Capitalist Dating

When it comes to relationships, I am not a jealous person.

“So we were at a bar, and he fuckin’ turned to check out some bimbo with big boobs when she walked by! What the fuck is that about?”

“Iunno. He likes boobs I guess.”

“He went out to lunch with some bitch who sits in the cubicle next to him!”

“Meh…she’s a coworker.”

“He went to a strip club without asking me!”

“He should have at least invited you along.”

Most of my friends, while intrigued and sometimes envious of my disinterest and lax take on relationships, have pegged me “extreme.” They are all positively foaming at the mouths waiting for “that guy” to come along, hook me fins-a-flappin’ and leave me to dry. I have cool friends.

Surely, there must be some middle ground. That razor-thin line between green-eyed beastliness and lazy idiocy where you can maintain your sanity whilst keeping your significant other tethered to your hip. Many seem to opt for the tether. Many Asian people seem to opt for the choke chain (Note: I’ve definitely noticed a pattern in regards to race and possessiveness levels, but I won’t get into that here).

I chose to venture into the unknown depths of “who-gives-a-fuck-dom” and “do-what-you-gotta-do-land” and picked the less physically and emotionally taxing of the two. Those who know me would credit this almost entirely to my sheer laziness, but I would like to believe there’s some rationale behind it. The gears in my head, while rusty and a little cobwebby, are still running. The way I see it, if I need to concern myself with every situation my significant other finds himself in where he is in the presence of an attractive female, there’s something wrong with the larger scale of things. There’s something bigger, indicative of his lack of interest in me or of his untrustworthiness. In which case, it’s time to cut your losses and go. This often leads to the “I’ll be better” conversation.

Good dog.

I guess it isn’t that simple when you’re “in love” or “having good sex” or whatever nonsense it is that keeps people slobbering over each other for extended periods of time, but so far, this mentality has led to generally stress-free relationshits. And that is a good thing.

Interestingly, or perhaps predictably, I love being jealous.

I actually enjoy it when a significant other acts in such a way that garners a green-eyed response from me. I guess that’s the Korean in me. The “anything you can do, I can do better” school of thought. Or possibly the sudden presence of emotion jolts the stone in my chest sending a rush of endorphins to the brain. Whatever it is, if you want me to stick around, show me I can be disposed of at any time.

I’m a little masochistic, eh?

I should probably clarify. Cheating is not cool. If a guy cheats, he is permanently on the Shit List. There is nothing a person can do to rectify such a manner of betrayal. I have told people that if they cheat on me, I would quite possibly Lorena Bobbit their ass, so it’s inadvisable. Dump me, I can take it. Don’t cheat.

However, while most of the people I know are infuriated by other women hitting on their boyfriends or wanting them, I enjoy it. I encourage it. To the point that I made the Dublin Ex hit on other girls in front of me when he came to visit me (fish in a barrel thanks to his Irish accent). I’m a female New Yorker—competitive, materialistic, overly ambitious, a little crazy—I like the idea of someone else wanting what I have. I like the fact that I have to inch around on my toes every now and then to keep someone around. I like the idea that I might have to do battle to defend my coveted prize from the STD-ridden mass of women who comprise the hormonal New York dating pool. I like it when the man I’m dating shows me that he is a hot item. I want to see the hint of interest in his eyes that sparks the jealous rage in me. It’s a rush, a big fat, shallow rush.

We live in a capitalist society defined by the haves and have-nots. The main quality that sets these two groups apart is that the have-nots want what the haves have. People drive Lamborghinis because other people want them and can’t have them. I WANT TO DRIVE A FUCKING LAMBORGHINI!

Is that too much to ask?

It might sound as if I’m setting the feminist movement back a notch or two—requiring a variant of the typical "shit treatment" from a man in order to retain interest. But tell me, who’s worse? The girl who screams and breaks things because her boyfriend is out with other girls, or the one who gloats because at the end of the day, no matter what gorgeous girl throws herself at him, that hot piece of ass is coming home to her?

And besides, angry sex is good sex.

-L