the problem?! That’s hot!” I suppose I am just slightly overly idealistic and old-fashioned when it comes to my first kiss. I do happen to prefer it be with 1) a boy and 2) a boy I like. Apparently that’s asking for too much. I know, I know, I’m sure at this point you all think you know me. I’m just sarcastic with a bad attitude and that’s probably the reason why men don’t find me attractive. But do keep in mind, these are opinions I’ve always kept to myself and have never voiced so in order for this facet of my personality to be a turnoff, it would actually have to be seen.

So I sat next to her, sober and decked out in club gear, and I got looked over. Perhaps I can rationalize that by the fact that I was merely sober. Geez, what man on earth would want to pick up a sober woman at a club?? But it wasn’t the first time that I’ve been passed over and completely ignored when I’ve been out with my girlfriends. And it’s always a sting to the ego and it’s hard to stop those awful thoughts of insecurity from creeping into your head.

At one point in my life it wasn’t frowned upon to say that I haven’t dated anyone. But now that I’m an adult it’s a topic I’m more likely to withdraw from. And it’s definitely not a topic starter in a bar.

And it is exactly this that makes me a fraud. I continue to skim the waters, dodge answers, and answer questions as though I have more experience in the dating scene than I actually do. As I am now at an age where it’s expected of a woman to have at least been on a date, it is almost inappropriate for me to mention otherwise.

That is unless, I’m looking to lose friends and alienate people. I know it sounds a bit dramatic, but I’ve heard the laughs when I mention my single-all-their-life friends (never by name or in the same social circle of course!) in conversation. I’ve heard the scoffs, seen the rolling eyes, or the looks of sympathy for their fragility. I do my best to avoid this for myself.

I just choose not to over-complicate my life by divulging information that will make me a victim of virgin prejudice. Rather ironic that I’ve become a journalist and laid this all out there isn’t it?

So what’s a girl to do? I admit I’ve become suspicious (though not quite the word I’m looking for) of the men that do seem interested in me. As there are only two types of men who would date a chick like me: the dirty one who only wants to make himself a milestone in that woman’s life and the oh-so brave one who may be a knight in shining armor that even I would have to think twice about. But then again, flirtations never go far enough for me to be left with that 'yes' or 'no' predicament so I banish all these thoughts aside anyway.

If anything, my love life has been composed more so by a series of fleeting moments, random people I meet here and there and never to see again. It is these people that I always find myself attracted to and at the same time I always have that sinking, knowing feeling that I will never see them again which is always a little heartbreaking.

What is a glance to them, or a short two-minute conversation becomes something I mull over for years. Like the artist type I met on the train but was too chicken-shit to let my guard down. Or the time I was in Europe, traveling by myself, I noticed an Italian man who couldn’t take his eyes off me through the crowd on a subway car. Or there was that roommate of an acquaintance that I met in another frigging country for crying out loud. I remember him taking a genuine interest in my recent roadtrip to the slopes and the way he gazed at me as I walked out the door. I remember the guy who sketched me in a crowded coffee shop, his eyes not scrutinizing me, but more taking me in. He flipped the page over to move on to his next subject and as the page turned over, I saw myself staring back at me. And I was beautiful. It was a shocking rendering and his eyes stared at me as he watched me drink in this rendering that I never thought could be.

But they are just that. Moments. Passing moments never thought twice about by the men involved. They are moments that I’ve never forgotten and also weigh heavily on me on those down days.

The cheesy love songs do get to me sometimes. And sometimes the romantic rock ballads are worse. And so can being wedged between two couples at a friends birthday dinner make you feel alone. And as the saying goes “its better to have loved and lost than not have loved at all.” Of course I wonder what it would feel like to be called “honey” or “baby” with genuine affection irregardless of how insignificant it seems.

But at the end of the day, when all has been said and done, it’s come to be a part of my life that I’ve accepted that love is not meant to be in my cards. And that’s okay. I’m thankful that I’ve had these moments of flirtation that have always been both amusing and downright fun. Though men don’t typically want to date me, or even want me, but instead prefer to flirt with me, I’m okay with that too. It keeps me grounded without being too hard on myself. But I’ve definitely gained enough self-confidence to stop worrying so much about being single and instead have concentrated my focus on enjoying myself, and building a career and a future for myself and only myself. Which includes the one bedroom condo with a beach view and a giant, furry animal of some sort to keep me company.