jake ryan? he doesn't even know you exist!

So I've been thinking about Sixteen Candles, a movie I could watch forever and never tire of. And I think I had an epiphany. Here it is. John Hughes has forever destroyed my future romantic happiness. How, you ask, could the man who brought us great films like Uncle Buck, The Breakfast Club, and The Great Outdoors, singlehandedly ruin my future? Simple, friend. Just two words: Jake Ryan.

With his sweater-vest and cuffed jeans, and yes, a porsche, the ultimate 80s heartthrob is romantic kryptonite. It's not just the sheepish way he shoved his hands into his pockets when talking to Molly Ringwald and her heinous pink outfits (and hats! why, Molly, why the hats?)--it's so much more. With every boy I meet, I feel compelled to ask, 'Is this the kind of guy who will not only make me a birthday cake, but allow me to sit on the formal dining table at his parents mansion while blowing out the candles?' Overwhelmingly, the answer is no (granted, at this point, I'm sort of hoping that the boy doesn't still live with his parents). And not just that, but Jake Ryan has a supremely noble character. What boy do you know that would rescue your meek, high school sophomore panties from geeks and spend all night trying to get them back to you, while leaving his shallow blond girlfriend with Anthony Michael Hall? Boys that I know, none of you come to mind. Girls, I know that I'm not alone in this either.

Perhaps I am too quick to judge Mr. Hughes. Really, the fault lies with Jane Austen. The original, most crush-worthy man of fiction is, in my opinion, Mr. Darcy. Brooding Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, who also happens to be ridiculously wealthy and romantic? Sure, I'll take one. The fact that he's got a healthy side of social awkwardness to complement the glorious grounds of Pemberley and his dashing top hat just adds to the appeal. The only problem here is not that they don't know I exist--it's really that they don't exist.

There is a point to all of this boy banter. With my positive approach to 2008 and determination to stop living like a 50 year old hermit, I am realizing that there are 2 main obstacles preventing me from finding Jake Ryan 2.0. They are:
1)Attractive people tend to recognize their own hotness.
2)Very few men just fall into a girl's lap (And if they do, it's usually best to stand up so they don't stay there).

Let me explain. With formulaic chick flicks, somehow the leading man is impossibly attractive, yet he (and possibly the leading lady) doesn't really know it. His charm, carefully messy hair, and ability to rock a pair of Levis like nobody's business have not gone to his head. However. In my experience, most attractive people understand that they are attractive. It's the whole point of being attractive. Friend, people like you (yes, you)--genetically gifted people who can wake up rumpled and still look amazing--typically know it. You may pretend to be surprised when people on the subway give you their numbers, or you are followed by a parade of ardent admirers as you walk to the grocery store, but you're just being modest so that I won't get jealous of the attention and stop letting you read my hilarious blog. Also, when you are being followed by your hordes of stalkers, you tend to deal with them in a smooth, easy manner. I get uncomfortable and begin talking loudly and giggling somewhat inappropriately (and uncontrollably) when I have to punch in my membership number at the gym. Did you take a class in how to be smooth when we were in college, friend? If so, I feel that you were morally responsible to drag me with you, especially since it was probably just a 1-unit, pass/fail course and I totally could have fit it in. The bottom line? My maybe-unfair tendency is to distrust good-looking people. Good-looking people are typically comfortable with their good-looking-ness. I am uncomfortable with my awkwardness and your lack of it, which makes me want to not approach you since I assume that you already know that you are cute and therefore don't need to talk to awkward people and gosh is it warm in here? am i talking really fast? i'm going to open a window. so that i can jump out of it.

Problem #2? The Weather Girls are a bunch of liars. It is NOT raining men, and the meteorologist predicts that I live in a pocket of New York City comparable to Death Valley, a place that knows no rain. I recently heard a statistic that in NYC there are 150,000 more women than men. This alone does not mean romantic doom. Unfortunately, as a shy person who fears rejection, I am far too comfortable with the movie-world dynamic of boy meets girl, boy pursues girl, girl gets to enjoy doing no work to get lots of attention. This would all be fine and good, except that it doesn't seem to happen as frequently in real life. Okay, maybe it does, but not to someone who spends the majority of her days being referred to as "Ms." while negotiating teenage angst and below grade level reading. All signs point to me being in the wrong profession for a man-downpour. So, friend, what with 2008 being all super, I suppose I will have to actively protest this drought and take matters into my own hands. This realization is slightly terrifying and leaves my palms clammy and knees shaky.

What can I do to prevent my demise into the crazy old lady who owns 25 cats and eats pints of Ben and Jerry's while watching her shows? I guess I could pony up and talk to that cute boy sitting near me today at the coffee shop. He was all seriousness and studying and sitting by himself. But I was so consumed by Problem #1 that instead I sat behind him and constantly commented to my friend about him while staring at his back. Which then made me think about Problem #2 and wonder what the best passive aggressive way would be to get his attention. Thinking back on the day, I want to slap myself in the face. He had no idea I existed and I had no intention of making myself known. Needless to say, I entered the coffee shop single, and left dateless.

I suppose, supremely cute boys of New York, we must reach some sort of compromise. I will work on not vilifying you solely due to your intense level of attractiveness. And if you please work hard on honing your charming, nerdy quirks, maybe, just maybe we can go out for coffee. Maybe today I'll buy a good umbrella, just in case.